betty leicester's christmas by sarah orne jewett boston and new york houghton, mifflin and company the riverside press, cambridge 1899 copyright, 1894 and 1899, by sarah orne jewett all rights reserved to m. e. g. [illustration: in solemn majesty] list of illustrations page in solemn majesty (page 62) _frontispiece_ "i was so glad to come" 20 a tall boy had joined them 42 betty, edith, and warford 50 betty leicester's christmas i there was once a story-book girl named betty leicester, who lived in a small square book bound in scarlet and white. i, who know her better than any one else does, and who know my way about tideshead, the story-book town, as well as she did, and who have not only made many a visit to her aunt barbara and aunt mary in their charming old country-house, but have even seen the house in london where she spent the winter: i, who confess to loving betty a good deal, wish to write a little more about her in this christmas story. the truth is, that ever since i wrote the first story i have been seeing girls who reminded me of betty leicester of tideshead. either they were about the same age or the same height, or they skipped gayly by me in a little gown like hers, or i saw a pleased look or a puzzled look in their eyes which seemed to bring betty, my own story-book girl, right before me. * * * * * now, if anybody has read the book, this preface will be much more interesting than if anybody has not. yet, if i say to all new acquaintances that betty was just in the middle of her sixteenth year, and quite in the middle of girlhood; that she hated some things as much as she could, and liked other things with all her heart, and did not feel pleased when older people kept saying _don't!_ perhaps these new acquaintances will take the risk of being friends. certain things had become easy just as betty was leaving tideshead in new england, where she had been spending the summer with her old aunts, so that, having got used to all the tideshead liberties and restrictions, she thought she was leaving the easiest place in the world; but when she got back to london with her father, somehow or other life was very difficult indeed. she used to wish for london and for her cronies, the duncans, when she was first in tideshead; but when she was in england again she found that, being a little nearer to the awful responsibilities of a grown person, she was not only a new betty, but london--great, busy, roaring, delightful london--was a new london altogether. to say that she felt lonely, and cried one night because she wished to go back to tideshead and be a village person again, and was homesick for her four-posted bed with the mandarins parading on the curtains, is only to tell the honest truth. in tideshead that summer betty leicester learned two things which she could not understand quite well enough to believe at first, but which always seem more and more sensible to one as time goes on. the first is that you must be careful what you wish for, because if you wish hard enough you are pretty sure to get it; and the second is, that no two persons can be placed anywhere where one will not be host and the other guest. one will be in a position to give and to help and to show; the other must be the one who depends and receives. now, this subject may not seem any clearer to you at first than it did to betty; but life suddenly became a great deal more interesting, and she felt herself a great deal more important to the rest of the world when she got a little light from these rules. for everybody knows that two of the hardest things in the world are to know what to do and how to behave; to know what one's own duty is in the world and how to get on with other people. what to be and how to behave--these are the questions that every girl has to face; and if somebody answers, "be good and be polite," it is such a general kind of answer that one throws it away and feels uncomfortable. i do not remember that i happened to say anywhere in the story that there was a pretty fashion in tideshead, as summer went on, of calling our friend "sister betty." whether it came from her lamenting that she had no sister, and being kindly adopted by certain friends, or whether there was something in her friendly, affectionate way of treating people, one cannot tell. ii betty leicester, in a new winter gown which had just been sent home from liberty's, with all desirable qualities of color, and a fine expanse of smocking at the yoke, and some sprigs of embroidery for ornament in proper places, was yet an unhappy betty. in spite of being not only fine, but snug and warm as one always feels when cold weather first comes and one gets into a winter dress, everything seemed disappointing. the weather was shivery and dark, the street into which she was looking was narrow and gloomy, and there was a moment when betty thought wistfully of tideshead as if there were no december there, and only the high, clear september sky that she had left. somehow, all out-of-door life appeared to have come to an end, and she felt as if she were shut into a dark and wintry prison. not long before this she had come from whitby, the charming red-roofed yorkshire fishing-town that forever climbs the hill to its gray abbey. there were flocks of young people at whitby that autumn, and betty had lived out of doors in pleasant company to her heart's content, and tramped about the moors and along the cliffs with gay parties, and played golf and cricket, and helped to plan some great excitement or lively excursion for almost every day. there is a funny, dancing-step sort of walk, set to the tune of "humpty-dumpty," which seems to belong with the whitby walking-sticks which everybody carries; you lock arms in lines across the road, and keep step to the gay chant of the dismal nursery lines, and the faster you go, especially when you are tired, the more it seems to rest you (or that's what some people think) in the long walks home. whitby was almost as good as tideshead, to which lovely town betty now compared every other, even london itself. betty and her father had not yet gone to housekeeping by themselves (which made them very happy later on), but they were living in some familiar old clarges street lodgings convenient to the green park, where betty could go for a consoling scamper with a new dog called "toby" because he looked so exactly like the beloved toby on the cover of "punch." betty had spent a whole morning's work upon a proper belled ruff for toby, who gravely sat up and wore it as if he were conscious of literary responsibilities. papa had gone to the british museum that rainy morning, and was not likely to reappear before the close of day. for a wonder, he was going to dine at home that night. something very interesting to the scientific world had happened to him during his summer visit to alaska, and it seemed as if every one of his scientific friends had also made some discovery, or something had happened to each one, which made many talks and dinners and club meetings delightfully important. but most of the london people were in the country; for in england they stay in the hot town until july or august, while all americans scatter among green fields or seashore places; and then spend the gloomy months of the year in their country houses, when we fly back to the shelter and music and pictures and companionship of town life. this all depends upon the meeting of parliament and other great reasons; but even betty leicester felt quite left out and lonely in town that dark day. her best friends, the duncans, were at their great house in warwickshire. she was going to stay with them for a month, but not just yet; while her father was soon going to pay a short visit to a very great lady indeed at danesly castle, just this side the border. this "very great lady indeed" was perfectly charming to our friend; a smile or a bow from her was just then more than anything else to betty. we all know how perfectly delightful it is to love some one so much that we keep dreaming of her a little all the time, and what happiness it gives when the least thing one has to do with her is a perfectly golden joy. betty loved mrs. duncan fondly and constantly, and she loved aunt barbara with a spark of true enchantment and eager desire to please; but for this new friend, for lady mary danesly (who was mrs. duncan's cousin), there was something quite different in her heart. as she stood by the window in clarges street she was thinking of this lovely friend, and wishing for once that she herself was older, so that perhaps she might have been asked to come with papa for a week's visit at christmas. but lady mary would be busy enough with her great house-party of distinguished people. once she had been so delightful as to say that betty must some day come to danesly with her father, but of course this could not be the time. miss day, betty's old governess, who now lived with her mother in one of the suburbs of london, was always ready to come to spend a week or two if betty were to be left alone, and it was pleasanter every year to try to make miss day have a good time as well as to have one one's self; but, somehow, a feeling of having outgrown miss day was hard to bear. they had not much to talk about except the past, and what they used to do; and when friendship comes to this alone, it may be dear, but is never the best sort. the fog was blowing out of the street, and the window against which betty leaned was suddenly flecked with raindrops. a telegraph boy came round the corner as if the gust of wind had brought him, and ran toward the steps; presently the maid brought in a telegram to betty, who hastened to open it, as she was always commissioned to do in her father's absence. to her surprise it was meant for herself. she looked at the envelope to make sure. it was from lady mary. _can you come to me with your father next week, dear? i wish for you very much._ "there's no answer--at least there's no answer now," said betty, quite trembling with excitement and pleasure; "i must see papa first, but i can't think that he will say no. he meant to come home for christmas day with me, and now we can both stay on." she hopped about, dancing and skipping, after the door was shut. what a thing it is to have one's wishes come true before one's eyes! and then she asked to have a hansom cab called and for the company of pagot, who was her maid now; a very nice woman whom mrs. duncan had recommended, in as much as betty was older and had thoughts of going to housekeeping. pagot's sister also was engaged as housemaid, and, strange as it may appear, our tideshead betty was to become the mistress of a cook and butler. pagot herself looked sedate and responsible, but she dearly liked a little change and was finding the day dull. so they started off together toward the british museum in all the rain, with the shutter of the cab put down and the horse trotting along the shining streets as if he liked it. iii mr. leicester was in the department of north american prehistoric remains, and had a jar of earth before him which he was examining with closest interest. "here's a bit of charred bone," he was saying eagerly to a wise-looking old gentleman, "and here's a funeral bead--just as i expected. this proves my theory of the sacrificial--why, betty, what's the matter?" and he looked startled for a moment. "a telegram?" "it was so very important, you see, papa," said betty. "i thought it was bad news from tideshead," said mr. leicester, looking up at her with a smile after he had read it. "well, my dear, that's very nice, and very important too," he added, with a fine twinkle in his eyes. "i shall be going out for a bit of luncheon presently, and i'll send the answer with great pleasure." betty's cheeks were brighter than ever, as if a rosy cloud of joy were shining through. "now that i'm here, i'll look at the arrowheads; mayn't i, papa?" she asked, with great self-possession. "i should like to see if i can find one like mine--i mean my best white one that i found on the river-bank last summer." papa nodded, and turned to his jar again. "you may let pagot go home at one o'clock," he said, "and come back to find me here, and we'll go and have luncheon together. i was thinking of coming home early to get you. we've a house to look at, and it's dull weather for what i wish to do here at the museum. clear sunshine is the only possible light for this sort of work," he added, turning to the old gentleman, who nodded; and betty nodded sagely, and skipped away with pagot, to search among the arrowheads. she found many white quartz arrowpoints and spearheads like her own treasure. pagot thought them very dull, and was made rather uncomfortable by the indian medicine-masks and war-bonnets and evil-looking war-clubs, and openly called it a waste of time for any one to have taken trouble to get all that heathen rubbish together. such savages and their horrid ways were best forgotten by decent folks, if pagot might be so bold as to say so. but presently it was luncheon time; and the good soul cheerfully departed, while betty joined her father, and waited for him as still as a mouse for half an hour, while he and the scientific old gentleman reluctantly said their last words and separated. she had listened to a good deal of their talk about altar fires, and the ceremonies that could be certainly traced in a handful of earth from the site of a temple in the mounds of a buried city; but all her thoughts were of lady mary and the pleasures of the next week. she looked again at the telegram, which was much nicer than most telegrams. it was so nice of lady mary to have said _dear_ in it--just as if she were talking; people did not often say _dear_ in a message. "perhaps some of her guests can't come; but then, everybody likes to be asked to danesly," betty thought. "and i wonder if i shall dine at table with the guests; i never have. at any rate, i shall see lady mary often and be with papa. it is perfectly lovely! i can give her the indian basket i brought her, now, before the sweet grass is all dry." it was a great delight to be asked to the holiday party; many a grown person would be thankful to take betty's place. for was not lady mary a very great lady indeed, and one of the most charming women in england?--a famous hostess and assembler of really delightful people? "i am going to danesly on the seventeenth," said betty to herself, with satisfaction. iv betty and her father had taken a long journey from london. they had been nearly all day in the train, after a breakfast by candle-light; and it was quite dark, except for the light of the full moon in a misty sky, as they drove up the long avenue at danesly. pagot was in great spirits; she was to go everywhere with betty now, being used to the care of young ladies, and more being expected of this young lady than in the past. pagot had been at danesly before with the duncans, and had many friends in the household. mr. leicester was walking across the fields by a path he well knew from the little station, with a friend and fellow guest whom they had met at durham. this path was much shorter than the road, so that papa was sure of reaching the house first; but betty felt a little lonely, being tired, and shy of meeting a great bright houseful of people quite by herself, in case papa should loiter. but suddenly the carriage stopped, and the footman jumped down and opened the door. "my lady is walking down to meet you, miss," he said; "she's just ahead of us, coming down the avenue." and betty flew like a pigeon to meet her dear friend. the carriage drove on and left them together under the great trees, walking along together over the beautiful tracery of shadows. suddenly lady mary felt the warmth of betty's love for her and her speechless happiness as she had not felt it before, and she stopped, looking so tall and charming, and put her two arms round betty, and hugged her to her heart. "my dear little girl!" she said for the second time; and then they walked on, and still betty could not say anything for sheer joy. "now i'm going to tell you something quite in confidence," said the hostess of the great house, which showed its dim towers and scattered lights beyond the leafless trees. "i had been wishing to have you come to me, but i should not have thought this the best time for a visit; later on, when the days will be longer, i shall be able to have much more time to myself. but an american friend of mine, mr. banfield, who is a friend of your papa's, i believe, wrote to ask if he might bring his young daughter, whom he had taken from school in new york for a holiday. it seemed a difficult problem for the first moment," and lady mary gave a funny little laugh. "i did not know quite what to do with her just now, as i should with a grown person. and then i remembered that i might ask you to help me, betty dear. you know that the duncans always go for a christmas visit to their grandmother in devon." "i was so glad to come," said betty warmly; "it was nicer than anything else." [illustration: "i was so glad to come"] "i am a little afraid of young american girls, you understand," said lady mary gayly; and then, taking a solemn tone: "yes, you needn't laugh, miss betty! but you know all about what they like, don't you? and so i am sure we can make a bit of pleasure together, and we'll be fellow hostesses, won't we? we must find some time every day for a little talking over of things quite by ourselves. i've put you next your father's rooms, and to-morrow miss banfield will be near by, and you're to dine in my little morning-room to-night. i'm so glad good old pagot is with you; she knows the house perfectly well. i hope you will soon feel at home. why, this is almost like having a girl of my very own," said lady mary wistfully, as they began to go up the great steps and into the hall, where the butler and other splendid personages of the household stood waiting. lady mary was a tall, slender figure in black, with a beautiful head; and she carried herself with great spirit and grace. she had wrapped some black lace about her head and shoulders, and held it gathered with one hand at her throat. "i must fly to the drawing-room now, and then go to dress for dinner; so good-night, darling," said this dear lady, whom betty had always longed to be nearer to and to know better. "to-morrow you must tell me all about your summer in new england," she said, looking over her shoulder as she went one way and betty another, with pagot and a footman who carried the small luggage from the carriage. how good and kind she had been to come to meet a young stranger who might feel lonely, and as if there were no place for her in the great strange house in the first minute of her arrival. and betty leicester quite longed to see miss banfield and to help her to a thousand pleasures at once for lady mary's sake. v somebody has said that there are only a very few kinds of people in the world, but that they are put into all sorts of places and conditions. the minute betty leicester looked at edith banfield next day she saw that she was a little like mary beck, her own friend and tideshead neighbor. the first thought was one of pleasure, and the second was a fear that the new "becky" would not have a good time at danesly. it was the morning after betty's own arrival. that first evening she had her dinner alone, and afterward was reading and resting after her journey in lady mary's own little sitting-room, which was next her own room. when pagot came up from her own hasty supper and "crack" with her friends to look after betty, and to unpack, she had great tales to tell of the large and noble company assembled at danesly house. "they're dining in the great banquet hall itself," she said with pride. "lady mary looks a queen at the head of the table, with the french prince beside her and the great earl of seacliff at the other side," said pagot proudly. "i took a look from the old musicians' gallery, miss, as i came along, and it was a fine sight, indeed. lady mary's own maid, as i have known well these many years, was telling me the names of the strangers." pagot was very proud of her own knowledge of fine people. betty asked if it was far to the gallery; and, finding that it was quite near the part of the house where they were, she went out with pagot along the corridors with their long rows of doors, and into the musicians' gallery, where they found themselves at a delightful point of view. danesly castle had been built at different times; the banquet-hall itself was very old and stately, with a high, carved roof. there were beautiful old hangings and banners where the walls and roof met, and lower down were spread great tapestries. there was a huge fire blazing in the deep fireplace at the end, and screens before it; the long table twinkled with candle-light, and the gay company sat about it. betty looked first for papa, and saw him sitting beside lady dimdale, who was a great friend of his; then she looked for lady mary, who was at the head between the two gentlemen of whom pagot had spoken. she was still dressed in black lace, but with many diamonds sparkling at her throat, and she looked as sweet and quiet and self-possessed as if there were no great entertainment at all. the men-servants in their handsome livery moved quickly to and fro, as if they were actors in a play. the people at the table were talking and laughing, and the whole scene was so pleasant, so gay and friendly, that betty wished, for almost the first time, that she were grown up and dining late, to hear all the delightful talk. she and pagot were like swallows high under the eaves of the great room. papa looked really boyish, so many of the men were older than he. there were twenty at table; and pagot said, as betty counted them, that many others were expected the next day. you could imagine the great festivals of an older time as you looked down from the gallery. in the gallery itself there were quaint little heavy wooden stools for the musicians: the harpers and fiddlers and pipers who had played for so many generations of gay dancers, for whom the same lights had flickered, and over whose heads the old hangings had waved. you felt as if you were looking down at the past. betty and pagot closed the narrow door of the gallery softly behind them, and our friend went back to her own bedroom, where there was a nice fire, and nearly fell asleep before it, while pagot was getting the last things unpacked and ready for the night. vi the next day at about nine o'clock lady mary came through her morning-room and tapped at the door. betty was just ready and very glad to say good-morning. the sun was shining, and she had been leaning out upon the great stone window-sill looking down the long slopes of the country into the wintry mists. lady mary looked out too, and took a long breath of the fresh, keen air. "it's a good day for hunting," she said, "and for walking. i'm going down to breakfast, because i have planned for an idle day. i thought we might go down together if you were ready." betty's heart was filled with gratitude; it was so very kind of her hostess to remember that it would be difficult for the only girl in the house party to come alone to breakfast for the first time. they went along the corridor and down the great staircase, past the portraits and the marble busts and figures on the landings. there were two or three ladies in the great hall at the foot, with an air of being very early, and some gentlemen who were going fox hunting; and after betty had spoken with lady dimdale, whom she knew, they sauntered into the breakfast-room, where they found some other people; and papa and betty had a word together and then sat down side by side to their muffins and their eggs and toast and marmalade. it was not a bit like a tideshead company breakfast. everybody jumped up if he wished for a plate, or for more jam, or some cold game, which was on the sideboard with many other things. the company of servants had disappeared, and it was all as unceremonious as if the breakfasters were lunching out of doors. there was not a long tableful like that of the night before; many of the guests were taking their tea and coffee in their own rooms. by the time breakfast was done, betty had begun to forget herself as if she were quite at home. she stole an affectionate glance now and then at lady mary, and had fine bits of talk with her father, who had spent a charming evening and now told betty something about it, and how glad he was to have her see their fellow guests. when he went hurrying away to join the hunt, betty was sure that she knew exactly what to do with herself. it would take her a long time to see the huge old house and the picture gallery, where there were some very famous paintings, and the library, about which papa was always so enthusiastic. lady mary was to her more interesting than anybody else, and she wished especially to do something for lady mary. aunt barbara had helped her niece very much one day in tideshead when she talked about her own experience in making visits and going much into company. "the best thing you can do," she said, "is to do everything you can to help your hostess. don't wait to see what is going to be done for you, but try to help entertain your fellow guests and to make the moment pleasant, and you will be sure to enjoy yourself and to find your hostess wishing you to come again. always do the things that will help your hostess." our friend thought of this sage advice now, but it was at a moment when every one else was busy talking, and they were all going on to the great library except two or three late breakfasters who were still at the table. aunt barbara had also said that when there was nothing else to do, your plain duty was to entertain yourself; and, having a natural gift for this, betty wandered off into a corner and found a new "punch" and some of the american magazines on a little table close by the window-seat. after a while she happened to hear some one ask: "what time is mr. banfield coming?" "by the eleven o'clock train," said lady mary. "i am just watching for the carriage that is to fetch him. look; you can see it first between the two oaks there to the left. it is an awkward time to get to a strange house, poor man; but they were in the south and took a night train that is very slow. mr. banfield's daughter is with him, and my dear friend betty, who knows what american girls like best, is kindly going to help me entertain her." "oh, really!" said one of the ladies, looking up and smiling as if she had been wondering just what betty was for, all alone in the grown-up house party. "really, that's very nice. but i might have seen that you are mr. leicester's daughter. it was very stupid of me, my dear; you're quite like him--oh, quite!" "i have seen you with the duncans, have i not?" asked some one else, with great interest. "why, fancy!" said this friendly person, who was named the honorable miss northumberland, a small, eager little lady in spite of her solemn great name,--"fancy! you must be an american too. i should have thought you quite an english girl." "oh, no, indeed," said betty. "indeed, i'm quite american, except for living in england a very great deal." she was ready to go on and say much more, but she had been taught to say as little about herself as she possibly could, since general society cares little for knowledge that is given it too easily, especially about strangers and one's self! "there's the carriage now," said lady mary, as she went away to welcome the guests. "poor souls! they will like to get to their rooms as soon as possible," she said hospitably; but although the elder ladies did not stir, betty deeply considered the situation, and then, with a happy impulse, hurried after her hostess. it was a long way about, through two or three rooms and the great hall to the entrance; but betty overtook lady mary just as she reached the great door, going forward in the most hospitable, charming way to meet the new-comers. she did not seem to have seen betty at all. the famous lawyer, mr. banfield, came quickly up the steps, and after him, more slowly, came his daughter, whom he seemed quite to forget. a footman was trying to take her wraps and traveling-bag, but she clung fast to them, and looked up apprehensively toward lady mary. betty was very sympathetic, and was sure that it was a trying moment, and she ran down to meet miss banfield, and happened to be so fortunate as to catch her just as she was tripping over her dress upon the high stone step. mr. banfield himself was well known in london, and was a great favorite in society; but at first sight his daughter's self-conscious manners struck one as being less interesting. she was a pretty girl, but she wore a pretentious look, which was further borne out by very noticeable clothes--not at all the right things to travel in at that hour; but, as has long ago been said, betty saw at once the likeness to her tideshead friend and comrade, mary beck, and opened her heart to take the stranger in. it was impossible not to be reminded of the day when mary beck came to call in tideshead, with her best hat and bird-of-paradise feather, and they both felt so awkward and miserable. "did you have a very tiresome journey?" betty was asking as they reached the top of the steps at last; but edith banfield's reply was indistinct, and the next moment lady mary turned to greet her young guest cordially. betty felt that she was a little dismayed, and was all the more eager to have the young compatriot's way made easy. "did you have a tiresome journey?" asked lady mary, in her turn; but the reply was quite audible now. "oh, yes," said edith. "it was awfully cold--oh, awfully!--and so smoky and horrid and dirty! i thought we never should get here, with changing cars in horrid stations, and everything," she said, telling all about it. "oh, that was too bad," said betty, rushing to the rescue, while lady mary walked on with mr. banfield. edith banfield talked on in an excited, persistent way to betty, after having finally yielded up her bag to the footman, and looking after him somewhat anxiously. "it's a splendid big house, isn't it?" she whispered; "but awfully solemn looking. i suppose there's another part where they live, isn't there? have you been here before? are you english?" "i'm betty leicester," said betty, in an undertone. "no, i haven't been here before; but i have known lady mary for a long time in london. i'm an american, too." "you aren't, really!" exclaimed edith. "why, you must have been over here a good many times, or something"--she cast a glance at betty's plain woolen gear, and recognized the general comfortable appearance of the english schoolgirl. edith herself was very fine in silk attire, with much fur trimming and a very expensive hat. "well, i'm awfully glad you're here," she said, with a satisfied sigh; "you know all about it better than i do, and can tell me what to put on." "oh, yes, indeed," said betty cheerfully; "and there are lots of nice things to do. we can see the people, and then there are all the pictures and the great conservatories, and the stables and dogs and everything. i've been waiting to see them with you; and we can ride every day, if you like; and papa says it's a perfectly delightful country for walking." "i hate to walk," said edith frankly. "oh, what a pity," lamented betty, a good deal dashed. she was striving against a very present disappointment, but still the fact could not be overlooked that edith banfield looked like mary beck. now, mary also was apt to distrust all strangers and to take suspicious views of life, and she had little enthusiasm; but betty knew and loved her loyalty and really good heart. she felt sometimes as if she tried to walk in tight shoes when "becky's" opinions had to be considered; but becky's world had grown wider month by month, and she loved her very much. edith banfield was very pretty; that was a comfort, and though betty might never like her as she did mary beck, she meant more than ever to help her to have a good visit. lady mary appeared again, having given mr. banfield into the young footman's charge. she looked at sister betty for an instant with an affectionate, amused little smile, and kept one hand on her shoulder as she talked for a minute pleasantly with the new guest. a maid appeared to take edith to her room, and lady mary patted betty's shoulder as they parted. they did not happen to have time for a word together again all day. by luncheon time the two girls were very good friends, and betty knew all about the new-comer; and in spite of a succession of minor disappointments, the acquaintance promised to be very pleasant. poor edith banfield, like poor betty, had no mother, but edith had spent several years already at a large boarding-school. she was taking this journey by way of vacation, and was going back after the christmas holidays. she was a new-yorker, and she hated the country, and loved to stay in foreign hotels. this was the first time she had ever paid a visit in england, except to some american friends who had a villa on the thames, which edith had found quite dull. she had not been taught either to admire or to enjoy very much, which seemed to make her schooling count for but little so far; but she adored her father and his brilliant wit in a most lovely way, and with this affection and pride betty could warmly sympathize. edith longed to please her father in every possible fashion, and secretly confessed that she did not always succeed, in a way that touched betty's heart. it was hard to know exactly how to please the busy man; he was apt to show only a mild interest in the new clothes which at present were her chief joy; perhaps she was always making the mistake of not so much trying to please him as to make him pleased with herself, which is quite a different thing. vii there was an anxious moment on betty's part when edith banfield summoned her to decide upon what dress should be worn for the evening. pagot, whom betty had asked to go and help her new friend, was wearing a disapproving look, and two or three fine french dresses were spread out for inspection. "why, aren't you going to dress?" asked edith. "i was afraid you were all ready to go down, but i couldn't think what to put on." "i'm all dressed," said betty, with surprise. "oh, what lovely gowns! but we"--she suddenly foresaw a great disappointment--"we needn't go down yet, you know, edith; we are not out, and dinner isn't like luncheon here in england. we can go down afterward, if we like, and hear the songs, but we girls never go to dinner when it's a great dinner like this. i think it is much better fun to stay away; at least, i always have thought so until last night, and then it did really look very pleasant," she frankly added. "why, i'm not sixteen, and you're only a little past, you know." but there lay a grown-up young lady's evening gowns as if to confute all betty's arguments. "how awfully stupid!" said edith, with great scorn. "nursery tea for anybody like us!" and she turned to look at betty's dress, which was charming enough in its way, and made in very pretty girlish fashion. "i should think they'd make you wear a white pinafore," said edith ungraciously; but betty, who had been getting a little angry, thought this so funny that she laughed and felt much better. "i wear muslins for very best," she said serenely. "why, of course we'll go down after dinner and stay a while before we say good-night; they'll be out before half-past nine,--i mean the ladies,--and we'll be there in the drawing-room. oh, isn't that blue gown a beauty! i wish i had put on my best muslin, pagot." "you look very suitable, miss betty," said pagot stiffly. pagot was very old-fashioned, and edith made a funny little face at betty behind her back. the two girls had a delightful dinner together in the morning-room next betty's own, and edith's good humor was quite restored. she had had a good day, on the whole, and the picture galleries and conservatories had not failed to please by their splendors and delights. after they had finished their dessert, betty, as a great surprise, offered the hospitalities of the musicians' gallery, and they sped along the corridors and up the stairs in great spirits, betty leading the way. "now, don't upset the little benches," she whispered, as she opened the narrow door out of the dark passage, and presently their two heads were over the edge of the gallery. they leaned boldly out, for nobody would think of looking up. the great hall was even gayer and brighter than it had looked the night before. the lights and colors shone, there were new people at table, and much talk was going on. the butler and his men were more military than ever; it was altogether a famous, much-diamonded dinner company, and lady mary looked quite magnificent at the head. "it looks pretty," whispered edith; "but how dull it sounds! i don't believe that they are having a bit of a good time. at home, you know, there's such a noise at a party. what a splendid big room!" "people never talk loud when they get together in england," said betty. "they never make that awful chatter that we do at home. just four or five people who come to tea in tideshead can make one another's ears ache. i couldn't get used to it last summer; aunt barbara was almost the only tea-party person in tideshead who didn't get screaming." "oh, i do think it's splendid!" said edith wistfully. "i wish we were down there. i wish there was a little gallery lower down. there's lord dunwater, who sat next me at luncheon. who's that next your father?" there was a little noise behind the eager girls, and they turned quickly. a tall boy had joined them, who seemed much disturbed at finding any one in the gallery, which seldom had a visitor. edith stood up, and seemed an alarmingly tall and elegant young lady in the dim light. betty, who was as tall, was nothing like so imposing to behold at that moment; but the new-comer turned to make his escape. [illustration: a tall boy had joined them] "don't go away," betty begged, seeing his alarm, and wondering who he could be. "there's plenty of room to look. don't go." and thereupon the stranger came forward. he was a handsome fellow, dressed in eton clothes. he was much confused, and said nothing; and, after a look at the company below, during which the situation became more embarrassing to all three, he turned to go away. "are you staying in the house, too?" asked betty timidly; it was so very awkward. "i just came," said the boy, who now appeared to be a very nice fellow indeed. they had left the musicians' gallery,--nobody knew why,--and now stood outside in the corridor. "i just came," he repeated. "i walked over from the station across the fields. i'm lady mary's nephew, you know. she's not expecting me. i had my supper in the housekeeper's room. i was going on a week's tramp in france with my old tutor, just to get rid of christmas parties and things; but he strained a knee at football, and we had to give it up, and so i came here for the holidays. there was nothing else to do," he explained ruefully. "what a lot of people my aunt's got this year!" "it's very nice," said betty cordially. "it's beastly slow, _i_ think," said the boy. "i like it much better when my aunt and i have the place to ourselves. oh, no; that's not what i mean!" he said, blushing crimson as both the girls laughed. "only we have jolly good times by ourselves, you know; no end of walks and rides; and we fish if the water's right. you ought to see my aunt cast a fly." "she's perfectly lovely, isn't she?" said betty, in a tone which made them firm friends at once. "we're going down to the drawing-room soon; wouldn't you like to come?" "yes," said the boy slowly. "it'll be fun to surprise her. and i saw lady dimdale at dinner. i like lady dimdale awfully." "so does papa," said betty; "oh, so very much!--next to lady mary and mrs. duncan." "you're betty leicester, aren't you? oh, i know you now," said the boy, turning toward her with real friendliness. "i danced with you at the duncans', at a party, just before i first went to eton,--oh, ever so long ago!--you won't remember it; and i've seen you once besides, at their place in warwickshire, you know. i'm warford, you know." "why, of course," said betty, with great pleasure. "it puzzled me; i couldn't think at first, but you've quite grown up since then. how we used to dance when we were little things! do you like it now?" "no, i hate it," said warford coldly, and they all three laughed. edith was walking alongside, feeling much left out of the conversation, though warford had been stealing glances at her. "oh, i am so sorry--i didn't think," betty exclaimed in her politest manner. "miss banfield, this is lord warford. i didn't mean to be rude, but you were a great surprise, weren't you?" and they all laughed again, as young people will. just then they reached the door of lady mary's morning-room; the girls' dessert was still on the table, and, being properly invited, warford began to eat the rest of the fruit. "one never gets quite enough grapes," said warford, who was evidently suffering the constant hunger of a rapidly growing person. edith banfield certainly looked very pretty, both her companions thought so; but they felt much more at home with each other. it seemed as if she were a great deal older than they, in her fine evening gown. warford was very admiring and very polite, but betty and he were already plunged into the deep intimacy of true fellowship. edith got impatient before they were ready to go downstairs, but at last they all started down the great staircase, and had just settled themselves in the drawing-room when the ladies began to come in. "why, warford, my dear!" said lady mary, with great delight, as he met her and kissed her twice, as if they were quite by themselves; then he turned and spoke to lady dimdale, who was just behind, still keeping lady mary's left hand in his own. warford looked taller and more manly than ever in the bright light, and he was recognized warmly by nearly all the ladies, being not only a fine fellow, but the heir of danesly and great possessions besides, so that he stood for much that was interesting, even if he had not been interesting himself. betty and edith looked on with pleasure, and presently lady mary came toward them. "i am so glad that you came down," she said; "and how nice of you to bring warford! he usually objects so much that i believe you have found some new way to make it easy. i suppose it is dull when he is by himself. mr. frame is here, and has promised to sing by and by. he and lady dimdale have practiced some duets--their voices are charming together. i hope that you will not go up until afterward, no matter how late." betty, who had been sitting when lady mary came toward her, had risen at once to meet her, without thinking about it; but edith banfield still sat in her low chair, feeling stiff and uncomfortable, while lady mary did not find it easy to talk down at her or to think of anything to say. all at once it came to edith's mind to follow betty's example, and they all three stood together talking cheerfully until lady mary had to go to her other guests. "isn't she lovely!" said edith, with all the ardor that betty could wish. "i don't feel a bit afraid of her, as i thought i should." "she takes such dear trouble," said betty, warmly. "she never forgets anybody. some grown persons behave as if you ought to be ashamed of not being older, and as if you were going to bore them if they didn't look out." at this moment warford came back most loyally from the other side of the room, and presently some gentlemen made their appearance, and the delightful singing began. betty, who loved music, sat and listened like a quiet young robin in her red dress, and her father, who looked at her happy, dreaming face, was sure that there never had been a dearer girl in the world. lady mary looked at her too, and was really full of wonder, because in some way betty had managed with simple friendliness to make her shy nephew quite forget himself, and to give some feeling of belongingness to edith banfield, who would have felt astray by herself in a strange english house. viii the days flew by until christmas, and the weather kept clear and bright, without a bit of rain or gloom, which was quite delightful and wonderful in that northern country. the older guests hunted or drove or went walking. there were excursions of every sort for those who liked them, and sometimes the young people joined in what was going on, and sometimes betty and edith and warford made fine plans of their own. it proved that edith had spent much time with the family of her uncle, who was an army officer; and at the western army posts she had learned to ride with her cousins, who were excellent riders and insisted upon her joining them. so edith could share many pleasures of this sort at danesly, and she was so pretty and gay that people liked her a good deal; and presently some of the house party had gone, and some new guests came, and the two girls and warford were unexpected helpers in their entertainment. sometimes they dined downstairs now, when no one was asked from outside; and every day it seemed pleasanter and more homelike to stay at danesly. there were one or two other great houses in the neighborhood where there were also house parties in the gay holiday season, and so betty and edith saw a great deal of the world in one way and another; and lady mary remembered that girls were sometimes lonely, as they grew up, and was very good to them, teaching them, in quiet ways, many a thing belonging to manners and getting on with other people, that they would be glad to know all their life long. [illustration: betty, edith and warford] "don't talk about yourself," she said once, "and you won't half so often think of yourself, and then you are sure to be happy." and again: "my old friend, mrs. procter, used to say, '_never explain, my dear. people don't care a bit._'" warford was more at home in the hunting field than in the house; but the young people saw much of each other. he took a great deal of trouble, considering his usual fashion, to be nice to the two girls; and so one day, when betty went to find him, he looked up eagerly to see what she wanted. warford was busy in the gun room, with the parts of a gun which he had taken to pieces. there was nobody else there at that moment, and the winter sun was shining in along the floor. "warford," betty began, with an air of great confidence, "what can we do for a bit of fun at christmas?" warford looked up at her over his shoulder, a little bewildered. he was just this side of sixteen, like betty herself; sometimes he seemed manly, and sometimes very boyish, as happened that day. "i'm in for anything you like," he said, after a moment's reflection. "what's on?" "if we give up dining with the rest, i can think of a great plan," said betty, shining with enthusiasm. "there's the old gallery, you know. couldn't we have some music there, as they used in old times?" "my aunt would like it awfully," exclaimed warford, letting his gunstock drop with a thump. "i'd rather do anything than sit all through the dinner. somebody'd be sure to make a row about me, and i should feel like getting into a burrow. i'll play the fiddle: what did you mean?--singing, or what? if we had it christmas eve, we might have the christmas waits, you know." "_fancy!_" said betty, in true english fashion; and then they both laughed. "the waits are pretty silly," said warford. "they were better than usual last year, though. mr. macalister, the schoolmaster, is a good musician, and he trained them well. he plays the flute and the cornet. why not see what we can do ourselves first, and perhaps let them sing last? they'd be disappointed not to come at midnight under the windows, you know," said warford considerately. "we'll go down and ask the schoolmaster after hours, and we'll think what we can do ourselves. one of the grooms has a lovely tenor voice. i heard him singing 'the bonny ivy tree' like a flute only yesterday, so he must know more of those other old things that aunt mary likes." "we needn't have much music," said betty. "the people at dinner will not listen long,--they'll want to talk. but if we sing a christmas song all together, and have the flute and fiddle, you know, warford, it would be very pretty--like an old-fashioned choir, such as there used to be in tideshead. we'll sing things that everybody knows, because everybody likes old songs best. i wish mary beck was here; but edith sings--she told me so; and don't you know how we sang some nice things together, the other day upon the moor, when we were coming home from the hermit's-cell ruins?" warford nodded, and picked up his gunstock. "i'm your man," he said soberly. "let's dress up whoever sings, with wigs and ruffles and things. and then there are queer trumpets and viols in that collection of musical instruments in the music-room. some of us can make believe play them." "a procession! a procession!" exclaimed betty. "what do you say to a company with masks to come right into the great hall, and walk round the table three times, singing and playing? lady dimdale knows everything about music; i mean to ask her. i'll go and find her now." "i'll come, too," said warford, with delightful sympathy. "i saw her a while ago writing in the little book-room off the library." ix it was christmas at last; and all the three young people had been missing since before luncheon in a most mysterious manner. but betty leicester, who came in late and flushed, managed to sit next her father; and he saw at once, being well acquainted with betty, that some great affair was going on. she was much excited, and her eyes were very bright, and there was such a great secret that mr. leicester could do no less than ask to be let in, and be gayly refused and hushed, lest somebody else should know there was a secret, too. warford, who appeared a little later, looked preternaturally solemn, and edith alone behaved as if nothing were going to happen. she was as grown-up as possible, and chattered away about the delights of new york with an old london barrister who was lady mary's uncle, and warford's guardian, and chief adviser to the great danesly estates. edith was so pretty and talked so brightly that the old gentleman looked as amused and happy as possible. "he may be thinking that she's coming down to dinner, but he'll look for her in vain," said betty, who grew gayer herself. "not coming to dinner?" asked papa, with surprise; at which betty gave him so stern a glance that he was more careful to avoid even the appearance of secrets from that time on; and they talked together softly about dear old tideshead, and aunt barbara, and all the household, and wondered if the great christmas box from london had arrived safely and gone up the river by the packet, just as betty herself had done six or seven months before. it made her a little homesick, even there in the breakfast-room at danesly,--even with papa at her side, and lady mary smiling back if she looked up,--to think of the dear old house, and of serena and letty, and how they would all be thinking of her at christmas time. the great hall was gay with holly and christmas greens. it was snowing outside for the first time that year, and the huge fireplace was full of logs blazing and snapping in a splendidly cheerful way. dinner was to be earlier than usual. a great festivity was going on in the servants' hall; and when warford went out with lady mary to cut the great christmas cake and have his health drunk, betty and edith went too; and everybody stood up and cheered, and cried, "merry christmas! merry christmas! and god bless you!" in the most hearty fashion. it seemed as if all the holly in the danesly woods had been brought in--as if christmas had never been so warm and friendly and generous in a great house before. christmas eve had begun, and cast its lovely charm and enchantment over everybody's heart. old dislikes were forgotten between the guests; at christmas time it is easy to say kind words that are hard to say all the rest of the year; at christmas time one loves his neighbor and thinks better of him; christmas love and good-will come and fill the heart whether one beckons them or no. betty had spent some lonely christmases in her short life, as all the rest of us have done; and perhaps for this reason the keeping of the great day at danesly in such happy company, in such splendor and warm-heartedness of the old english fashion, seemed a kind of royal christmas to her young heart. everybody was so kind and charming. lady dimdale, who had entered with great enthusiasm into the christmas plans, caught her after luncheon and kissed her, and held her hand like an elder sister as they walked away. it would have been very hard to keep things from lady mary herself; but that dear lady had many ways to turn her eyes and her thoughts, and so many secret plots of her own to keep in hand at this season, that she did not suspect what was going on in a distant room of the old south wing (where warford still preserved some of his boyish collections of birds' eggs and other plunder), of which he kept the only key. there was a steep staircase that led down to a door in the courtyard; and by this mr. macalister, the schoolmaster, had come and gone, and the young groom of the tenor voice, and five or six others, men and girls, who could either sing or play. it was the opposite side of the house from lady mary's own rooms, and nobody else would think anything strange of such comings and goings. pagot and some friendly maids helped with the costumes. they had practiced their songs twice in the schoolmaster's own house at nightfall, down at the edge of the village by the church; and so everything was ready, with the help of lady dimdale and of mrs. drum, the housekeeper, who would always do everything that warford asked her, and be heartily pleased besides. so lady mary did not know what was meant until after her christmas guests were seated, and the old vicar had said grace, and all the great candelabra were lit, high on the walls between the banners and flags, and among the staghorns and armor lower down, and there were lights even in the old musicians' gallery, which she could see as she sat with her back to the painted leather screen that hid the fireplace. suddenly there was a sound of violins and a bass-viol and a flute from the gallery, and a sound of voices singing--the fresh young voices of warford and betty and edith and their helpers, who sang a beautiful old christmas song, so unexpected, so lovely, that the butler stopped halfway from the sideboard with the wine, and the footmen stood listening where they were, with whatever they had in hand. the guests at dinner looked up in surprise, and lady dimdale nodded across at mr. leicester because they both knew it was betty's plan coming true in this delightful way. and fresh as the voices were, the look of the singers was even better, for you could see from below that all the musicians were in quaint costume. the old schoolmaster stood in the middle as leader, with a splendid powdered wig and gold-laced coat, and all the rest wore coats and gowns of velvet and brocade from the old house's store of treasures. they made a charming picture against the wall with its dark tapestry, and lady dimdale felt proud of her own part in the work. there was a cry of delight from below as the first song ended. betty in the far corner of the gallery could see lady mary looking up so pleased and happy and holding her dear white hands high as she applauded with the rest. nobody knew better than lady mary that dinners are sometimes dull, and that even a christmas dinner is none the worse for a little brightening. so betty had helped her in great as well as in little things, and she blessed the child from her heart. then the dinner went on, and so did the music; it was a pretty programme, and before anybody had dreamed of being tired of it the sound ceased and the gallery was empty. after a while, when dessert was soon coming in, and the christmas pudding with its flaming fire might be expected at any moment, there was a pause and a longer delay than usual in the serving. people were talking busily about the long table, and hardly noticed this until with loud knocking and sound of music, old bond, the butler, made his appearance, with an assistant on either hand, bearing the plum pudding aloft in solemn majesty, the flames rising merrily from the huge platter. behind him came a splendid retinue of the musicians, singing and playing; every one carried some picturesque horn or trumpet or stringed instrument from lady mary's collection, and those who sang also made believe to play in the interludes. behind these were all the men in livery, two and two; and so they went round and round the table until at last warford slipped into his seat, and the pudding was put before him with great state, while the procession waited. the tall shy boy forgot himself and his shyness, and was full of the gayety of his pleasure. the costumes were all somewhat fine for christmas choristers, and the young heir wore a magnificent combination of garments that had belonged to noble peers his ancestors, and was pretty nearly too splendid to be well seen without smoked glass. for the first time in his life he felt a brave happiness in belonging to danesly, and in the thought that danesly would really belong to him; he looked down the long room at lady mary, and loved her as he never had before, and understood things all in a flash, and made a vow to be a good fellow and to stand by her so that she should never, never feel alone or overburdened again. betty and edith and the good schoolmaster (who was splendid in his white wig, and a great addition to the already brilliant company) took their own places, which were quickly made, and dessert went on; the rest of the musicians had been summoned away by mrs. drum, the housekeeper,--all these things having been planned beforehand. and then it was soon time for the ladies to go to the drawing-room, and betty, feeling a little tired and out of breath with so much excitement, slipped away by herself and to her own thoughts; of lady mary, who would be busy with her guests, but still more of papa, who must be waited for until he came to join the ladies, when she could have a talk with him before they said good-night. it was perfectly delightful that everything had gone off so well. lady dimdale had known just what to do about everything, and edith, who had grown nicer every day, had sung as well as mary beck (she had becky's voice as well as her look, and had told betty it was the best time she ever had in her life); and warford had been so nice and had looked so handsome, and lady mary was so pleased because he was not shy and had not tried to hide or be grumpy, as he usually did. betty liked warford better than any boy she had ever seen, except harry foster in tideshead. they would be sure to like each other, and perhaps they might meet some day. harry's life of care and difficulty made him seem older than warford, upon whom everybody had always showered all the good things he could be persuaded to take. x betty was all by herself, walking up and down in the long picture gallery. there were lights here and there in the huge, shadowy room, but the snow had ceased falling out of doors, and the moon was out and shone brightly in at the big windows with their leaded panes. she felt very happy. it was so pleasant to see how everybody cared about papa, and thought him so delightful. she had never seen him in his place with such a company of people, or known so many of his friends together before. it was so good of lady mary to have let her come with papa. they would have so many things to talk over together when they got back to town. the old pictures on the wall were watching miss betty leicester of tideshead as she walked past them through the squares of moonlight, and into the dim candle-light and out to the moonlight again. it was cooler in the gallery than in the great hall, but not too cold, and it was quiet and still. she was dressed in an ancient pink brocade, with fine old lace, that had come out of a camphor-wood chest in one of the storerooms, and she still held a little old-fashioned lute carefully under her arm. suddenly one of the doors opened, and lady mary came in and crossed the moonlight square toward her. "so here you are, darling," she said. "i missed you, and every one is wondering where you are. i asked lady dimdale, and she remembered that she saw you come this way." lady mary was holding betty, lace and lute and all, in her arms, and then she kissed her in a way that meant a great deal. "let us come over here and look out at the snow," she said at last, and they stood together in the deep window recess and looked out. the new snow was sparkling under the moon; the park stretched away, dark woodland and open country, as far as one could see; off on the horizon were the twinkling lights of a large town. lady mary did not say anything more, but her arm was round betty still, and presently betty's head found its way to lady mary's shoulder as if it belonged there. the top of her young head was warm under lady mary's cheek. "everybody is lonely sometimes, darling," said lady mary at last; "and as for me, i am very lonely indeed, even with all my friends, and all my cares and pleasures. the only thing that really helps any of us is being loved, and doing things for love's sake; it isn't the things themselves, but the love that is in them. that's what makes christmas so much to all the world, dear child. but everybody misses somebody at christmas time; and there's nothing like finding a gift of new love and unlooked-for pleasure." "lady dimdale helped us splendidly. it wouldn't have been half so nice if it hadn't been for her," said betty softly,--for her christmas project had come to so much more than she had dreamed at first. there was a stir in the drawing-room, and a louder sound of voices. the gentlemen were coming in. lady mary must go back; but when she kissed betty again, there was a tear on her cheek, and so they stood waiting a minute longer, and loving to be together, and suddenly the sweet old bells in danesly church, down the hill, rang out the christmas chimes. * * * * * electrotyped and printed by h. o. houghton and co. the riverside press cambridge, mass., u. s. a. * * * * * books by sarah orne jewett. deephaven. play-days. stories for children. old friends and new. country by-ways. the mate of the daylight, and friends ashore. a country doctor. a novel. a marsh island. a novel. a white heron, and other stories. the king of folly island, and other people. betty leicester. a story for girls. tales of new england. strangers and wayfarers. a native of winby, and other tales. the life of nancy. the country of the pointed firs. houghton, mifflin and company, boston and new york. living up to billy [illustration: "i near went nutty, and made an awful fool of myself."--page 137] living up to billy by elizabeth cooper author of "my lady of the chinese courtyard," "sayonara," etc. [illustration] new york frederick a. stokes company publishers _copyright, 1915, by_ frederick a. stokes company living up to billy i _dear kate_: two years! only two years, what do you think of it! why, when i heard the judge say two years, i nearly fell off the bench. you were caught with the goods, and he had your record with its two stretches right before him, yet he only gave you two years. you told me yourself you thought you would get at least five. we tried to dope it out up to the room, and kind of figured that he had it in for the prosecuting attorney, and you got the benefit. well, if you ain't singing to-night in the tombs, you orter be. and two years, old girl, will go by so quick that when you see the lights of broadway again, you won't even see a change. you can get a lot off for good behavior, and you know how to work all the con games there is to be worked, so as it will make it easy for you, cause it ain't as if it was your first time. put on a good face, and don't get sulky and you will be out before you have time to remember you was ever sent up. now, i will come up and see you just as often as i can, and i will get you a letter regular once a month anyway, and i will tell you all that is doing. oh, kate, it kinda breaks me all up to think of you being put away again. you're all i got, and i don't know what i will do without you. that last stretch of yours i nearly died. you and me have just got each other and we have been mighty close, more so than most sisters i think. you have not always treated me white, sometimes you have been mean, but it was not your fault. i suppose it is hard in a girl like you to have a sister left on her hands, and i was only a kid when you had to take me over and was lots of trouble to you. you have been good in your way, and kate, i want you to know when you are setting alone at night, that i am just counting the days till you come back to me. yours, _nan_. ii _dear kate_: i didn't write you before cause i wanted to be able to tell you what we are going to do about the kid. jim was up and we talked it all over and i said i would take him. i don't want none of jim's friends to have him cause he ain't no good, kate, and i have always told you so. i made him promise if i take billy that he will leave him alone. i won't have him hanging around and i don't want billy to see nothing more of him than he has to. i blame him for all that has come to you. before you married him and got in with his crowd, you was on the level, but--it ain't no use kicking now, it is all done; only i want him to keep his hands off billy. there is a roomer on the floor below that has got a little girl who will come in and kinda look after billy when i am out. i can take him out for a walk every day and perhaps i can get him in one of those kids' schools for two or three hours in the afternoon. jim brought him up at night, and he was all sleepy and soft and warm and cuddled up to me just like a little kitten. i never noticed before how pretty he was, but i watched him as he lay there with his red lips half open and his long black lashes laying on his cheeks and his hair all curling around his face, and i just could not go to sleep for looking at him. he is too pale, i think. seems to me he ought to have more color in his cheeks. i suppose it is cause he hasn't had enough outdoor exercise that babies should have. roomers should not have kids. it don't seem just right to shut a baby up in four walls when he would like to run and play outside with other young things. but i am going to do the best i can by him, so don't you worry, he will be all right. jim is pretty sore about you getting pinched, and says he is going to leave town. the crowd is kinda scared, and i think they are going to scatter. irene went to st. louis the other day, cause she said the cops are getting too familiar with her face. i told the whole bunch what i thought of them, and that they had better clear out. do you remember jenny kerns? she was that little blond that use to clerk in siegel's store. she has got the room right next to me, and say, she is awful sick. i have been setting up nights with her till i am dippy for want of sleep. i think she is all in. i didn't let her know it, but i have sent for her mother. i snooped around her place the other night till i found her mother's address, and i wrote her a letter telling her just how jenny was, and that some one orter come and get her. jenny would kill me if she knew it, cause she don't want her folks to know what she is doing, but it seems too bad to have her die here alone in a rotten little room on 28th street when she has got a mother, who, no matter what she has done, would be glad to see her. say what you will kate, girls that have got mothers have a darned sight better chance than girls like you and me who was brought up on the street, and when she gets sick and lonely, no matter how tough she has been, if she can reach out her hand and touch her mother, she can sort of begin over again. i have been learning a lot of the new dances, and fred stillman and me took the prize the other night for the best hesitation waltz. i am going to try to get a job dancing in one of the restaurants. i am tired working like a dog in these cheap theatres, and i know i can dance as well as any girl on broadway. a crowd of us blew in the other night at that big dance hall at 59th street, and everybody stopped to watch me and fred. it kinda makes you feel good to know you can do anything well, if it is only tangoing, and i do love it! when i get a good partner it seems to me i hear voices calling, and the music ain't made just by some niggers in the corner, but it is just something speaking to me and something inside of me answers and i forget i am in a hall with a lot of people looking at me, i am just a dancing by myself to the things i hear. jim says you have fixed it with a guard so as you can get all the letters you want. i can't slip you over twenty dollars a month to save my soul. that orter be able to fix him enough, but if it ain't, let me know, cause you know kate, you can have every dollar i make except just enough to keep the kid a going, if it will make things easier for you. get me out a letter whenever you can. remember i am always thinking of you. _nan_. iii _dear kate_: i told you, didn't i, of sending for jenny kerns' mother. well, she come and she was just the kind you read about in story books. the moment i opened the door i knew who she was and i took her in my room and had her take her hat off and smooth her hair and try to make it easy about jenny. i told her she had been working too hard, and had caught cold and that if she was took home where she had the right kind of things to eat and real nursing, not just us girls going in when we had the time, that she would soon get all right. the mother could hardly wait until i had finished, and she sort of trembled all over. when i took her into jenny's room, jenny was laying with her eyes shut, not asleep, but just like she lays most of the time, and she looked so white and little and her lashes were so black against her white face, that i could see it went right into that mother's heart. she went up to the bed, and put her arms around jenny, and her face against hers, and said, "my little girl, mother's own little girl," and then i left, 'cause i am kinda soft, and i could see it was the hose cart for me. in about half an hour, i went in to see if they was hungry, and jenny was laying there with her mother's hand in hers looking as if she had found peace. i just wanted to put my arms around that little old fashioned woman and cry. you know, style don't seem to count when it is your mother. the old lady is going to stay until jenny is better, then they are going home, and i hope we will never see jenny again. being a chorus girl ain't her place. she belongs in a little town playing the church organ. but say, you would laugh to see the old lady. she don't fit in a rooming house in 28th street. she has a nice, sweet, old face and she combs her hair back from it, parted in the middle, and she smiles at all of us in a loving way, cause she thinks we have been good to jenny. and the girls! it is funny to see them when they first blow into the room and run into her. they look as if they saw a ghost, and then they set back quiet, and let her talk. she tells them all about iowa or wherever it is she is from, and about jenny when she was a little girl, and her father and her two brothers, and how sorry they were when jenny come to new york to study music, but they didn't want to stand in her way. all the girls come in whenever they have a chance and bring jenny some little thing from the delicatessen or some plants or flowers. her room is awful pretty, cause they keep it just filled with flowers. mary callahan took the mother out the other afternoon to a moving picture show. she didn't want to leave jenny, but we told her she must get out a little or she would get sick too. mary said that everyone stared at her, and some of the crowd at the corner were going to guy her, but she gave them one look, and they said nothing. i stayed with jenny and she talked about her mother all the time that she was gone and about the home and the little berg where she comes from. she is crazy to get back, cause i think she knows it won't be for long, and she wants to pass in her checks with the folks around her. she said to me, "oh, nan, i have had my lesson, and it has cost me dear, but i won't kick, as i wouldn't have been satisfied till i had tried it." but i thought, if all the preachers could bring up a few girls who think they want to try the great white way, and let them take a good look at jenny, it would be better than all their sermons. any girl with half a brain would say, "oh, little oskaloosa is good enough for me." no, i won't bring billy up to see you, kate. he is big enough to remember things, and i don't want him to know what a prison is, and his first remembrance of his mother must not be that he saw her behind the bars. i know you want to see him and i can understand it, because i love him too, but i would die without ever touching his hand rather than ever let him see me in stripes. he will be five years old when you get out kate, and he grows cunninger each day. he don't look a bit like jim, has got our curly reddish hair, and his eyes are blue like yours instead of brown like mine. i suppose i orter have his hair cut, as it is so thick and curly, but i can't bear to, as it is the only thing he has of mine, and i like to look at it, and feel he is a little bit like me. i make him up a bed at night on the morris chair, cause jenny's mother sleeps with me, and do you know, at night when she is sound asleep if she hears jenny cough, she raises up and listens and if it don't stop right away, she slips out of bed and goes into her room. i tell you, i am going to have a mother some day if i have to get you to steal one for me. yours, _nan_. iv _dear kate_: i ain't wrote you for quite a time, cause i have been in a lot of trouble, and so busy and kinda tired out that any time i set down long enough to write a letter, i go to sleep. billy had an awful accident. i was making some hot chocklate in my room, and he pulled the pan over on him and burned his hand and arm and shoulder. i took him to st. vincent's hospital and they fixed him up, but said he didn't look well and i orter leave him there awhile. they put him in a ward with a lot of other babies, and i go every day to see him. he can set up now and play. i take him up something every time i go, and some things for the other kiddies too. there are twelve little tads in the room, and they are awful good when you think that they are sick. one little kid had both his hips broke, and he lies on his back with his feet in a sling that holds his legs straight up and he plays with his toys and talks to himself and never whimpers except when he sees the doctor come in the ward. then his face gets awful scared, and his eyes get big and black with a helpless look of fear in them, cause he knows the doctor means changing his bandages and that hurts. the doctors and the nurses talk and handle the children just as if they loved them. there is a little boy in the bed next to billy who is only six months older than billy, and he looks something like him. he has got billy's blond curls, and great big eyes, only he is much stronger. i suppose it is because he lives in the country. his mother is an english woman with an awful funny accent, but i like her real well. she lives out in new jersey, somewhere on a little farm. her kid is going to leave next week, and she asked me to bring billy and come and see her. i told her i would, but lord, i don't believe i know where new jersey is. when i come to think of it, i ain't never been even to hoboken. all the united states of america i know is bounded on the north by 59th street, and on the south by 14th street, on the east by third avenue, and the sun sets on seventh avenue for me. i never stopped to think that people lived anywhere else, but i suppose all these folks that we see chasing up and down with packages in their hands must be going somewhere. you know, kate, we ain't never been in the country in our lives. honest, i don't believe we have ever seen real grass and i never wanted to before, but when i saw the look in that little woman's face, and how different her baby was than billy, i kinda thought i would like to see how she lived. i wonder if country kids do have a better time than city kids? we had an awful good time, if doing just as you please is having a good time. do you remember how you used to shake my teeth out for following the hand organ men around town? it is funny we young ones didn't get run over or killed, the way we was always in the streets. it might have been all right, but i would hate to see billy bringing himself up the way i did. oh, kate, he is the cutest thing! he has a cot in the corner of the room facing the doorway, and i step in the door and stand there a minute until he looks up, and then his face all changes and breaks in little dimples and smiles, and he holds out his arms to me and says, "nannie, my nannie is tum." why you know, i all choke up and i hold him close in my arms and talk to him and play with him until the nurse comes with their suppers, and all the visitors must leave. i go back to the room which is empty without him. it is funny what a change a baby brings to a place, and how it makes home out of a bum little six-dollar-a-week room. i didn't put his things away when he was took to the hospital, cause i like to see them laying around. his shoes look so funny under the bed setting by mine, and i got a lot of his clothes hanging up on a line behind the door. i washed lots of his clothes out myself, not so much to save the money as i like to be a doing something for him. i must say you dressed him nice, kate, his clothes looked so pretty when they was all ironed and hung up in a row and his funny little white stockings--don't he wear them out fast? when i undressed him at night, if there was a hole in his stocking, he would wiggle his little pink toe out of it and point to it and say, "naughty, naughty billy." the girls in the place were just crazy about him, but they gave him too much candy and fussed over him more than i liked, yet i hated to call them down, as the poor devils don't have a chance to see a baby often. mary callahan is sick. i want her to go to the hospital, but she won't do it. the other night coming home from the theatre in a lot of slush and snow, she caught an awful cold. she is all in. i fussed around her all morning and put a mustard plaster on her chest, which burned the skin all off and made her awful mad at me. she says she won't be able to cover it with make-up for a month, and it will mean a good fat call-down from the manager, but between you and me, she will have time to get a brand new skin before she will be able to show up at work again. well, so long, old girl. i must go to bed. gee, how i do miss billy. night-times i used to have to lift him over on his own side, cause he would lay cross wise on the bed, and when i would get in it would be all warm where his little body had been. oh, kate, he is the dearest kid! i bought him a funny little jumping jack to-day. you pull a string and a man's neck goes away out and i can just see billy's eyes and hear his funny laugh when he first sees him. _nan_. v _dear kate_: i got a lot to tell you cause things have shaken up a bit. do you remember that little english woman who had a baby in the hospital next to billy? well, i went out to see her one sunday. it was such a nice, warm spring day, just seemed as though i had to do something different, and the greatest shock i could give my system was to leave the pavements of new york for a time. i dressed billy in a blue velvet coat i bought at macy's, and he had on a blue hat over his little red curls, and his shoes had dark blue tassels on the front of them, and he looked cunning enough to eat. he was so proud of his tassels that he showed them to everybody in the street car and in the train. it took us almost two hours to get out there, and the people met us with a horse and buggy and drove us to their house. why, kate, i didn't know there was such places! the house is on a side hill with great trees around it, and in the front of it is a little lake with ducks and geese swimming on it. they had a great big stable opening on to a pasture where there was calves and cows and horses and pigs. i think i stood half an hour looking at the pigs. it is funny, but i always thought a pig a sort of a ham hanging up in the window of a delicatessen, instead of being a live, friendly animal that will come when you call it. there were a lot of chickens, white leghorns, i think the woman called them, and they looked friendly and home-like wandering around the place talking and singing to themselves like a bunch of happy women. mrs. smith let me feed them. she gave me a milk pan full of corn and told me to hit on its edge with a spoon, and they came flocking from every direction, some half flying, half running, as if they were afraid they would miss the party. they were so tame that i had to hold the pan up high to keep some of the sassy roosters from climbing into it. mrs. smith knows them all and can tell if one is missing, though they all look alike to me. she says she hates to kill them cause it seems like eating some of the family. her husband laughed and said, "i will tell you the tragedy of the wrong hen." he said, "you know once a week we have chicken pot pie, and for seven days mary goes mourning around wondering which one of her precious chickens she can part with,--and live. we hear the virtues and the vices of each old biddy, cause my wife loves each feather. the other day after heart breakening talks mary decided that peggy could be killed, and a motherly old hen who wanted to set should be tied up. we caught them at night and put a blue string on peggy, and a white string on the motherly hen, and tied them to the ice-house door. mary took an hour and a half to explain to me that the chicken with the blue string was to be eaten, and she of the white string was to be left tied to the ice-house door until her longings toward motherhood would stop. in the morning when i went out to see those chickens, blest if i could tell which was to be killed, and which was not, but i thought i would take my chance on the fattest, and i took her head off. i suppose you noticed mary's eyes--it was the wrong head." billy and the kid played out-doors all day and his face got sun burnt and his eyes sparkled, and he looked just like another baby. her boy is only six months older than billy, but he is so much bigger, and it just makes me sick to think i can't give this to billy and let him have a chance to grow up big and strong like other boys. all the way in on the train, i kinda cussed under my breath, to think i had to take him back to that dirty little room, and the girls who were always talking to him and feeding him things he orter not have, and him a hearing things that perhaps he will remember when he grows up, and it may make him do a lot of thinking by himself. i wish i could do something, but i don't know what i can do. i feel helpless, as if my hands was tied down by my sides, and i couldn't get them loose. good-bye, i am kinda sore to-night. seems to me we got in wrong somewhere, kate, and i don't know where nor how. it ain't your fault, and it ain't mine, but it don't seem to me we have had our chance like other women have. i saw a picture the other day on a calendar. it was a happy looking woman dressed in a long blue gown carrying a baby up a beautiful stairs with flowers everywhere, and they were looking over her shoulder at the father down below. now, can you imagine anything nicer than that to be in a home of your own with a pretty dress on, your baby in your arms, going to put it in its bed and your husband looking up at you proud? nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to be afraid of. that is the biggest kind of heaven i know, but i guess it ain't for us. we got in wrong from the start, but oh, kate, i do wish things was different. i don't care so much for myself, but i do want to get billy out of this life where thieving and being a crook is the natural thing, and a person on the level is looked upon as being queer. sometimes when i see billy do some little thing or have a look in his face like jim, my heart most stops beating. i don't pray, but i do say, "oh, if there is such a thing as a god, don't let billy grow up like his father." and, there are a lot of your little ways that i would just as soon not see cropping out in him. well, good night, i am glad you are getting along so well. i can't send you any money this time, cause i am flat broke since i paid your storage bill, but i will give you twenty next month. do write me a decent letter, kate. your last letter was simply a touch from the beginning to the end, and between you and your friends, i am kept pretty well cleaned up. _nan_. vi _dear kate_: say, but i am a happy girl! what do you think, billy and me is in the country. i am going to stay a week, and billy is going to stay always, i hope. after i had made that first visit to mrs. smith, i kept seeing that place with the pigs and the chickens and the trees and the lake and the nice green grass and the kids rolling over on it, and the room here got smaller and hotter, and billy got whiter, and i felt i couldn't stand it, so i sat down and wrote mrs. smith, and asked her if she wouldn't take billy to board. she was real nice and came over to see me one day, and ended up by taking me and billy back with her. she asked me to stay a week so billy would get used to her and the place and not be lonesome. the manager kicked, but i said i was sick, and i got a week's leave. mrs. smith offered to take billy for nothing, but i wouldn't stand for that and we settled on $3.50 for his board. i offered to pay more, but she would not listen to me. she says he will be company for her baby, and that two is easier to take care of than one anyway. this life here don't seem real to me. i went to bed at nine o'clock, which i don't remember i have ever done in my life before. even as a kid i was on the streets until ten or eleven o'clock and, in the last three years, three in the morning has been my bye-bye time. i went up to a little room under the roof, and lay awake until almost morning, hearing such a lot of strange sounds that i was as nervous as a hen. there was a big tree by the corner of the house, and its branches would swish across the roof as if a ghost was trying to get in the window. talk about the quiet of a country night, i never heard so many sounds in all my life and they all seemed sad. the little frogs go chug, chug, as if their hearts was broken, and every once in a while, the tinkle of the cow-bell from some pasture down below, would come to me. there is a night bird called the whip-o-will that set in a tree up near the barn and called another one across the lake whose answer i could just hear. there is a funny animal up here called the bull-frog, who sets upon a log over at the back of the lake and hollars at his friends. the first time i heard them, it nearly scared a lung from me, but now i lie in bed and laugh when they commence. i thought the smiths were joshing me when they showed me the little thing that made such a big noise. wouldn't it be nice if we could make a noise as big according to our size as the bull-frog does to his? i know lots of people that i would like to sit on a log and hollar at. it seemed i had just shut my eyes when they called me to breakfast, but it was beautiful. we ate out in front of the kitchen door and saw a gray mist rise over the lake all turning to rose when the sun touched it. it looked like a pink silk dancing petticoat under a gray chiffon skirt. did you ever eat at a table under a great big tree looking out on the water? you know you eat different. you eat slow, and you think of the things you love, the things you have read about, and of what you would like to be. the toast seems crisper, and the coffee tastes better, and you forget the rotten crowd and old new york and the hot, dry streets and the childs restaurants and the dance halls and the whole bum world. then our evenings are so happy! we row around the lake and afterwards come home and water the flowers. we must pump the water from the pump in the kitchen and carry it in pails. i had one side of the lawn and mrs. smith had the other side, and last night my flowers took fifteen pails. it makes my back ache, and the pump coughs as if it had the t. b., but the flowers are so pretty, and they look so happy and so old fashioned in the big green tubs, that i am willing to do anything for them. mrs. smith has learnt me their names. there are pansies with purple and yellow faces, and proud red dahlias, and china astors and hollyhocks against the wall, and flox all mixed together in a way that shows, as mrs. smith says, that there is no social standing in the country. there are some poor tea roses that by mistake got planted in a bed of merrigolds, and they are not doing very well and act unhappy. each morning i go over them all and take away the foolish green worms that always crawl back in the night, although i throw them over the fence. then, when all the "chores," as mr. smith calls them are done, we shut the boat-house door and set on the veranda and watch the moon as it goes down over the tree tops. it shines so beautiful through the pine trees at the edge of the lake. everyone is quiet. even the babies snuggle down in our arms and stop their chattering. there are two great toads that live under the front veranda, who come out on the walk and look at each other as only toads in love can look, and there is a cricket in the tree down by the lake that calls to a lady cricket who lives over by the ice house. she answered lovingly for two evenings, but i guess now she is gone, and he sets in his lonely tree, and calls and calls, and no soft-voiced cricket says, "yes, dear." there is a loud-voiced cricket that sets near the boat-house door, and says, "come to me, come to me," and i fear my lady cricket has gone to him. then we take our little lamps and go to bed, and i have the baby near me if i want to speak to him. i use to have to read till i couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, but now sleep seems to come to me just like a friend. some way i feel that this is the right life, and if i only could live it long enough, i might become a woman after all. _nan_. vii _dear kate_: i have had the grandest week. it is billy's birthday, and i come out to stay two days with him and have stayed on and on and won't go back until next monday. i brought out both the kids a white pique suit and white shoes and stockings, and they look awful cunning. i always buy something for paul, because it seems kind of selfish to give to billy and not to the other one. i don't think the smiths have much money. he was a teacher in a school in england, and his health broke down and he come to america because he thought he could do better here, but i don't think every thing is going just as he thought it would. his brother is in australia, and is doing fine, and i guess they wish that they had gone there instead. he is an awful nice man and knows all about the birds, and the trees, and the flowers, and he tells it to me and it has changed lots of things for me, because i know all the sounds now and what they mean, and they talk to me instead of being just noises. i am learning to be a housekeeper, and "i help round," as mrs. smith says, all day. we washed monday and i never knew it took such work to just wash clothes. i have washed handkerchiefs and some of billy's things up in my room, but here we wash sheets and pillow cases and table clothes and shirt waists. talk about shirt waists! i use to tell mrs. murphy that did mine up, that she was an old thief, cause she charged me twenty cents for them, but now i know she earned her money all right. first mrs. smith soaked the clothes over night with some white powder in the water. then mr. smith fished the washing machine out of the lake where it was put where its seams would swell up, and i turned the handle of the thing, till i thought my arm would come off, but it was rather fun, as it was out-of-doors and i could watch the chip-monks as they come looking for scraps from the kitchen. there is some squirrels in the trees, and they look so pretty setting up on their haunches with their long bushy tails curled over their backs, nibbling away at a nut. if i lived in the country, i wouldn't keep a cat, because it kills the chip-monks and birds. the young black birds are just now trying to leave their nests, and sometimes they fall out and set on the ground under the bushes and call their father and mother with a funny little chirp sound, and the cat hears it and creeps with her stomach close to the ground till she is close to the baby bird, and then pounces like lightening on him, and the poor little chap cries for help most like a human baby. the mother bird will fight for her little ones, as long as she can, and sometimes i wish she would peck the old cat's eyes out. i spent a good share of my time chasing the cat from place to place, but even after doing that and watching the chip-monks and squirrels and stopping to keep the children from falling off the dock, i got the washing done at last, and mrs. smith rinsed and blued the clothes and hung part of them up on a line and part she spread on the grass to bleach. my clothes looked surprised as they never found themselves in such a place before, laying on nice clean grass with the hot sun blazing down on them. they seemed sort of happy, and they took such odd positions that i looked at them in wonder, hardly knowing my old friends. but they got whiter and whiter, and we gathered them in when the dusk come and they smelled so sweet, that i am sure i will have to carry clean thoughts for the rest of the week. mrs. smith lets me gather the vegetables for dinner. every morning after the dishes are washed, i go across the road to the garden and pick the string-beans and gather summer squash and grub around the nice smelly earth for potatoes. i get the dirt all under my finger nails, and can just see the duchess at gimble's who manicures me, when she takes my lily-white hands in hers next time. i pick the cucumbers from the vines, and i never in all my life saw such big tomatoes. then we come down the path, billy carrying a cucumber in each hand, because they don't break if he drops them, and paul with a summer squash swinging by the neck, and me with my apron piled full of things that smell of the vines. there is nothing to drink up here, and i don't miss it and i don't bring cigarettes with me. my friends think it ain't nice to smoke, and i would not hurt them for worlds. their friendship and the love they show me is worth more than all the drinks or smokes in little old new york. why, i would give up anything just to see the look in their faces when they meet me at the station, and i know they really want me to come. it rained yesterday, not a dull, drizzling rain like we have in the city, but a happy "i am good for you" rain, that washed old mother earth's face and left quiet gray shadows on the lake. i never thought i could think a rain was pretty, but yesterday it was just beautiful as it came down slantwise on the water. we heard it coming long before it got to us, sounded just like the patter patter of soft footed things on a chifon carpet, and way across the lake we could see a blue-gray wall that come nearer and nearer till it got to us. then when the rain was finished, the lake looked like a dull looking glass with every leaf and tree showing in its face. the birds began to call to one another again, and the robbins came out on the lawn looking for worms. there is one saucy robbin who comes toward me and cocks his little head and says, "am i not a little dandy? do i not hold myself as a gentleman should?" then he finds a big fat worm and pulls and tugs until he gets him loose and flies away to his wife and babies because, although his vest is far too gay for a person who is the main support, quite likely of a large and growing family, he don't seem to have the air of a bachelor. there is a loon at the other end of the lake that laughs just like a person, and twice i have seen a big bird walking around on the edge of the water that mr. smith says is a blue heron. when we go up into the woods, little red lizzards with gold spots run across the path, and the babies try to get them. i have been fishing twice, but i won't do it no more, as i can't bear to take the hooks out of the fish's mouth, so when the others go i will stay on shore and watch the funny water-bugs that make such big jumps. if we could jump like them, one good hop would take us from 14th street to the grand central, and there would be no use for the subway. i just live out-of-doors, setting on the veranda watching the mist rise over the lake, or, when i am not helping mrs. smith, spending long hours lying flat on my back looking up at the sky and wondering if there is some path for me, and if i will ever find it. i think it is good to get close to the ground, and i tell it all my secrets. it gives me strength, and a sort of hope i never had before. oh, kate, i am so happy here! you know i have been hungry all these years and didn't know it, just hungry for friends. i wanted love that you didn't have to watch, and these people give it to me. they show me that they want me and i have a part in their life, eat the things they eat and hear their home talk and am just one of them. you know i never tasted food, no matter how much it cost, that tastes so good as it does out here. it ain't just the things, if you got lots of money you can buy them, but it is the something that goes with the "why, come right in, you are in time for dinner." if it was only potatoes and salt, the way they offer it to you makes it better than a dinner party at martin's. in the afternoon, we have tea and bread and butter and preserves that mrs. smith has made herself. she is english you know, and says she could not go without her afternoon tea any more than she could go without her breakfast. and we set and talk and laugh and i feel as if there was such a thing as windows in one's soul, mine are all open to the sunlight for the first time. good night, kate dear. do i seem sort of stupid to you? i know you wouldn't like it here, as it is too far from broadway, but i love it! we have been out on the water all evening, each sitting in our end of the boat with a lot of pillows at our back and looking at the moon. you know i never seemed to have known the moon before, he is a new friend that i have made at lake rest, and life will never be quite the same now i have known him. he makes me dream and i plan such a happy future for you and me and billy, and when i look at him there is nothing but rose leaves in life. but--well--it is a new moon now, i wonder what the old moon will say. lovingly, _nan_. viii _dear kate_: it is raining and i am staying in the room cause i bit my tongue last night and i can't talk. i am sore. sometimes i think i will never do a good trick for a person as long as i live, and then, when the time comes i am always mr. easymark. last night i was coming along home after work about two o'clock, and it was cold and rainy and a miserably bum night. at the corner of sixth avenue i saw a fellow all sort of hunched up, walking along as if he had a jag. as i went by him i saw it was fred dennis, and he sure looked all in. he was shaking as if he had chills and fever, and i stopped and asked him what was the matter. he said he just come out of the hospital where he had typhoid. between you and me, i think he had been in the jag ward at bellevue, but that was none of my business, and he sure needed help. he said he was stone broke, that he didn't have the price for a ten-cent lodging house, and he give me a touch. first i thought i would cough, then i looked in his shifty eyes, and i knew he would go straight to kelly's and get a drink and take a chance of sleeping on the floor, so i said to him, "you come up to my room, and i will make you some hot cocoa, and you go to bed in a _bed_. that is what you need, or you will be costing the city a funeral." i sneaked him up to the room and had him put on that old japanese wadded wrapper of mine and get in bed, and i made him some hot cocoa. his teeth chattered like they was playing a tune, but i piled all my bed clothes on him and my winter coat and most of my clothes and when he got warm, i went in and slept with myrtle seaman. she has only a single bed, and i went to turn over in the night and fell out and bit my tongue. say, but it is sore. it seems to fill my whole mouth, and i spend most of my time setting in front of the looking glass to see if the swelling is stopped. but my tongue ain't half as sore as i was, when i went into my room this morning thinking i would make fred some coffee and give him a half a dollar, so as he could get a square meal. now what do you think that piker had done? he had copped everything in my room that he could hock. he took my black bag, my winter coat, my new green silk petticoat that i got to wear with my slit skirt, the buckles off my dancing slippers, and the little silver frame that had billy's picture in it. my can of cocoa was gone and he even sneaked the bottle of milk in front of the door. can you beat that for nerve! now, the next time i see a bum standing on a corner, shaking his teeth out with the cold, he can stand there and scatter his pearls from 14th street to 42nd for all me. i am just sore to-day. i have been a setting here and a thinking that this game ain't worth it. there must be something better somewhere than living from hand to mouth with people that would steal the pennies off your eyes. you can't tell where you stand with any of them. they will be good to you one minute, and the next minute do you a dirty trick. just like ethel rooney who sat up three nights running with mamie callahan when she was sick, then pinched her only pair of slippers. i believe crooks have something wrong down deep inside of them. they never do nothing like other people. their hearts are good, they will go to the pen for a friend rather than peach on him, and yet that friend wouldn't trust him alone in his room with a five dollar bill, and the women--if they don't steal each other's money, they steal each other's fellows if they're left around careless-like. i sent your letter to jim, and i told you before, i paid the storage man. don't get so blue, it won't be long, and i am doing everything i can for you. you are always a kicking at me, kate, and i am a doing the best i know how. i am working like a dog, and i don't spend a cent for myself more than i have to. i am a thinking of you, kate, and i love you even if you do seem to always have a grouch against me. yours, _nan_. ix _dear kate_: i haven't wrote you for a long time, cause i know you will be sore at what i am going to tell you, and i was afraid you would tell some of the old crowd where i was, and they would queer me in some way. i have been doing housework, kate. yes, i can see you throw a fit as you read it, but it will tell you one reason why i have not been able to send you any money the last two months. i had been dancing steady for a long time and i got dead tired of the crowd. the bum faces and the cheap girls and the dirty restaurants and the fresh waiters got on my nerves and it even spoiled my work. mrs. smith has been after me for a long time to leave it. she just talks to me and talks to me every time i go over there. i got half sick and went over to lake rest for a couple of weeks, and i used to lie at nights up in my room a hearing the sounds and a feeling the quiet, and in some way it made me hate the sidewalks and the hot dusty streets and the dance halls and the nights when i was up till morning and the days when i was a feeling like a boiled owl. i talked it all over with mrs. smith and she didn't want me to do clerking, cause i would still have to live in a room, and it is the people in the rooming houses she is dead sore at. she wants me to do something that will take me away from the crowd. then she asked me if i would be willing to do house work. i told her i would be willing to try scrubbing, that sometimes it seemed that any old thing was better than what i have been doing for the last seven years. but i told her i didn't know nothing about housework, as i don't remember ever having been in a real house except hers. i lived in furnished rooms all my life but i was willing to learn and it seems to me if you are only willing to try, you can learn anything. i stayed with her two weeks, and she showed me how to cook potatoes, to fix meat, and i think the first day i made an apple pie all by myself, i nearly bust with pride. why, kate, there is a joy in just making something. to take some apples and some flour and butter and lard and to fix it all yourself, then take it out of the oven crisp and hot and have some one say, "ain't that fine"! why, you feel you have really _done_ something. it must be like when an artist paints a great picture. i had _made_ something, something that is a part of me. the last week i was there, she let me get all the meals, and if i ever marry a man, i would want to do all the cooking myself. i don't think there could be any bigger happiness for a woman who really loved her man, than to see him eat the food that she had fixed with her own hands, and if i could hear a man of mine say, "pass me them biscuits, nan," or "you sure can make good gravey," well--i would have all that is coming to me. i learned to set a table and how to put the right knives and the right forks in the right places, and i always put a bowl of flowers in the middle. sometimes they was yellow nasturcheons, and i would mix them in with leaves and put them in a big yellow bowl and they would make the food taste better just to look at them. often the babies and me would go out in the fields and get great arms full of daisies and i would put them in with some pretty ferns we had around the house, or else i would gather red poppies, and wheat and it would make it look as if all out-doors was a growing on the table. mrs. smith showed me how to make a bed just right, and to dust and sweep, to iron the clothes and to do all the things that women must know if they keep a house clean. but finally she said she thought i would do, and one day she went over town to a friend of hers that lives up in the bronx. what she told her i don't know, but anyway i got a job and i went over to my room and packed my things, and i have been here two months. it was hard at first, as i didn't know how to manage, and couldn't make my head save my legs. but i got along somehow, although at night i used to be so dead tired that two or three times i cried myself to sleep. the woman ain't as nice as mrs. smith, she is kind of suspicious of me, and watches me a lot, and she feels i ought to know more than i do and tells me to do things without telling me how. but i am going to stick it out. the main trouble is that it is devilish lonesome. at night after i get the dishes done, there ain't no place to go except a little room which looks out on a courtyard, and there is nothing to do and nobody to talk to, and i set by myself trying to think things all over. sometimes i think i am a fool to work like a dog a whole week and only get six dollars for it, and then again i remember all mrs. smith said to me, and the nice letters she writes me telling me to be brave and that i am doing the square thing. my afternoons off i don't take, because i don't want to see the old crowd, and i don't know no one else. every two weeks i have been over to see billy, but it costs quite a lot, and after i pay $3.50 a week for his board, i ain't what you call a j. d. rockefeller. i used always to take the kid some little thing, but now it has to be so darned little you can't see it. the woman next door has got a baby, and she knits things for it, and i asked the woman i worked for if she would ask the woman to learn me how to knit. she was awful nice about it, and i bought a lot of white yarn, and nights up in my room i made billy and paul each a jacket, and now i am making them some mittens, so when it gets cold they can wear them when they play outside. next week after i get my pay, i am going to get some of that grey pusey yarn and make them each a cap. one night i got so blue i almost died, and i went downtown to see irene who is back from st. louis. i had an awful good time, a lot of fellows and girls come into irene's room, and i sent one of the boys out for some oysters and showed them some fine stunts i could do with the chafing dish. they was crazy to know where i was and what i was doing but i wouldn't tell them, as i knowed they wouldn't understand. i suppose there is something wrong in me somewhere, but it seemed awful nice to see all the crowd again, and hear them talk and laugh and even the old cigarette smoke smelled good. there didn't one of them seem to have any trouble nor have to work hard, and i thought of how they could sleep in the morning, and how i would have to get up when my old alarm clock went off at half past six. for a minute i thought i wouldn't go back, then i thought of mrs. smith and how bad she would feel if i didn't stick, so i said, "oh, me for my little room," and i left the crowd at half past ten, sort of the middle of the day for most of them. but i ain't been unhappy, though i didn't know there was so little money in the world. why, it seems funny not to be able to buy anything at all. when you look in the shop windows and see all the fluffy petticoats and the pretty collars and the silk stockings and the fancy shoes, and you know you can't buy one of them, it makes you feel sore all over. why, i think every body ought to take their hat off to a pretty girl who is pegging along on six or eight a week, and who wants pretty things just the same as all women do and who knows all she has got to do is to give a little nod to get them, i say, _them_ is the people that ought to have a statue up on that hall of fame on the hudson. i had to buy two maid's dresses when i come here, plain black with little white collars and cuffs, and in the afternoon the woman makes me wear a dinkey little cap on my head which makes my hair look curlier than ever though i brush it down as best i can. callers kind of looked surprised when they see me first, i guess cause i am kind of thin now and my eyes sort of fill my face. billy is looking fine. he is most as big as paul and he has learned a lot of things. mr. smith takes the kids with him in the woods and billy knows the names of trees and plants and can tell the robin's call from the blue bird's whistle. mrs. smith reads little stories to the children and they know their a b c's already, and by the time billy is ten, he will have lots more book-learning than i have now. now don't write me a rotten letter, kate, and don't put any of the gang on to try to queer me nor to try and come and talk to me, cause house work ain't no joke for a person who ain't never done nothing, and sometimes i feel all in and something told me at the wrong time, might make me throw the whole thing up. and i don't want to. i want to make good if it is only at housework, and if i can, i am going to stick to it till there's skating down below. _nan_. x _dear kate_: i am back in my old room and i guess there is where i belong. i did intend to stick, and i didn't think i would ever see this old room again, but here i am, and guess here i will stay. you know i was getting along real well in that place where i worked, and things got much easier, as i kind of learned to save my steps and plan the work, and it didn't make me so tired as it did at first. i had saved up twelve dollars too, and was going to buy billy's winter clothes and send you five, then the darn thing fell. i had been over on sunday to see billy and was chasing along home about half past ten at night along 33rd street to catch the subway, when one of them old rounders passed me by and stuck his old face down into mine and as i didn't say nothing, he kept chasing after me and saying something in a low voice. i pretended i didn't hear and went on a little faster and he kept right after me. when we got near to fourth avenue, he came up close to me and said, "don't be in such a hurry, little girl," and i didn't say nothing, then he stuck his face right down into mine and said something, and it just made me sick, and before i knew what i did i slapped his dirty old mouth for him. he stood still a minute, and almost turned white and then what do you think the piker did? he called the cop from the corner and had me arrested for speaking to him. it was casey who knew me and i told casey he was a liar, and casey said to the man, "are you going to court and make a charge against this girl?" and the man says, "i am, and if you don't take her i will have you broke." i honestly think casey believed me, but he couldn't do nothing, and they took me down to jefferson court. i hoped i would never see that place again, but there i was with the girls and the bums and the plain closemen and the cops and the shister lawyers and the probation officer who knew me at once as your sister, and i kinda felt i was up against it. but i told my story straight to the judge, and the man told his, and of course the judge took his word against mine and he fined me ten dollars or ten days. when i thought of that ten dollars and what it meant and how hard i had saved and scrimped for it, and how i had gone without things and that billy wouldn't have the winter things that he ought to have, i just lost my head and i told the judge he was an old fool, that if he couldn't tell a lie from the truth, he had not orter be a setting up there like an old brooding hen. i told him he didn't see nothing but crooks, and he couldn't tell a crook from a decent person and then he got back at me by saying, "_did_ i say ten dollars or ten days, i made a mistake, i meant ten dollars _and_ ten days," and i had to go to the island. i don't think i was ever so broke up in my life, it didn't seem i was getting a square deal. i suppose i did say things i shouldn't have, cause i was so mad i couldn't see and then i cried all night. i wrote a letter to mrs. smith and told her just how it was and asked her to go and see the woman i worked for and tell her about it and not blame me. now, mrs. smith believed me and came over to see me on the island but that other woman didn't believe me and went down to the night court and saw the probation officer and i guess she got the idea you built the jefferson court with your fines. anyway, she said she didn't want me in her house no more. i guess she is afraid i would hurt the dishes. when i got out i went up to see her and her face was hard and nasty and she wouldn't take my word at all. i asked her if she seen a thing out of the way for four months, if i hadn't done my work right and if i hadn't stayed in nights and been as good as any girl she ever had. she said "yes" to them all, but she didn't believe in encouraging vice and she never could tell what i might do because i come of a bad family. she got your record from a to z and she even knew about father and she acted as if she thought perhaps, that all the cussedness of the family was stored up in me and might have busted any minit. well, it made me all sore, and i come right down to the old room and told mrs. murphy that she quite likely would have me for the rest of her life, i had all i wanted a working. i went out that night to kelly's dance hall and danced till closing time trying to forget my troubles. it did make me forget because i can dance, kate, and if i ain't a fine dish washer nor fit to be in somebody's kitchen, i sure can tango. i fished out all my pretty clothes again and done them two maid's dresses up in a wad and threw them under the bed. it is me for the slit skirt and the high heeled slippers, and i am going to be the best dancer on broadway or know the difference. yours, _nan_. xi _dear kate_: i have been dancing at rudolph's, it is awful hard work there and the hours are long, but it is better than it was down at the corner inn. i am working up, kate, and i expect one of these days to be dancing on broadway. the manager from casey's come in and watched me dance the other night, and he said he thought i was the lightest thing on my feet in new york. billy flynn is my partner now, and he is working real hard. we go mornings to a teacher up at 59th street who learned me a lot of new steps. we practise most every afternoon. i have met some of the other dancers in the cabarets and they are mostly a nice lot of girls. it ain't so hard for me as it is for some of them, as i have been dancing all my life, and i only have to see a new step once to be able to do it. i don't see why the people are against dancing, it is awful good for everybody. why, you see old men and women that never done nothing before but stay at home and read the christian advocate, dancing in the restaurants, and it makes them forget all their troubles. dancing makes you say with your body what you would like to say with your tongue, and you don't know how. lots of people have beautiful thoughts and they can't tell them, so they have to read books writ by people who say just what they think, but can't tell, or they go to the theatre and hear acted all the love and beautiful things that they would like to have come to them, but can't. with dancing they can say themselves all the things they feel and the swaying of their body in time to the music is just a telling the love and the romance and the poetry that is inside of them. why, when i am dancing with a good partner, i forget all the ugly things of life and it seems to me that if there ever is a god, he is a speaking to me and i sometimes feel as if i had wings and could fly right away with them. there is nothing wrong with the dancing itself, as i keep a telling mrs. smith. she wants me to leave it all the time, and of course in some of the places where i have to dance, there is a bum crowd and you do have to talk to the men and lots of the women that you wouldn't choose for your sister. i tell you i am going to work out of this, i am a good dancer and there ain't no reason why i shouldn't be working in the better places where the management won't allow the men to get fresh with the girls. if i live long enough and don't get paralyzed in my legs, you will see at the winter garden "nancy lane" in great big electric lights. i have been around some of them places and if i ever get a chance, i know i can do as well as the girls there now. why, kate, i would rather dance at the winter garden than have a front seat in heaven, and i got a mighty poor chance of either one, but i am going to try for them both. you know i believe when you want a thing real bad and just keep thinking of it night and day, you are going to get it some way and when you come out, kate, i think you are going to be straight, and you won't queer me as you have so many times, just when i was beginning to get along. i am sending you twenty. you ought to own that boarding house you are in, with the money i've sent you the last year. mamie callahan was in yesterday, she is working in a chorus somewhere. gee, she does look swell! she must have cost a thousand just as she stood. she wants me to go back to miner's, but the restaurants pay more. one of the boys i met the other night at kelley's wants me to join him and go dance out west somewhere, but i don't want to go so far away from billy. i know he would be all right with the smiths, but i kinda like to see him, and i am always planning little things about him and what he will say to me and what i will say to him and what i am going to buy him. i kind of feel that if i wasn't able to go out there once in two or three weeks, and touch him and play with his hair and wash his little hands and notice how he is growing out of his clothes, that i wouldn't care to live. the money i could earn wouldn't mean nothing without him. i had just as much happiness out of him when i was earning six dollars a week and i could only take him out a ten cent jumping jack, as i would if i was earning fifty and could buy him fur coats. babies just love, they don't think of the price of the thing you give them, but they seem to feel the heart behind it. billy put his arms just as tight around nannie's neck when she didn't have nothing in her hands for him, as when they was full. i heard through long dave that jim has been pinched in chicago, but they think he will get off. he struck me for fifty but i wouldn't cough up, he can go to the pen for all i care. i always did tell him that stripes become his style of beauty. you know he is like a lot of crooks that even hate to look at a barber's pole cause of the stripes on it, and when you stop to think about it, you never see a crook wear a striped suit of clothes. they will wear plain colors, pepper and salts, cheques, but no stripes for the con man, they make him nervous. i am coming down next week. i wish i could bring you something but i don't know what you could use. i am glad you are getting along so well, kate, you will get four months off, won't you? i miss you awful, you are the only one i can talk to, and though you don't see some things my way, you are my sister, the only mother i ever knew. i wish when you are quiet there, kate, you would think things over and decide to do different. you and me and billy could go away somewhere. you must see by this time, kate, that thieving don't pay. why you are only thirty-three years old, and you have had five years in the pen and you are getting bitter and sour and you will have a grouch against life, and you know you are awfully clever, if you could only turn your brain to something honest, i don't see why you couldn't get along. i believe we could save up some money and go somewhere and start a boarding house. i can cook real well, and i believe something could be doing in that line. billy had a party and it sure was some party. mrs. smith asked some of the farmers' children in, and she gave them cake, and i brought him out presents and give each of the children a toy. billy ate too much cake and was awful sick in the night. mrs. smith give him some medicine and he was all right the next day, and ready to eat more cake. why, he eats all the time, kate, and he is the fattest, biggest boy. we dress him awful swell. mrs. smith makes her boy's clothes and i help her and we made billy some funny little linen pants like a dutch baby, and he is the cutest looking thing. we cut his hair off square, but it still curls and don't look dutch at all. good night, i must go to bed. _nan_. xii _dear kate_: say, but i am having a good time! and what do you think? i am having my picture painted. some artist people blew into the cafe the other night, and after i had danced a couple of times they talked to the manager, then they asked me to come over and talk to them. i set down to the table and they were awful nice to me, didn't get fresh, but asked me a lot of questions about myself and where i learned to dance. i told them i could dance ever since i could walk, that i danced as a kid at coney island, and miner's theatre had got in trouble twice with the children's society because of me. i laughed and said, "why, i never _learned_ to dance, i just _danced_." the artist man said he wanted to paint my picture. it is a funny idea it seems to me. he wants to paint me in this dirty cabaret with the tables all around me and the bum men setting around and me a dancing in the center with the lights on me. he said he is going to call it "youth." he said to one of the men that was with him, "can't you see it, phillip, can't you see it? that pretty girl the very spirit of youth with her gold hair around her face and her wonderful body swaying to the time of the music and all those bloated beasts looking up at her through the smoke?" i don't see how he is going to paint the picture, but that is his business. mine is to go to his studio every day at ten o'clock. do you remember will henderson who used to play in the orchestra in the grand opera and who lived next to us when we was at 129? well, what do you think? he is playing the piano in this joint here. isn't that a come-down? he got to taking coke and he couldn't be trusted to keep his dates and he lost all his good jobs and now he can only get a place in the joints, but he does play wonderful! and when he is not too dopey, he sets down at the piano and makes music that draws the heart right out of you. he won't touch his violin cause it makes him remember, he says. it is a lucky thing for me in a way, as he likes me and he has wrote some music for me to dance by. he wrote a piece for me called "the poppy," and that artist chap who is painting my picture got me a dress made for the dance, and oh, kate, it is grand! it is red chiffon, and over it green chiffon like the leaves of the poppy, and i wear red slippers with pale green silk stockings that are so thin i can hardly get them on, and he had my hair all fluffed out and piled on top of my head, where it made a "golden halo," whatever that is. him and will explained to me about the dance. it seems that opium is made out of the flower, and they wanted me to show by dancing all the beautiful dreams that come with opium, and then the sleep afterward. i have known a lot of people who hit the pipe, and i don't know as they have ever had many beautiful dreams, but anyway the dance is awful pretty. the artist gave a party the other night, and had me come and do it. all the lights in the room was turned off and a greenish light was thrown on me and i danced fast at first and then i went slower and slower until at the last i dropped down on the stage and the lights went out and i run away in the dark. everybody was crazy about it, and one of the big restaurants on broadway is going to have me give the dance every night at midnight. do you see, kate, i told you if i got a chance i would get away from seventh avenue. i begun at 14th street, and i am working up. i am up to 42nd and one of these days, i tell you, i am going to be dancing at the winter garden. i don't see why i shouldn't, i can dance as well as any girl in new york city, and now that jim and your gang ain't around to queer me, there ain't no reason why i shouldn't be in the best places in town. i have had to stick to a lot of bum joints just because the managers of decent places didn't want to have a person who was mixed up with the crowd that i was in, around their place. i am really having an awful good time. i get home about three in the morning and i sleep until about nine. i make my breakfast in my room yet, cause i like my own coffee, and then jim kelly who is my dancing partner now, comes up and we practise steps or else will henderson and jim and me go over to mamie callahan's who has got a piano, and we work at some new thing. i don't have to be at the cafe till night and most every afternoon, i go around to some of the other places or to the shows to see what the other girls are dancing. i thought i would take some lessons from some of the swell teachers, but lord, i can dance as well as any of them so what is the use of me spending my money. i bought a swell new suit yesterday, and i sure do look some going up the avenue and, hear _me_, it is fifth avenue instead of seventh. oh, there is some class to your sister, kate, and when i get on the new lid that the milliner made me, well--i should worry. i went up to a party the other night at rose fisher's. i couldn't blow in until after work, but even as late as it was, i won $4.90 at penny ante, and it tickled me most to death. i have been trying to learn a new game called bridge that the girls are crazy about. i guess it is not in my line cause it is a thinking part. i can't remember what cards are out or what is trumps or what is anything else, and set sort of making over my old clothes or thinking up new steps when we are playing, and you can't do that with bridge. i lost a lot of money the other afternoon, and what is worse, katie regan was my partner and she took it hard and gave me an awful call-down. i got sore and felt like slapping her face, but i guess she is right. don't play a game with other people's money unless you attend to business. do you remember that fat old brewer that use to come hanging around you? well, he blew in while i was dancing the other night, and claimed to be a long lost friend. he come down every night for about a week, and then tried that old gag of putting some money for me in a wheat deal or some such thing where it was tails i win and heads you lose. i told him i was on to that chorus trick, and wasn't at all crazy about it. you see, whether he won or lost he would have handed me over three or four hundred dollars and kinda felt he owned me body and soul. i simply laughed at him, and said with a voice of a wall street broker, "man, i am making so much money that it is quite impossible to find investments for my income, so i am planting it around the yard in tin cans." i even offered to make him a loan if business was bad. he went away in a huff, and i got a call-down from the manager because the brewer owns the bar the same as he does all the other saloons around our district, and the saloon-keeper is only in on a percentage. if the temperance people would only go after the brewer and the distiller, instead of the poor devil of a saloon-keeper, they might do something worth while, cause there ain't one bar in twenty in new york that is owned by the man who keeps it. well, good-bye, i am going to dinner in a place in 39th street where they say they have an awful pretty dancer. i am saving up my money, kate, so when you come out, you will have enough to live on for awhile until you find out what you want to do. now don't worry, and don't write me any more letters like that last one. everything is fine and dandy. billy is all right, and i am as happy as a clam and getting fat. i have put on two pounds in three months. i weigh 118 now, which is a lot for me, and if i keep on like this i will look like taft one of these days. i am coming down to see you next week, and i have got something for you. oh, kate, i am fond of you and i get just crazy to see you. yours, _nan_. xiii _dear kate_: i have been working again. mrs. smith got at me about the dancing, not that she thinks the dancing is bad, but she don't like the places where i dance nor the people i have to be with, and she is dead sore at the rooming house where i live. she don't like the girls i float around with, and that hang around my room. i can't understand it, because they are all right, and i have known them kind of girls all my life. she came up to see me one afternoon, and there was half a dozen in the room, and the smoke was so thick you could cut it with a knife, and she cried after they left, and said a lot of rot about me being too good to throw my life away with them sort of people. she talked and she talked to me, and i thought i would try to work again, not but what dancing ain't work and there ain't nothing wrong with it either, but there is a hard crowd down at kelley's, and sometimes it kinda makes me sick. she talked to me a lot about billy, and said it will make a great difference in his life if he can look back to his folks as being respectable. i myself don't see why he should be any prouder of his aunt being a servant than he would be if she was a dancing girl, and i get thirty per for dancing, and only six little bucks for housework. i stayed awake two nights thinking about it, wondering if i was getting tough and didn't know it, cause things that i don't think nothing about at all, mrs. smith thinks awful, and she says that the longer you live in that kind of life and with people who have no "ideals"--whatever them is, one is just bound to go down. i don't want to go down, and i don't want to get so i will think crookedness is right, and that decent people are wrong, so i just piped it out to myself as i lay awake at night that i would give the honest work job another chance. i answered an "ad" in the paper. i got a place up on west end avenue. i stayed there two months, then i had bad luck again. i liked the place real well, and the people liked me, and i suppose i would have been there yet, if i hadn't of cut my hand, because, take it from me, kate i am a dandy housekeeper and i like it too. i can't imagine nothing nicer than having a little home of your own and taking care of it yourself. it even give me a little thrill to walk into some body else's kitchen and see it all clean and nice, the dishes and the glasses shining, and the pretty white cloth on the table, and a bird singing in a cage before the window, and know that all looked so home-like cause i made it so. if somebody else's kitchen can make me feel that way, if i had one of my own, i suppose i'd just naturally bust. the woman i worked for was one of those sort of no-good women who ain't bad or who ain't good, who is just _nothing_. she didn't do a thing around the house, didn't even take care of her own clothes. she read a little in the morning, then went down town every afternoon of her life, either to the theatres or to the restaurants or shopping. then at night as often as she could, she made her poor husband put on his dress clothes and go somewhere with her. they use to scrap a lot about it, as he was tired and generally wanted to put on a pair of old slippers and set and smoke and read. sometimes i use to wonder what she done to earn her board, as she wasn't as much of a help as a wife of a crook generally is. even you, kate, used to pass the leather on when jim pinched one, which was doing your share in buying your meal ticket. she was dippy on the dancing, and women used to come in the afternoon and dance with the victrola. i didn't let her know that i danced at first. one night i was a cutting bread and the knife slipped and cut my hand between my thumb and first finger. the woman was awful nice about it, and kept me on for two weeks. it didn't seem to get no better and the doctor thinks i poisoned it. i didn't have the nerve to stay there without doing something, so one day when she and some of her friends were dancing like a lump of cheese, i told her i would learn her the dance if she wanted me to, and--gee, didn't those females work me after that! they didn't care nothing about the housework. it could go hang, but morning, night and noon i was a holding some fat lady or some tall lady or some short one from breaking her neck, as she tried to do the castle glide or the maxixe. i must say my boss was generous, she was perfectly willing to loan me to all her friends and they grabbed after me like a cat after a mouse, cause they was getting five-dollar lessons for nothing. i stayed two weeks and i lost six pounds and my hand didn't heal none and i didn't see where i was doing any better being a private dancing teacher for a lot of fool women who really think no better than a lot of the girls i had to go with, but who only know how to say it better. here i was working harder for six a week and at the same kind of work, than i would be if i was dancing at thirty, so i told the woman i must go. i spent all my money with the doctor and i didn't know what to do, as i didn't want to go back to my room. mrs. smith was awful nice and told me to come with her. i did and i am there now. my hand is a little better but i still can't do much work and have to keep it tied up. i can't wash dishes, nor do nothing where it will get wet. billy has learned his letters and he knows a lot of stories, especially bible stories out of a book that is full of pictures. he is awful funny. he was showing me the book the other day, and he come to an old man with long whiskers and i said, "who is that old guy, billy?" and he looked at me so shocked and said, "why, aunt nannie, where have you been? that is moses," and he told me all about him and the israelites which is another name for jews. i said if he has got anything to do with jews, i orter know something about them, cause there ain't much else in new york, yet they ain't much in my line, as i just naturally hit the irish. do you remember rosie o'grady who got married about three years ago? well, she is only twenty years old now. she has got a kid and supporting it herself. that fellow she married was a coke fiend, and she fired him, and she is doing real well. her brother is a driver at mccreey's, and between them they hire a little flat down on 20th street and her mother takes care of the baby and they are real happy. i went down to see her the other night. a lot of women live there who scrub offices or go out washing or do any kind of day work they can get. most every one of them support a drunken husband. one woman next door to rosie has both her husband and her brother on her hands, and her brother has been full for three months and that poor woman goes out washing to give these good-for-nothing men their food. i'd let their stomachs grow to their back bone before i'd feed them. you see an awful lot of drink down around eighth avenue, and it seems like it is done by the men that most need the money. yet i suppose when they are out on the wagon all day in the cold and the wet, that a saloon looks awful nice and warm and the free lunch tastes mighty good. they can't afford to go to the restaurants, even cheap ones, so they go to the saloon and drink that rotten whiskey that drives them crazy. that is one thing i never saw no fun in, and i must say for you, kate, that with all the rotten crowd you run with, you didn't take to booze nor dope. if you hadn't just naturally not known the difference between what belonged to you and what belonged to the other man, you might have been a pretty respectable member of society. i tell you i am watching billy mighty close to see that he don't have too small fingers. by the looks of him now, the way he is growing, his hands are going to be like hams, and if he ever got them in another man's pocket, he would never get them out again. i can't send you no money. i tell you i am absolutely flat strapped. i hocked my two rings and i even sold my dancing slippers. i ain't paid mrs. smith for billy's board in most a month, and i know they need the money. cheer up, old girl, you only have a short time now. i keep a trying to think what you can do when you come out, but i don't seem to light on nothing you would like. anyway, you know i am thinking of you. yours, _nan_. xiv _dear kate_: i am worried to death. i don't know what to do and my hand don't seem to get well. i haven't got a cent to my name, i owe mrs. smith six weeks' board money for billy, and i have been eating off her for three weeks. she can't afford to feed me, and every mouthfull i take chokes me. i know they are hard up, cause i caught her crying the other day. her husband is awful nice, but he ain't got much sense and his business in life is teaching not trying to raise vegetables. she says she won't hear me going back to dancing, but i don't see what else i can do. my hand don't affect my feet. i was over town the other day and saw my old dancing partner, fred keeney. he said we can get a job at the cafe boulevard and i am crazy to try it. yet if i could work, i would cut the whole thing out, cause mrs. smith is right when she says that dancing ain't bad, just the bum crowd you have got to go with. and i am up against it more than most of the girls, cause nearly all of them have homes, but everybody seems to know or finds out mighty sudden that i am your sister, and it ain't up to me then to go in for the heavy respectable. gee, kate you have got a reputation! you must have had a lot of newspaper advertising. nobody ever says i am nan lane, they just say i am kate lane's sister. then they look at me as if i was going to take a bite out of them. that is why it is more comfortable for me to keep with the old crowd, cause they don't throw a fit every time your name is mentioned. oh, i am sure distracted. i've walked the floor nights till i wore a path in the carpet. what with my hand aching and me wondering what in the world i ought to do, i can't sleep. i go out in the afternoon and lie down in the woods and if i knew something to pray to, i would sure get right down on my knees and ask it to tell me which way to turn. i have been in mrs. smith's room twice when they have what they call family worship. it didn't seem to do me much good but i bowed my head as i saw them do. why, if they wanted to stand on their heads and meow like cats, i would bark an accompaniment cause i like them so. mrs. smith cries every time i speak of the dancing, but i can't live on charity for the rest of my life and i am pestered to death for money. when i was coming out of kelley's the other day, i saw father and of course, he give me a touch. he never shows up unless he wants something. oh, i hate him, kate. when i saw his shifty old eyes i just turned sick. every time i see him i think of the kicks and the cuffs we kids got whenever he come round, which, thank goodness, wasn't often. do you remember how happy we was when we went down to court and heard him get that seven years' stretch? that was the finest present the judge could give us, and when we got back to the room i remember we just hugged each other and danced round and round and made up a song with the chorus, "pa's got seven years, we ain't glad, oh, no." you gave a party that night, and we almost got pulled for being so noisy. i wonder what mother was like. what kind of a woman she could have been to have seen anything in him. you must be something like her, cause you stick to jim and you know what i think of _him_. i suppose being married to a man does something to a woman because i know a lot of nice women that stick to good-for-nothing bums because they are married to them. as for me, i don't suppose i ever will be married cause none of the crowd i know now for _mine_ and i don't have much chance to meet the henry van dykes or the john t. wanamakers. well this ain't telling me what to do. what _will_ i do? i am near crazy. well--i can always go to bed, good night. _nan_. xv _dear kate_: well, i am back at the old work and it is all right. i have been dancing in the best restaurants in new york, and what do you think, kate, i am going to dance at the winter garden. the manager there saw my poppy dance the other night, and he is giving me a dance. i can still come back and dance at twelve o'clock in the restaurant. fred kelly, my dancing partner, is crazy glad. will henderson nearly cried. he said, "you have got your chance, nan, you have got your chance." i offered to give him part of my salary because if he had not thought out all the pretty dances, him and the artist chap, i never could have piped them out myself. but he won't take a cent. he is dead square, and not a half bad fellow, and i have been trying to get him to take the cure. i offered to pay all expenses if he would go up to that dope cure joint at white plains, and sometimes he says he will, then again says he won't. you can't trust a person who takes dope. sometimes he shows up every night and plays just beautiful, then again we don't see him for ten days. fred kelly is so tickled at this chance to work in the good places, that he has braced up and seems a different fellow. he used to drink a lot and one time when he was tanked up, he had to throw me from one arm to the other in the dance, and he let me fall and hurt my back so bad, i could hardly move for a week. it gave me an awful scare and i had a good heart to heart talk with him. i told him he either had to cut out the booze or cut out working with me, cause you can't do the two things and do both well. oh, i am glad that i have left the joints and i am proud of myself. i have worked awful hard and something inside of me has always said i would win out, and it _is_ winning out, because there ain't no bigger thing in my line than dancing at the winter garden. they are going to advertise me, kate, and they call me nancy lane. sounds kinda pretty, doesn't it? i got some of the nicest clothes you ever saw. my new dancing slippers is made to order, and i got some pretty things for my hair, though i think it looks better without anything in it, as it is hard to match the color. mrs. smith and the children came over the other afternoon to see the toys. i bought the kids some things, then we went to a place and had ice cream sodas and sundaes until i bet two babies went to sleep that night with a stomach-ache. oh, yes, i forgot to tell you. i got a funny present. do you remember jenny who was sick about a year ago, and whose mother come from iowa or kansas or somewhere to get her? well, i got a package the other day about the size of a house and when i opened it there was a bed quilt in it made of little pieces of colored calico set around with white pieces. jenny's mother wrote me a beautiful letter saying she made it herself for me out of pieces of cloth she had saved from her family's dresses. i put it on the bed, and gee, it was the funniest looking thing you ever saw. it didn't seem to belong to 28th street anymore than the old lady did. it was funny to watch the girls when they come into the room. them who had been born on the sidewalks like me whooped when they saw it, and made a lot of fun of it, but the girls who had come from the country looked at it different and a sort of change come over their faces. one girl who is in the chorus at the columbia, set down by the bed and run her hand up and down the cover and then put her head on it and cried, and mary crosby who comes somewhere from pennsylvania and has only been in the quarter about three months, looked at it straight for about five minutes without speaking and then turned and left the room. i followed her out into the hall and said, "what is the matter, mary?" and she said in a queer choked way, "good-bye, nan, me for that little room down in old p-a. i've got enough." and i'll be darned if she didn't go home. it was nice to see you, kate, and you are looking real well. you have got the only soft snap there, but i can trust you for getting anything that is laying around easy. i am off to work, going to try a new dance on to-night. _nan_. xvi _dear kate_: i opened your trunk and got out the clothes you wrote about. i give the grey dress to mary, and the coat to mrs. keenan. there are a lot of things that you won't be able to use when you come out. hadn't i better give them to some one? it seems a shame to have them laying there no use to any body. i had a dandy day yesterday. mildred carter met me in a shop and we spent the whole day together. you know she is married. married some swell man and lives in a fine place on riverside drive. she is just as pretty as ever. no wonder she was in all the broadway shows. she hasn't a bit of sense, but her tiny figure has the most perfect curves, and her face and eyes are just like a wondering child. she makes me think of billy. she has a baby two years old, and if it wasn't for him, she would go back to the stage. she is awful lonesome up in her fine home, and she misses the lights and the fun and the pretty dresses. she is crazy over the clothes the girls are wearing in the new field show, and i think she misses the suppers after the shows when a lot of the girls used to go with the johnnies and sort of joy ride. there wasn't nothing wrong with the parties, but her mother-in-law thinks it is awful to even mention them. a pretty girl like mildred could have four suppers a night if she wanted to, because lots of men like to take a show girl out. they wear pretty clothes and attract attention and are funny, have lots of up-to-date slang, know all the new songs, and don't expect a man to be clever. all that they want of him is to pay the supper. and they are perfectly willing to pay for it if you don't expect them to talk of art or the uplifting of the drama. just look pretty and say fool things and whistle popular songs and say things that don't make their head ache to answer. i tell mrs. smith who, like so many women, think it is always wrong to go to supper, that it is done by heaps of girls who are on the level. i am kind of sorry for mildred. she is pretty but nothing but a little butterfly, and tom's folks don't like her, and make little dabs at her about being in the chorus, and they are trying to educate her. read to her from a man named emerson and tennyson and a lot of high brows that put a kink in her brain that lasts for days. and they think the theatre is all wrong except things by ibsen and shakespeare and a man named shaw, and of course mildred thinks, and so do i, that a funny show where the comedian makes a monkey of himself and the girls change their dresses twenty times, and do stunts under the spot light is a lot decenter than those nasty shows where people turn their feelings inside out, especially their private feelings that ought not be talked about in public. she is bound to go back and i had a long talk with her. i told her that his folks might take the baby away from her, and she nearly went crazy. she turned on me like a cat, and said, "what do you mean?" i said that they would like her and tom to separate and they would take the baby. she could not speak for a minute then she blazed at me: "take my baby, take tommy? but he is mine. he is my baby. no one can take him away from me. i couldn't live without him." i saw that was the only way to get her switched off from going back, cause she met some stage manager the other day who offered her a job, so i rubbed it in; i don't know whether i am right, but it worked with her all right. after a while she sat down and talked sense, and i am sorry for her. she said sort of pitiful, "tom is in newspaper work, and i am alone nights and i lay there alone a longing for something to be going on. i hate the dark and the being alone. why i never used to be alone. his people don't look at my side of the question at all. they are not fair to me. i had no idea when i married tom that his people would not like me. every one always liked me. i had my picture in all the shop windows and people always jollying and making me laugh. "his people make me old. all the sun goes out of the room as soon as one of them come into it. to have dinner with them is awful. i am afraid to move at the table or ask for more bread. every one is so polite and so quiet. you can't laugh and if you should happen to put your elbow on the table, it would be a tragedy. and i have lived that life two years, and tom blames me and looks hurt cause sometimes i want the old life. and, nan, i see you are with him and think i am wrong. but remember i am only calling for my own. i can't help longing for it. i think it is my right to laugh and to be gay _my_ way. i have tried to make myself over in tom's way, but i can't. god did not make me a new england woman. all i want is the lights and the music and the laughter. i want to snuggle down in a big chair and have somebody make me laugh, laugh, laugh, and never be told it is bad form to laugh too loud. everything i do is bad form, and oh, nan, i don't want to do anything wrong, i just want to live." poor little devil, i am sorry for her, but she must stay where she is. i am going to get hold of tom some day and tell him to side step so much family and take mildred out more and give her a good time _her_ way. but we had had an awful good time until we got to talking about the baby, when she got scared and hurried home to see if anything had happened to him. we had lunch together at bustanoby's, and went to that swell castle garden for tea. she treated cause it cost $2.50 per and that was too rich for my blood. i danced with her and she looked awful cunning, and i learnt her some new steps, altho' i never dance with women, as i don't think it looks nice. one of the dancers who runs the place came over and asked me to dance with him, and everybody stopped to watch us. gee, i wish i could get a place in one of them swell places, but i will, you just watch me do it. i had on a pretty new dress and a hat that is a dream, and silk stockings and new patent colonials and i felt _some_. ain't it funny how everybody is dancing, i wonder how long it will last. i must get in before everyone gets over the bug. it sure can't last forever. seems awful funny to see a lot of old men and grannies fluffing around a room, when they ought to be home rubbing their backs with omega oil. one old lady, sure she was sixty, danced with the professional at bustanoby's, and he told me she had a table there every day, and about three nights a week, and dances till closing time. i heard her tell some friends, "i told john that if he didn't want to learn he could stay home and go to bed, _i_ am going to dance," and she is sure a dame of her word. what do you think? fred kelly, my dancing partner, is engaged to an awful nice girl. she is crazy over him, but she is making an awful mistake. his legs are all right, but his head was just put on his neck to finish it off. there is nothing in it, and if this dancing craze goes out, he will have to run a sizzor's grinding machine to earn a living, as he couldn't even play a thinkin' part. i went out to see billy last sunday and we went to church. i felt awful jay as i didn't know what to do, but i watched mrs. smith and done everything she done and got through all right. the kids looked so nice in their little sunday clothes, and billy was so good. i didn't think much of the sermon, as it didn't seem to hit anything, but i am glad the smiths take billy every sunday. it may do him good, and it can't hurt him, yet it seems to me that if the preacher talked a little more about how to get help and how to peg along every day, that it would do people more good than to talk about some old guy--he called him isaih--who has been dead a long time. when billy gets a little bigger, i would like him to sing in church. he would look lovely in a long white night dress, and his eyes and hair would show up wonderful. i asked the smiths about it, and they said that they would get both paul and billy in the choir if i wanted them to. i would like it, but still i am kinda scared that it might put ideas of the stage in his head and no theatre for our billy. i want him to be a working man of some kind. a man that builds things, or invents, or writes. i want him to do something and _be_ something, not just amuse a lot of fool people who can't amuse themselves. when you come home we will pipe up something great for that son of yours, and we will stick to it and _make_ him be something. there is a chance for every one in this nice big fat world of ours, and billy will come out on top some way, or his aunt nan will know the reason why. lots of love, _nan_. xvii _dear kate_: i am having the best time of any girl in the whole world. oh, kate, i do love to dance, cause dancing is just a saying the nice-thoughts inside of you with your body instead of your lips. and i think when you get better thoughts you do better work. i know mine is different somehow, cause even old, fat casey who never throws you a decent word if he can help it, said i'd do. when i used to dance in the joints around 14th street and over on eighth avenue i danced just the things i knew then, which was cafes filled with cigarette smoke, booze on the tables and puffy, bad faced men staring at me. my dancing was not good, just making my feet go, but now i think about other things and i dance the buds coming out on the pussey willows, the dog wood blossoms and the ripples of the lake when the moon shines on it. i hear the crickets and the katey-dids and the little peepers from the pond, and instead of hard-faced girls puffing cigarette smoke into men's faces, i see billy with his curls hanging round his laughing face as he runs up the long road to meet me when i come from the station. my body seems to have grown softer with my feelings and it bends more easy and i believe i have even changed my face. i don't feel that all the world is against me and that i have to fight my way through it, cause i know i am loved and trusted and there is always some one waiting for me at the gate. why, kate, it changes your whole life to know there is some one caring for you who won't try to do you the first chance they get, and if it makes such a difference in your feelings, it is bound to make a difference in your actions, and that is the reason when i dance, i sway and bend and turn as light as if i was a fairy one reads about in story books. it ain't dancing, it ain't work. it is just a telling all the world i'm happy. dancing in these better places is not bad for a girl cause the management don't make you talk to no one and won't let the men get fresh. of course i get a lot of notes and bids to dinner, but i don't mind them cause i have had them all my life. the only difference now, the spelling is good in these and they are supposed to come from gentlemen. yet i tear them up just as easy as i did the other kind. mrs. smith is always scared about me. i showed her a mash note once and she sure threw a fit, but i tell her she don't need to worry about me, i know how to take care of myself all right, as i have been doing it all my life. i seen too much crookedness and i have seen that it don't pay. i never knew a girl yet that went the limit but landed hard some day on the pavement. even you was straight, kate, your only trouble is that your hands are too small, and when you married jim and he showed you how easy they went in other people's pockets, you kinda took to it natural. i suppose that is because of father who is a born dip and it had to come out again in some of the family. i wonder if lots of people ain't crooked cause they don't know no better. i have been thinking a lot lately about education. mr. smith was a teacher in a boy's school in england, and he talks sometimes about the right kind of learning, and i sit by and listen trying to hear all i can that will help billy. mr. smith says that if a boy has got the right kind of education, he will just naturally choose the right things in life. he don't believe because billy's father and his grandfather are dips that that is any reason that billy should be one. he says, give him the right kind of schooling and teachers that will understand him or show him what kind of books to read and tell him the great things that have been done by other men, and that he can do it if he tries, that it will make him ambitious and he will naturally choose the right kind of a life instead of the wrong kind. he will go with the right kind of people, instead of the wrong kind. he wants to make paul an electrical engineer, but first he wants him to go to college and get a lot of book-learning, so when he is by himself he will be willing to sit by the fire and read some book he loves instead of chasing down the great white way to find amusement. he says a man must know something besides his business or when he ain't working he won't know what to do with himself. them is the men, he says, that fill the night restaurants and sets in the front row at the burlesques. he believes that if men were educated in the way they orter be, there would not be no crookedness. that the upper story men and the dips and the safe blowers most always ain't got no education, and they are crooked because they don't know nothing different. he says ignorance makes a man not able to tell right from wrong. i told him i knew lots of dips who were clever, and he said, "yes, that is so, but if they had been able to train that cleverness in the right way when they was young, they would not be dips now. they would use their brains in building up some business that was on the square. they ain't never had the right chance, so they can't be blamed." that is so, part of it, kate. lots of people i know, feel it in their bones that crookedness don't pay, but they don't know nothing else, cause they got in wrong at the start. now if it is all true that he says and education will make a man on the level, then me for education. billy is going to have it if i have to pour it down him with a spoon. billy is going to have just as good a chance as paul. i am getting to be such a tight wad that i am losing all my friends. i won't buy a drink for no one, and i even shove the girls sweet caporals instead of melachrino's when they come up to my room. why, i squeeze a nickle till it hollers, and i wear out three dollars of shoe leather chasing up the street to find an eating joint where they will fill me up for a quarter. any way, kate, your son is going to have a lot of letters writ after his name, if his aunt nan don't get the cholly hoss in her legs, and lose her thirty bucks per week that she is making now. good-bye, kate, i am coming to see you soon, and i will bring you some pictures of the kid that we took when he went in swimming. he can float on his back and mr. smith nearly scares a lung out of me learning him to dive. i am thinking of you always. _nan_. xviii _dear kate_: i went down to miner's the other night and saw mable lee. i was in her dressing room with her most two hours. she is a near star now, and don't she put on airs! she has a dressing room of her own, and any mere chorus girl that puts her nose in her door gets a lady-like call-down that you can hear to 42nd street. she forgot that she ever worked at coney with us, and rustled beer between acts, and that ain't the only thing that has happened to her memory. she says she is only twenty one, and she was twenty one when we were playing together at the casino and i was doing a kid act. that was ten years ago. i must say it for her, she gets it over because she has got new red hair and when she gets her face fixed up and her long ear rings on, which is about all she wears in this new act, she looks about sixteen. i danced the other night at a party. there was a lot of swell folks there, women with low neck dresses and real diamonds. gee, if anthony comstock had come in he'd a got busy when he piped off some of the clothes. they acted as if they were trying to be tough, set around and smoked and acted like street girls dressed up. funny, ain't it, street girls try to act like real ladies, and real ladies try to act like street girls. i suppose everybody wishes sometimes they could be what they ain't, and so they play at the other thing. i wondered as i looked at them if they had homes or babies, and if they ever set in front of the fire and talked of things like mr. and mrs. smith does. sometimes mr. smith reads at night from a bible and he read the other night something written by a jewish gentleman named moses. i heard it all one evening when i was dancing. it just come back to me like a soft voice: "as an eagle that stirreth up her nest, that fluttereth over her young. he spread abroad his wings, he took them, he bare them on his pinions." now, ain't that pretty? i thought after i went to bed about the big bird that broke up her nest, as mr. smith told to me, and pushed her babies out so as they could learn to fly, and then went under them with her wings all stretched out wide to catch them if they fell. that is just like a mother, ain't it? they want their children to go in the world and learn, yet they would put out their bodies if they could for them to fall on when things went wrong. i suppose it is because children are so helpless and their mothers must care for them and keep them from everything that is hard and so it brings out all the love and sweetness in a woman's heart and makes her give her life for her own. anyway, i heard it a humming in my heart along with the music, and i didn't dance my dance at all, i just danced old moses, and i will never see a kike again with the same eyes. i got another new dress. gee, it is like pulling teeth to spend the money. will henderson made up another dance for me, and i had to have the clothes to go with it. he is a wonder, kate, a sure wonder! even when he is half full of dope he sets down to that old piano and makes it talk. some times he sets for half an hour with his head in his hands, and then he raises up and has a funny look in his eyes and plays such music that all the crowd stops laughing and listens to him. i can dance anything he plays, cause he makes the music talk to me. sometimes it is country fields and flowers and birds and running brooks, and then it changes to dull wet nights beneath the street lamps with sad eyed girls and bad-faced men and hungry eager people all looking for something they have missed, and they go into cabarets like this i dance in, filled with smoke and laughs that only come from lips not from the heart--and i whirl and dance until i am mad from dizziness. and then the music quiets down again and sadness comes and you know the searchers have not found what they were looking for, and they, wander out into the dim grey light of morning and disappear like mist upon the lake. oh, kate, i love to dance! i hope i will never grow old, i want to die a dancing. yours, _nan_. xix _dear kate_: i have not time to write much, but i am so glad i must tell some one, and i know you will be glad with me. i am going to dance at the winter garden at last. we are going to have our try out, and if we take, we will sign a contract like real professionals. i can't talk it to you, i can't say all i am feeling, but if you was here i would dance it to you. yours, _nan_. xx _dear kate_: just as i was a getting ready to go up to the winter garden for our try out, i got a letter from mrs. smith saying that billy had the diptheria. she said, "don't come," that she would let me know all the time how he was. fred come to take me up and i told him i was not going, that i was going to billy, and he almost went crazy. he said, "why, nan, don't you see you will lose your chance if you don't show up now, they will never give it to you again." i said, "i don't care, i am going to billy." he nearly cried. he said, "nan, you have been working two years trying to get on broadway, and if they had told you six months ago that you had a chance to go on at the garden, you would a said they were liars or you would a died for joy. and now you throw it all over for a kid." i said, i didn't care, i was a going to billy. he talked and he talked and then he went down and phoned for will henderson who come over and talked to me. they made me feel that i was doing them a rotten trick, cause will wrote the music and was going to have his name on the program, and he said that if i didn't show up, he would lose the biggest chance he ever had, to get back decent again. so i gave in if they would promise to get me to the train as soon as our turn was over. well, we went and the dance sure did go. i came back eight times and i never saw anybody so tickled in his life as will to think that he can have his name on a program again. he says he will go out to that dope joint in white plains to-morrow, cause he believes he still has got a chance of making good. it does put heart into you when you are down and out to feel that perhaps there is something still ahead of you if you will only buck up. after my turn the manager came into the dressing room and offered us season's work. i think it was the happiest minit of my life. i have worked for it ever since i was a kid and i just seemed to know that some day i would be on top. why, think of it, kate, i am going to have my name, nancy lane, on a program of the biggest dancing place in america, and i will be dancing along side of girls from europe and real actresses. i felt all choked up and i was dead scared that fat manager would see how tickled i was. i am going to do three dances, and talk about wages--no, it is salary now--say, when i die i will leave a foundation fund for poor dancers who have caught rheumatism in their lower limbs. i'll bet you to-morrow that everybody from 14th street to 42nd street will be trying to give me a touch. that is a sure sign you are getting along well in the world, when your friends try to borrow money off you, but hetty green will be a willful waster compared to me, cause i am going to plant it all in the saving's bank for you and billy. good-bye, old lady, i am off for new jersey. even when i was a dancing and the people was a giving me a hand, i was a wondering how billy was, and every once in a while his face would come before me and nearly shut out the lights. your happy _nan_. xxi _dear kate_: we are out of quarantine. i sent you word twice that billy was all right, and he is getting well, but poor little paul died. when i got out here that monday night, the doctor was in the house and told me that if i come in he would have to put me in quarantine and i couldn't leave. it kinda paralyzed me for a minit, cause i thought of that fat garden contract, and how all my chances would be gone because you can't talk to theatre managers about kids or diptheria, as that don't fill the house. then i thought of will and fred and how it would knock fred out of a job and i kinda got sick and set down quick. i asked the doctor how billy was, and he said they was both pretty sick, then i said, "to hell with contracts," and i took off my hat and i'm here. oh, it has been awful, kate. did you ever see a sick baby, when he couldn't tell what was the matter with him and lay just fighting for his breath and you not able to help him, just a standing by with helpless hands, promising god that if your kid ain't took this time you will sure do something for him if you ever get a chance? billy was much worse than paul for a time, and i was scared when i seen him lyin' on the pillow with his face all red with fever, and he didn't seem to know me. the doctor put a tube in their throats and it worked all right with billy, but it was no good for paul, and he died just at daylight, wednesday morning. oh, kate, my heart just broke for his mother. she didn't cry nor nothing, and when they got her away from the baby she come in my room where billy was and she looked down at him for a long time and then--she cursed him. it would a made your blood run cold to hear her talk. she said in a low, _hate_ voice, "you, a child of the streets, a baby nobody wants, you are left and my baby is taken. you,--you will grow up to be a professional thief like your father. they say your mother is in prison, and yet god leaves you. there ain't no god! i tell you it is all a lie, there ain't no god!" i was a setting in a chair at the foot of the bed and she turned and looked at me as if she didn't know me. then all at once she dropped on her knees at my feet and put her face in my lap and said, "oh, nannie, why didn't god take me too? how can i live the to-morrows." and oh, kate, if you have never seen a mother when her only baby is lying in the next room white and cold, you ain't never seen real sorrow. she set on the floor at my feet nearly an hour then she wanted me to go in and help her dress little paul. we put on the new suit i bought him for his birthday, and he looked just as if he was asleep. they buried him in a little grave yard on the hillside, and mrs. smith can see it from her bed room, which i think is bad for her. she acts queer and won't come in the room where billy is, and i never speak his name to her. he is getting along all right now, but it turns me cold to think what might have happened. i will send you word as often as i can, so don't be worried. _nan_. xxii _dear kate_: i am staying to-night at lake rest and it seems like home. i am a setting in front of a fire of logs in a great big fire-place, and the flicker of the fire and the ticking of the clock seem a sort of music to me. oh, kate, it is wonderful here now! it is a little cold and the hills around the lake instead of being green, are all scarlet and brown. the maple trees look as if they had put on their dancing dresses and the beach turns to gold when the sun strikes it. the bitter-sweet has little yellow berries which burst open and show the red centres, and the sumac is all rouged standing stiff and straight as if waiting for the calcium to be turned on it. the brown of the oak trees seem only made to show off the green of the pines and hemlock and spruce, and the brakes that was so green a month ago, are now all crisping up and dying along with the golden rod and the purple astors. the ground is covered with a thick brown carpet of oak leaves that rustle when you walk through them, as if the fairies mrs. smith reads about, was trying to speak to you. it rained yesterday when i come, sort of an unhappy rain that made little ripples on the water and the lake was covered with grey shadows that said as plain as they could. "there is something deep and wonderful below me here that i am covering up with my veil of mystery." i was disappointed that i couldn't see the moon, but he broke out of the clouds a while ago and touched their edges with silver. i am sure it ain't the same sun and moon shining here that shines on city streets. this morning i woke up early and from the ground to the sky there was nothing but a sea of color. it looked as if the world was on fire over there beyond the hills. it waved and rippled a great crimson thing without a shadow, and then it changed to colors which i have never seen before and i felt i was looking into a world of beauty that drawed the heart right out of me. the sky above grew bluer and lighter with only here and there a cloud till it was lost in a great cup that closed down over the earth like a cap of silver. oh, kate, i love it here, i wish i never had to go back. after i have had a night here with the quiet and the peace that seems to be everywhere, the restaurants, and the smoke and the people make me sick. but after a couple of nights i slide back into it again, and like it, i suppose because i have never knowed anything else. but i believe that if i had a home like this i would never go to the city and rush around with the women with tired faces and loud voices that seem to be trying to hurry to finish something before they die. i sometimes set and listen to women who seem to be so busy doing nothing, and when i hear them say, "i am rushed to death" or "i haven't time to do a thing," i wonder what would happen if they didn't do it. what is the difference anyway? if they died to-morrow they wouldn't care it wasn't done, and if they don't die, they will have time to do it, if it is the thing to be done. i am tired of it all. mrs. smith says i have been working too hard and i am blue because i am tired. anyway i want to get way down in a big easy chair and watch the fire and hear the wind in the trees and once in a while, hear the acorns as they drop on the roof. that is all the music i want. i never want to hear an orchestra, and i am sure that some day i will put my foot through the big drum that keeps time for the dancing. i wish you liked the country, kate, and we could get a little place and have a pig and some chickens and a duck and i wouldn't never have to see a pavement or a street light. i am thinking of you, kate, though i am awful tired. _nan_. xxiii _dear kate_: i know you will be dead sore at me, but i could not do nothing else and perhaps some day you will understand why i done it. anyway, i have given billy his chance. he has got just as good a show as any boy of growing up and being a good man, and he won't ever need to know that there are such things as thieves and prisons. he'll learn to think of mrs. smith as mother and he won't ever know that his real mother was in the stir. he will think of his aunt nan, as a little red headed girl who loved him and brought him toys, and he won't never have bitterness or wickedness come into his life through us. he is going away. i will tell you all about it, so as you can get the worst of your madness off before you come out, cause i know when you read this you will want to kill me, and perhaps you will, but i don't care, i have done the only thing i knew to do for billy. after mrs. smith's baby died, she wouldn't look at billy for a long time. then she got to holding him and rocking him to sleep at night, and after a while she couldn't let him out of her sight. i was awful glad, cause i thought perhaps she would be always glad to have him, and then one day i heard them talk about going to australia. mrs. smith didn't like the house since paul was gone. she stops and listens as if she expects to hear him round the corner, and she don't want to go in his room, and she acts queer. mr. smith thinks that if she got away where everything was different, she would forget sooner, or if she didn't forget she wouldn't remember with so much pain. his brother wrote from australia and asked them to come there a long time ago. he is in the sheep business and doing very well. they talked it over and talked it over, and now they have decided to go. it most killed me, cause this is the only home i ever knew, and i didn't know what would become of billy. i felt i couldn't take him back to the room. i said to mrs. smith one day that it kinda kicked my feet from under me to think of billy losing his home and the mother and things he has had for two years. she looked at me a long time and then she said, "nan, billy don't need to lose his home." i said, "what do you mean?" "i will take him with me," she said. it took my breath away for a minit to think of losing billy, as he is all i got, and i guess she saw it in my face cause she said quickly, "you can come too." i did not say nothing for a long time. i thought that this was my chance, i would get away from the old crowd, get away from all the things i hate and yet seemed kinda drawed to. i could leave this life that may be will take me down and down, and billy and i could commence over again in a new country. then i thought of you, kate, and how you are coming out soon, and if both billy and me was gone, you would have nothing to hold to, and i know you, and i know you would go straight to hell. there would be no half way place for you, you would keep on sliding. and, kate, i couldn't leave you. billy can get on without me, he won't never know no difference, but you would be all alone, and it's hard enough to try to be decent when once you've been in stir--even with friends to help you, and when you come out, kate, i am going to be waiting for you at the gate, and you are going to make a fight and win out and live decent. i thought of all this when i sat there looking at mrs. smith and then i said, "no, i can't go, but you can take billy." she said, "nannie, i won't take a baby unless i can adopt him and make him really mine. i don't want any father and mother to come and take him when i have grown to love him." i said nothing cause i knew neither you or jim would give him up unless you saw something in it for yourselves, and these people are poor people and could not afford to pay you nothing. then mrs. smith moved over close to me and took my hand and said, "nan, i am going to say something that perhaps will hurt your feelings. won't you give billy to me?" i said, "why, i would love to, but i can't, he ain't my billy." then mrs. smith said, "now, don't be angry at me, i have never said anything, but i have never believed that story about billy being your sister's baby. isn't he your little boy?" at first i didn't understand her, and then it all come over me what she meant. she thought i had lied to her, thought i had made up that story about you being billy's mother. at first i was mad, not because she thought billy was mine, cause that don't make no difference one way or another, but i hated to think she thought i had lied to her. she saw i was hurt and she held my hand a little tighter and said, "remember, child, i don't blame you, and i don't think none the less of you. i have loved you for two years and i will love you always, but if you want me to take billy, i must take him as his mother." then she got up and kissed me and said, "don't answer me to-night, think it over and tell me to-morrow morning." they left me alone that evening and i sat before the fire till midnight, and when i went up to my room i stood by the window and looked over the lake till the sun come up. and then it all come to me. i would give billy his chance. in a few months you were coming out, in a year jim would be out. you may settle down and be straight, but jim--never. billy would grow up with crooks, would live around in little cheap rooms, getting no education, playing on the streets nights, knowing nothing but dirt all his life and quite likely spend most of his time after he grew up in prison, all through no fault of his, but just because he didn't have a chance. if he could go with mrs. smith he could live in a great big out-of-doors country, where people have clean thoughts and live clean lives, and instead of eating out of the garbage pails of life, he could eat in a clean dining room with a white cloth on the table. i went down in the morning and i did not say nothing until after breakfast, then i said to mrs. smith, "yes, you are right, i lied to you. billy is my baby." she come over and kissed me and said, "i knew it, dear, and i will always like to think of you as his mother." i said to her quick so she would not know how bad i felt, "what must i do to give you billy?" and she said, "we will go to the lawyer's and he will make out the papers." so we went and i swore that i was his mother and that his father was dead, and i give billy to mrs. smith and when he come back he was her little boy. oh, kate, i can't write more, my heart is nearly broke. _nan_. xxiv _dear kate_: billy is gone. he sailed away at ten o'clock this morning. i went over to the boat with them and i didn't say nothing. i don't think even mrs. smith knew how bad i felt. it seemed when i saw that boat pulling out that it was taking all the world with it, and as i stood on the dock watching billy dressed in his little blue suit, his pretty gold curls all around his face, i just wanted to die. the smiths and billy are the only good things i ever had in my life, and it seemed at the last i _couldn't_ let them go. even the morning of the sailing mrs. smith wanted me to go with them, and i felt at first i _had_ to go, that i couldn't stay on here and look all the days and nights in the face and keep on living. then i knew it would not be playing the game. you do need me, don't you, kate? you won't be dead sore about billy, will you, and some day you will understand? i have just walked the streets all day, i didn't want to go up to the room, and i am writing this in kelly's restaurant. i begin to work to-morrow night at the cafe boulevard, and perhaps when i am dancing i won't remember. you will be out in a few weeks and we will be together and happy again. you won't be sore at me, say you won't, kate? oh, kate, i wish things had been different, so we could have kept him. it is hell to be crooked, ain't it? yours, _nan_. xxv _dear kate_: billy is back! i don't know hardly how i can tell you all about it, it don't seem real to me yet. two days out from new york the ship that they was on run into another ship in a fog and everybody was saved except eighteen people, and the smiths was lost. an officer saw billy and threw him in a boat and the smiths was put in another boat that was swamped. i read it in the papers first, and it said the smiths was drowned and of course i thought billy was with them, and i was near crazy because i thought it was all my fault. if i had not of given him to the smiths, he would be alive still. i went down to the dock where the people who was brought in by the other boat landed, and one of the first persons i see was billy, standing with a man and woman, looking just as natural as ever, with his curls around his face and his eyes a laughing just as if nothing had happened. i near went nutty, and made an awful fool of myself, but i was so tickled, i didn't care. i suppose it is wrong to be so glad as i am to have him back, and i feel so bad about the smiths, that one minit i am crying about them and the next minit i am hugging the life out of billy to have him again. i got him up in the room and i will never let him out of my sight a minit if i can help it. i leave him with myrtle williams when i am at work and i hurry right home as soon as i am through. he just makes the sun shine in the old room again. he is such a big strong boy, it is all i can do to lift him over to his own side of the bed at night. i take him out in the morning and we have a long walk. we went up to the park the other day and saw the animals. i think i was as tickled with them as much as billy was, but i guess i made a mistake taking him up there because if he had his way he would board with miss murphy and her baby. he seems to take to hippopotamuses and elephants and things big. i bought him all new clothes, and he looks awful cunning. oh, kate, he sure is one kid. and talk, why, he has got bryan beat to a finish. i have to watch him kinda close cause girls have no sense with babies. myrtle took him out the other afternoon when i was at work and filled him up with ice cream and candy and all kinds of stuff till he nearly died. i gave her a call-down and she said, "well, he wanted it." i said, "of course, he wanted it, kids want everything they see, but that is no sign they should have it. ain't you got nothing in your head but your rat?" she got sore and then i was sorry cause she has been awful good, and i gave her my best slipper buckles to make up. but i tell you it threw a scare into me. billy got all blue and kinda swelled up and i chased her out for a doctor and he said it was all right, and gave him some stuff and the next day billy was nearly all right. i gave billy a talking to and told him that if he coaxed aunt myrtle for everything he saw that i would spank him. it was hot air, and i think he knows it, cause i couldn't bear to spank him. i only did it once and then i was so mad that i did it before i thought. he and paul had a fight, and he pulled a big handful of paul's hair out and made mrs. smith mad, and i just up and gave him a good fat spanking where it did the most good and it helped a lot. i just can't whip him, but sometimes i set him down with a thud that jars his teeth. i don't know what i will do with him, as it ain't good for him to live in one room, but i am so glad to have him that i ain't worrying much. write me a long letter kate. i have been scared to see a post man come my way since i sent you the letter about billy going away, but now, you sure can't be sore, and i will give the old man a good fat hug when i see him ambling up my stairway. yours, _nan_. xxvi _dear kate_: i have been house furnishing. no, not for myself, but for charlie haines who lives across the hall from me. he is an awful nice fellow and is working in the general electric and doing real good. he told me he is getting seventy five a month now and was going to get married to a little girl he has been engaged to a long time, way off in vermont where he used to live. we had a heart to heart talk and i asked him all about her and found she was just a nice little girl who goes to sunday school and teaches the girls and has never been farther away from home than brattleboro, wherever that is. he thought of taking a bigger room and rooming for a while, but i told him not to be a fool, and not to board neither. take a little girl from the country that has always had something to do and put her in a room in a rooming house or a boarding house, and she would go crazy or get to chasing around with the lazy women who live in them places and if she was not a fine sort of girl you can't tell where she would land. a woman wants something to do, and then it ain't no life for a man to come home from work and have to chase out to a restaurant for his grub or down to a long table of folks. what he wants is to take off his coat and wash his face in the kitchen sink and put on a pair of straw slippers and set down smelling the beef steak and onions frying in his own kitchen. and they can talk without a lot of people rubbering and after supper he can help her wash the dishes, and water the geranium and then get in the morris chair and put his feet on the radiator or window sill and smoke and sing "home sweet home." he fell for the stuff and got quite excited, but then he sort of shifted around and i tumbled to the fact that he hadn't saved much money and didn't know how to get the furniture. i said, "now, you just trust your aunt nancy, we will buy it on the installment plan." i found out he had only about $25 after he had payed their fare down here, cause her folks are poor, so i said, "well, we will go look up a flat. better get out a ways so you will get more for your money", and we found a pretty place at 207th street for twenty dollars a month. four rooms and bath on the fifth floor and there ain't no elevator, but they are both strong so it won't hurt them to climb the stairs, and he will be so tickled to get home nights that he won't think about them. he wanted to furnish it and have it all ready when they come back, he is going up to get her and be married at her folks', but i put the nix on that too. i said, "we will furnish the bed room and the kitchen so as you can have a place to stay, but let her pick out the fancy things like the parlor rug and the dining room table. it will make it seem more like her own," and so he done everything i said. they got back about five days ago and say, haven't we been the busy ladies! she is an awful nice little thing, has not got much sense and green--well, kate. believe me, we are the funniest looking pair. i guess she makes her own clothes and her hats--they must have been wished on her. but i like her and she is the happiest thing about the flat. she thinks it is the grandest place she ever seen. i was right about letting her pick her own things as it has given her something to do, the first few days when she was kinda lonesome for her mother and little bit afraid of charlie. we went to a place on 125th street and picked out the furniture, a real nice dining room table and a little side board that looks like real mahogany, and six chairs. got a centre table and a nifty rug for the parlor and a morris chair and a rocking chair, and got the bed room furniture all white, and didn't we have fun buying kitchen things! we went to the ten-cent store and bought everything you ever heard of, from frying pans to egg beaters, and we packed them home in the subway looking like immigrants just landed. she got the grandest set of dishes, a hundred pieces for three ninety five. each dish has got a wreath of pink roses around the edge and they would make even fried onions smell like spring. i am going to help her make the curtains, cause lace ones don't look right in such a little place and we bought some white stuff with dots in it for six cents a yard. i can come up mornings once in a while and sew them. they didn't have money enough to pay all down, so i lent charlie fifteen dollars and they have to pay ten dollars a month. they will get along fine. alice is going to the market herself and i told them they ought to live for five dollars a week for the two of them, so they will save money. gee, it kinda made me feel all in that the flat was not mine. when you come out, kate, let us hire a flat and you stay home and take care of billy and do the cooking and i will hustle the dough. wouldn't i just love to put my door key at night into a little place like they are in, and feel it was ours and go out in the kitchen and eat some irish stew, and then set down and have a gab fest with you over what we had done all day? well, maybe we will do it. just want a thing bad and you will get it and i want a little place of our own some day and you and billy with me and no fear of the police. i am waiting to hear from you. yours, _nan_. xxvii oh, kate, but your letter made me happy. i just carry it round with me and take a peep at it every once in a while to make sure it is real. you say when setting alone you have been thinking and you want to go straight when you come out for billy's sake. i understood how you feel about me giving him away and that it was a rotten trick for me to play you, but i didn't know what else to do then. and then you feel so glad to have him back and know you can see him again, that it has kinda braced you up. now, perhaps if i had not give him away, and he hadn't been nearly drowned, you wouldn't have had the scare about losing him, and you wouldn't never have known how much you cared for him. oh, kate, i just feel it in my bones that we are going to be happy as goats when you get out. we will shake jim someway, and anyway, it will be a long time before he is out, and we will begin over again and you will keep house for billy and me and--i just can't talk i am so happy. heaven's going to have to offer a lot to coax nancy lane away from little old new york when all these pipes come true. yours, _nan_. xxviii _dear kate_: i just don't know how i can tell you all about it. jim is out and it is awful. i suppose you know it by this time in that way that you people seem to get all the news, especially any news that has to do with crooks or prisons. the papers say that him and french louis hit one of the guards over the head with a hammer while coming from work, and got away. they hit too hard, and the guard is dead. well, i didn't think much about it except to be kinda sorry that jim had made such a fool of himself as he only had a year more, and it nearly knocked my pins out from under me when i come up to my room one night and found jim setting there. he was all in and in an awful bad way, and i said to him, "for god's sake, jim, why did you come to me? the police will sure watch me." he said, "i couldn't help it, nan, i am sick and broke and i got to have money and i didn't know who else to touch who wouldn't peach." well, i just stood with my back against the door and looked at him, with one ear ready to listen if any one come up the stairs. he sure did look tough. the year hasn't done him no good. he couldn't look even me in the face. i asked him if it was so what it said in the papers that he had killed a guard. he all broke down and said, "honest to god, nan, we didn't mean to croak him. we didn't hit hard enough to break a baby's head. it must a been like mush." he got up and walked up and down the room and was all in a tremble and he kept saying, "we didn't mean to croak him." i asked him how he got in my room cause my door was locked, and he just laughed and said, "well, if i get so as i can't unlock a crazy lock like this, i better stay in stir the rest of my life." he talked about half an hour with me and i was scared that he had been seen, and i tried to get him to go away, but it seemed he wanted to talk with some one he was not afraid of. i asked him what he was going to do, and he started to tell me where he was going to hide, but i stopped him and said, "don't tell me, jim. then i won't know if the police get after me." i said, "here is fifty dollars, all i got now, but i will get you more, only don't let no one come here or don't send no letters nor nothing. the bulls are bound to think of me first thing." billy was laying in the bed and hadn't waked up cause we talked in whispers, and when he got ready to go, he walked over to the bed and looked down at him, and i really think something come into his rotten little heart. he stood there with his hands in his pockets a long time and then said, "so that is the kid! well--well--he don't look like me, does he? but he is mine, and if i ever get out of this scrape i'll take him." that made me sick and i nearly said, "well, i hope you won't get out of this scrape then." i felt for a minit that if i thought he would get billy that i would peach on him, though that is the lowest trick and ain't done by no one who is white. i went down stairs first to see all was right, and then he sneaked out. i come back and sat down in a chair and set there till morning. i was just all in. now when everything was coming along so nice, why did he have to come and butt in and spoil it all? it is just that way all my life. if it ain't father getting in trouble, it is you or jim. and the nerve of him to say he would take billy! i suppose he would bring him up to be a swell second story man or something big in the profession, so as he could live off him. well, he won't get him, i tell you, and i most hope they find him, although that is rotten in me to even think such a thing. when it come light and nothing happened, i laid down on the bed by billy and put my face against him and cried till i woke him up, and he was so sweet. he said, "poor nanny, somefing hurt her. let billy kiss it," and then i broke all up for sure. i got to get some of my money out of the bank so i can have it handy when jim sends for it. well, good night, kate, don't worry, i'll keep you posted, and i'll send you some money next week. _nan_. xxix _dear kate_: i can't write much, i am so nervous i am near crazy. the police are hot after jim, and they haven't done a thing to me but give me the third degree twice. once they had me up before the captain of the police station here, and once they had me at the central office where the old man himself took a turn at me. i was there four hours, and they done everything they could to make me tell short of putting me behind the bars. they promised me that they would see you got better time, but i know that is only hot air, and they coaxed and bullied and tried to scare me for hours. i told them that it was on the level, i didn't know where he was. i said "yes" that i'd seen him, that he came to me but left the same night. the captain was rotten with me, and if it hadn't been for tom cassidy, i think he would a locked me up until jim was found. but that great big cop stood up for me and said, "oh, captain, take my word for it, she is all right. she ain't lying. i watched her for years and she is on the level. the only thing to do is to watch her." he talked quite a lot with the captain and they let me go, but i tell you setting four hours with a police captain who knows you and your people from the time they entered the ark, and who thinks you are lying just because your relations are crooks, ain't a rest cure for nervous women. i can't dance worth a damn, and i am so fidgety that if i hear a door slam i go all to pieces. that ain't all either. when i was just turning our corner the other night a man came out of sweeney's saloon and handed me a note from jim asking me to give the bearer fifty dollars. i had been expecting it so i went down in my sock and give it to him. i don't know who he was, but i was dead scared for fear that he'd been seen. don't worry, things will come right some way. they can't be much worse. i will write you all the news. _nan_. xxx oh, kate, can't you get word to jim some way and call him off? he is just bleeding me to death, and every time i turn round there is some one with a note from him asking for money. i have drawn most all i have in the bank, and will soon be flat broke if this keeps up. i want to help him all i can, but it just kills me to see all the money that i have saved so careful and gone without things so as to have some for you when you come out so as you could rest a while and see what you wanted to do, go to that cheap crook and his friends. i suppose he is a paying them dear to hide him, cause they are a rotten lot and won't do nothing without pay. it scares me cold every time i see a man with a note in his hand, because the police are bound to get on to it sooner or later, and they will follow the fellow and find jim. i have give him enough to get to australia, why don't he go? oh, i don't want them to get him of course, but i wish something would happen that would call him off of me. _nan_. xxxi _dear kate_: i am worried near sick, and i can't sleep nor eat nor nothing. i refused to send jim any more money and the other night a man walked along the street with me and said, "jim wants you to send him fifty." i said, "i haven't got it to send, i am busted." he bent his head toward me and said, "jim said to tell you that if you didn't send the dough, he would take the kid." i just near went cold at that, and the man saw it scared me white. i had my week's pay in my bag and like a fool i gave him twenty, which tipped my hand off to them, showing i was scared for the kid. i went home and i ain't let billy out of my sight since, except when i am working, and then i take him up to myrtle's, and tell her to keep the door locked, and not to answer it for nobody. i tell you, kate, if he touches billy, i will peach on him as sure as i am a living sinner. i am dead sore. he has got all my money, and i am in all wrong with the police, but i will help him anyway i can, so long as he keeps his hands off billy. now, if you or your friends have got any way of getting word with him, you just let him know it. _nan_. xxxii _dear kate_: billy is all right. i got him planted in a place where jim would never dare look for him. i was in an awful fix. every time i turned around it seemed i saw some one from jim, and i got so scared i couldn't do my work, because every time i come home, i thought perhaps they might have copped him. did you ever know tom cassidy, a young cop at our station? his father was captain there for years and years and years, a great big good-looking irishman. well, young tom is just as good looking as his dad, and he has been awful nice to me. he is the one that took my part before the captain, when the captain tried to give me the third degree. he walks down to the corner with me every once in awhile, and he likes billy. the other day he walked home with me and billy, and i was all in, as i just had a rotten note from jim. he was so kinda nice, i started a crying in the street, and he said, "you poor little thing, let me go up with you and tell me all about it." first i thought it might be a plant, then i thought i didn't care, for i had to talk to somebody who had some sense, and it would not be peaching on jim, for i really didn't know where he was. so he came up to the room, and i made some coffee to give me time to get my feelings collected so i could talk, and he sat down and played with billy. then i told him all about it, how i didn't know where jim was, but that he kept a touching me all the time, till i didn't have a cent left, and now he was threatening to take the kid. he was awful nice, and patted my hand with his great big hand, and said, "you poor little red head, it has sure made you peaked looking. your eyes are bigger than your face. what you going to do?" "that's just it," i said, "i don't know what to do. i've got to work, i can't set around and watch billy all the time. i just don't know _what_ to do. if i could only get him away somewhere where they couldn't find him, i'd tell the whole bunch to go to hell." "say, kid," he said, "i got an idea. why don't you send him up to my mother's? we got a swell little house up at 225th street, lots of room, a big yard where he could play, and ma would be tickled to death to have him. she is dippy on kids, and since me and jack growed up, she says her hands have been empty." i nearly fainted, a thinking of billy in the home of a cop, cause that is the last place on earth they would think of looking for him, and then i got suspicious again. you know, kate, i have got an awful bad suspicious disposition. i am looking everywhere for a plant, but i studied it all over, and i couldn't see none in this, and i was so tickled that i couldn't say even "thank you." tom said to me, "now, you put his little duds in a bundle, and when i go off duty at four o'clock, i will come and get you, and we will go up on the subway." then i got a thinking after he went away that some of jim's friends might be watching the house, so i went down to cassidy's beat, and told him i would meet him at the grand central, where there wouldn't be so much danger of us being piped off. talk about a grand little home, kate. tom cassidy has sure got it, and his mother is the nicest little irish woman that ever lived! and _irish_! you could cut her brogue with a knife. but she just laughs all the time, and her face breaks up in the funniest little wrinkles that make you laugh with her. she came to the door herself, wiping her hands on her kitchen apron, and when she saw tom and me and billy, she looked at us funny for a minit and then she said, "say, tom, ye ain't been married all these years, and just now a bringing your family to your old mother?" tom laughed and said, "no such luck, mother, but i've adopted a family. i think the house is lonely without kids." she took billy and me up to a little bed room, and she helped take off his hat and coat, talking all the time, billy talking back, not a bit scared of her. then we went down to the kitchen to finish getting supper. another son came in named jack who is studying farming and he is crazy about it. tom introduced him to me by saying, "this is john cassidy, farmer, greatest onion expert in the world." the kid, who is about nineteen, said, "ah, cut it out, tom," and tom's mother said, "now, don't plague the bye." then we sat down and had the dandiest dinner. we ate in the kitchen, and then i had to go to work. billy was all right, didn't seem to feel a bit bad about me going. jack had him in the back yard, building something with little pieces of wood. tom went to the station with me, but i wouldn't let him go no farther, cause i did not want to be seen too much with him. i told him i wouldn't come and see billy, cause i might be followed. i tell you, i went home feeling better than when i went up there, cause jim can do his worse now, he can't get billy. i got your letter, kate. it was an awful nice letter. you seem all different, and it makes me happy way inside. yours, _nan_. xxxiii _dear kate_: i don't know how i'm going to tell you, so you won't feel too bad. jim is dead. he sent two or three times to me asking me for money, and i wouldn't send it to him, cause i didn't have it, and when the last fellow threatened to take the kid, i told him to go to the devil, that the kid was where they couldn't touch it. well, that night i just got home from work and had taken my waist off and was starting to brush my hair when i saw my door open sneaking like, and jim crept in. i was paralyzed for a minit and couldn't move, just stood there with the brush on my hair. he had been drinking and looked awful. i said low like, "jim, for god's sake, jim, why do you come here?" he said, "where else am i to go?" i said, "jim, go--go--don't stay a minit." he didn't move, just stood and looked at me. "but, jim," i said, "the police, they're watching the place." he come up to me and put his face close against mine and i backed away, and said, "jim, get out. you've been drinkin'." then he sort of got sore and he said, "what do you mean by sendin' me the messages you have?" i said, "i mean just what i said, i ain't got no more money to give you," and he sneered at me. "oh, you ain't got no money, and you ain't hauling down thirty a week, are you?" "well," i said, "suppose i am, it's mine, ain't it?" and then he said i ought to divy up when a feller's in trouble, and at that i got mad. "divy up?" i said. "_divy up._ what have i been doin' the last month but divy up. i've give you all i got. why don't you get out of the country, you'll be pinched the first thing you know." and then he said fierce like and with an awful look on his face, "you take it from me, nan, they'll never pinch jim sheridan. if the bulls git me it'll be because i can't handle a gun." i didn't know what to do with him and i said again, "get out, jim, i'm scared to death you've been seen." he said, "gimme some money. i got to have money." i asked him, "what've you done with all i sent you. i've give you enough to take you to australia." he said, "i've had to pay for my hidin' and i got to put up some more." that kind of made me sick and i said, "well, you'll have to get it from some one else then, i've give you the last dollar i've got. i'm busted." he kind of saw it was true i think, cause he started looking around the room, then he said, "where's the kid?" i said, "never you mind where he is," and he got sore again and said, "never mind my own kid. well, believe me, he's mine, and i've got an idea i want him. where is he?" and i said, "he's where you won't get him." jim come over to me again and stood in front of me and says, "he is, is he? well, i'm going to have him," and then i got mad clear through and said, "well, you can't have him. so help me god, jim, if you try to touch billy, i'll peach on you as sure as i'm alive." jim laughed and said, "yes, you will, you ain't that kind," and i said quick, "oh, i ain't, ain't i. no, i ain't that kind. i been brought up to believe that it's the last trick to peach, but i'll go back on all i ever knowed, and put you behind the bars if you ever try to touch that kid." jim kind of sneered. "what do you want of him?" he said; "he ain't no better off with you than with me." i said, "perhaps he ain't. but he won't be raised with crooks and grow up feeling that crookedness is straight. he'll know decent people, not a lot of cheap second story men and dips." jim laughed. "you're a nice one to talk, old bill lane's daughter." and then kate, oh i said awful things, and i remember every word and go over it all at night. i said, "yes, and kate lane's sister. i know, i've had it rubbed in enough. no one ever says nancy lane, they always say bill lane's daughter, kate lane's sister or jim sheridan's sister-in-law. hain't i had that to fight against all my life? ain't i lost every good chance that i ever had to work in the good places, just because i've had to buck against the reputation of my family? and then when _you_ come in the family, i might a carried the others, but no one could carry you. why, you dirty crook, you're known from san francisco to new york, and i've had to work in cheap shows and dirty cabarets just because of you always coming and queering me when i got started. look at the crowd i go with," i said. "do you suppose i'm crazy about them? but i have to go with that kind, the kind that don't fall dead, when they find out who i am." jim looked at me a minit, then he said, "you're getting dam nice lately, what's the matter with you?" i thought a minit and then i said, "yes, i'm different, i know it, but i've had most two years of not havin' to be scared to death, not having to look over my shoulder for fear a cop was following me to find out about some of you. i've been able to read the papers without being scared i'd see some of your names in it, and i've been allowed to work in peace. and i've done good work too, i've been able to leave the rotten joints and i'm workin' up, and i'd get to the top if i was left alone. why the only peace i've had in all my life has been the last year when you and dad and kate was all in jail. i been able to sleep nights knowing where you all was and that you couldn't be doing nothing to get in trouble." jim said, "oh, can the hot air. i want the kid, i'm going to get out, but i'm going to take him with me." i said, "yes, you are, _nit_." jim looked at me kind of curiously for a minit and said, "what are you so crazy about him for, why do you want him?" i said, "i don't know what i want him for. i don't know, but you won't have him. he's the first thing i ever had in my life that's sweet and clean, and he's the first thing that ever loved me without thinking what they could make out of me. why, when he was in the country and he'd come to the gate to meet me, with his eyes shining with love and his face all dimpling with laughs, i'd choke up and some times not be able to speak. billy's made me _live_. he's made something new come to me, he's made me see all life different, and i'm going to pay him back for what he's done for me by giving him a chance." jim laughed, "you give him a chance," he said, "what kind of a chance can you give him?" i said, "i don't know for sure. i ain't got it all figured out, but he's going to have his chance to grow up like other men." jim acted sore again and said, "ah--what's the use of talking. we're wasting time. i want money and i'm going to have the kid. if i can't find him i'll put the gang wise, and some of them'll find him all right." at that i think i just went off my head, and i didn't care whether the police heard me or not. i said, "jim, don't you _dare_ to try to take billy. don't you _dare_ to put any of your dirty gang on to get him away from me. i tell you i'll peach on you. i'll find out where you're hiding and i'll bring the police there myself. i'll fight for billy. i'll fight as any woman'll fight for a baby. if you dare to touch him or let any of your sneakin' pals come near him, i'll follow you till i see you behind the bars if i have to follow you till hell freezes over." jim seemed as if he couldn't speak for a minit, then his face got red and he come towards me. he said, low and fierce like, "tell me where that kid is." i said, and moved away from him, "i won't tell you." he said again to me, "i say, tell me where he is." i said again, "i won't tell you. he's planted where you'll never find him." i was standing by the bed and he grabbed me by the throat, and bent me over backwards, and his eyes just burned into mine. "oh," he said, "you won't tell me, you won't--we'll see if you won't, by--" and just then the door opened and three plain clothes men and two cops walked in. i don't know how it happened. i don't know nothing that happened after jim turned and knew the game was up, but there was three quick shots all at once, and when the smoke cleared away, jim was lying on his back on the floor, one of the plain clothes men had a bullet through his shoulder. they bent over and found that jim was all in. pretty soon an ambulance come, and he was took away. the sergeant talked to me, but i can't remember nothing he said. it all happened so quick, that it seemed an awful nightmare, and i just sat there, saying "yes and no" to the sergeant, not understanding nor caring. when they all went away, tom cassidy stayed behind, and he come up to me, and put his arms around my shoulders and said, "you poor little red head, you do seem to be getting more than your share, don't you?" and at that i just all broke up, and i put my head against his great big chest, and i cried all down the front of his uniform. he just patted me quiet like, and let me cry, and then when things quieted down a bit, he said, "now, i will tell you what you do. you just put on your bonnet and i will take you up to the old lady's. you don't want to sit here alone, and billy will be tickled to death to see you." i said, i didn't want to be a trouble to him, that having one of us was enough, and he said, "my grandmother's grey cat's kittens, why you won't be no trouble, mother likes somebody to wipe the dishes, and jack likes somebody to talk onions to. we have all heard it, but it will be new to you." well, he helped me find my hat, and he almost put the hat pin through my brains, and he helped me find my blouse, i had been a setting all the time without a waist and didn't know it, and he was awful nice, never showed by the bat of an eye that i wasn't dressed in a mackintosh. then when i had powdered my eyes, we went over to the station. he wasn't on duty, but he had heard the men talking about jim being at my place, and he come along with them to see that nothing happened to me. i am going to stay here a week. i can't work and tom went and saw the manager and fred keeney, my dancing partner, and got me off for a week. mabel sullivan is going to take my place. she dances a good deal better than i have the last month since i have been so worried, so it'll be all right. billy is looking fine. he calls the old lady "granny" and talks as irish as she does. she is crazy about him, and says she will never let me take him away. now, don't feel too broke up, kate. i am afraid i haven't told you very well about it, but i had rather have you hear it from me, so you will get it straight. there is no use a telling you i am sorry, cause i ain't. i always hated jim's eyes, yet i wouldn't have peached on him, nor done nothing to hurt him. yours, _nan_. xxxiv _dear kate_: i am having a dandy time! this is an awful pretty place. it is kinda in the country, yet it is right in the city. captain thomas cassidy must have been a very saving man, or else he didn't let many things get by him, to be able to buy a nice little home like this. yet, perhaps, he bought it when this was real country, and cheap. the house has got a parlor and a dining room and another room and a kitchen and a laundry down stairs, and up stairs there are five bed rooms and a bath, and a great big attic where billy can play when it rains. there is a big yard, both front and back. the front yard has flowers and belongs to mrs. cassidy, and the back yard has a vegetable garden, and belongs to jack and tom, half and half. you would laugh to see them two great big babies quarreling over their vegetables. tom comes home and takes off his uniform and his collar and fusses around his garden every night. he weeds and sweats and swears, and his garden ain't nothing like jack's. all jack has to do is to look at a cabbage and it grows, and their poor mother has an awful time keeping peace in the family. if they have lettuce from jack's garden, jack says to her, "mother, ain't that the finest lettuce you ever et?" and tom drops his knife and looks up sudden at her, and she says careful-like, "it is awful good lettuce, jacky bye, but that we had yesterday was most as good," and then tom goes on eating. jack has just finished his farm schooling, and he is dippy about it. onions is his graft. why, he will talk about an onion for an hour. he got me in a corner one day, and he talked about the money there was in raising onions, how many bushels there was eaten in the world, and how many thousands of bushels there was brought in from some place down south, and the price of onions a bushel, and how many million could be raised on an acre, well, my head whirled before he got through, and i felt as if everybody had made a mistake by not turning the whole earth into an onion farm. i said to him one day, "what are you studying farming for, that don't pay? why don't you go into the police like your father and like tom?" "ah," he said, "who wants to walk up and down a hot street all day and bat a drunk over the head or pinch a kid for hooking a watermelon. i am going out in the country where i can see things grow." his mother said, "he do be taking after my people. he is just like me feyther, who always had to have his little bit of garden and his pig." here jack started in again talking so fast you could hardly understand him, he gets so excited and his eyes get bright and he waves his hands around in the air--he is awful funny. tom and his mother set back in a chair and laugh at him, just like i did when he started on pigs. he said, "now for pigs, there is more money in pigs--" just then tom hollered, "choke him, nan, choke him, if he gets started on pigs we are done for. onions is bad enough, but pigs is pigs." jack gets awful mad and hates to be laughed at, and his mother has to smooth him down. she says to him running her hand soft up and down his coat sleeve, "never you mind, jacky me bye, it is yourself that will be making the family fortune one of these days, with your onions and your pigs." tom laughed and says, "yes, if he feeds the onions to the pigs." but i think jack is right, and i hope some day he has a chance to get a farm, cause it would be a shame for a person to love a thing the way he loves it, and not be able to work at it. i asked him one day if he thought he could make it pay, and he said, "sure, don't the italians and the chinamen out west make truck farming pay? the trouble with us is, we don't go at it right. we go at it too big, and raise corn and oats and barley instead of vegetables. why, a farm near a big city like this, if it was run right, ought to just coin money." i am teaching, the boys to dance. you would kill yourself a laughing watching them. after supper we push the kitchen table back, cause the kitchen is a big old-fashioned kind, and tom takes off his coat, because he goes at it as if he was going to saw a load of lumber, and jack runs the phonograph and i try to teach tom to dance, but you might just as well teach an elephant to walk a tight rope. tom is all feet. to begin with, he is six feet two, and i come to about the second button on his coat, and i have an awful time trying to get him around. he tries so hard, he puckers his face all up in worried lines, and he sweats and he breathes hard, and then when he gets through, he falls into a chair just done up, mops his face and the back of his neck with a handkerchief or a handy towel, and says, "talk about work, why i would rather load a dray all day." then when he gets cooled off, he runs the phonograph for jack. jack dances lovely. he is awful light on his feet. you don't have to show him a step but once when he knows it, but he don't care much for dancing, not half as much as tom does, who would never learn the tango if he lived a thousand years. but it is funny to see tom. when jack is a dancing tom will take an onion and go in front of tom, holding it just out of reach and moving just as jack moves, as if he was trying to chase the onion. when i say jack is a good dancer, tom says, "sure, he is, cause he thinks he is chasing an onion. now if we only had a pig, no tellin' what he'd do." the one that can beat them all out is mrs. cassidy. at first she wouldn't get up and try, and said, "the likes of an old woman like me dancing around," but i gave her a great line of talk, told her how all the old ladies was dancing, that if she went down to the restaurants where i danced, she would see women old enough to be her grandmother, having the time of their lives. first she wouldn't listen to it, and said, "gwan, they are trying to make a fool of me in my old age," but finally i got her to try, and say, she done grand. like all irish girls, she used to dance when she was young, and it all come back to her, and she took to the new steps just natural. it was fun to see her. her face flushed, her eyes got bright, and she didn't seem to be old no more. tom and jack were tickled to death. when she got through, they clapped their hands, stamped their feet on the floor, just like the hoodlums do in the gallery, when the hero rescues the maiden. mrs. cassidy flushed, was half ashamed, and half tickled, and said she would never make a fool of herself again, but she does and she likes it, and she and jack can do the hesitation waltz beautiful. i mustn't write you any more, kate. i am awful happy here. i think of you all the time, and your letters are so good. yours, _nan_. xxxv _dear kate_: i got your letter and i know how you feel. if jim was no good, he was your husband and you cared for him, and you were a mighty good wife, too. i am sorry if i said things that hurt you about him, but oh, kate, i am glad for one thing, that is, you begin to see that crookedness don't pay, whether it is right or whether it is wrong, it just _don't pay_. look at jim and his crowd. he is dead and five of his friends are in prison, and most of the rest of them are afraid to lift their heads for fear they will see a cop a watching them. i am so glad you see it that way now, and i like to hear you say you have had enough of prison. you will never see one again, kate, except to admire the architecture from the outside. you are right about one thing. you can brace up in new york just as well as outside of it. there is no reason in the world why you should leave this little old berg. we will get up in the bronx somewhere in a little flat like charlie haines', and you won't never need to see the old crowd. something will turn up some way for you to do, and anyway, i can make enough to keep us three. why, kate, i would dance my legs off to have you and billy with me, and you a playing the game straight. so cheer up, old lady, everything is fine and dandy, and you are going to be the happiest woman one of these days in the buzum of your family. yours, _nan_. xxxvi _dear kate_: what do you think? billy is an heir! before the smiths went away they tried to sell their place over in new jersey, but they was going away too soon, and an agent couldn't sell it for them in such a hurry, so they made a will, that if mrs. smith died, the place was to go to mr. smith, and if mr. smith died first the place was to go to mrs. smith, and if they both died, the place was to go to their adopted son, william smith, and that is billy. now, what do you know about that? a lawyer came to me and told me all about it, and the will has been done something to in court, and i have had to sign some papers, and billy is a landowner. why, we was all so excited when we heard it, we all talked at once, and when jack heard it was a farm, he talked onions and pigs at the same time. we went over there last sunday, and it looked just as pretty as ever. it made me feel awful bad about the smiths, and i cried at first a lot. the house seemed lonesome with blinds all shut, and no pigs nor chickens or cattle around the barn, or in the pasture. the house inside was just as mrs. smith left it, cause they had hoped to sell it furnished, and there was even pickles and preserves in the cellar. we ate our lunch on the kitchen table which we put under the big tree looking out over the lake. it was awful pretty. the water was just like a looking glass, and once and a while a little spurt of wind would come and ruffle it all up and then it would die down quiet again. mrs. cassidy said it made her think of her home back in ireland, which is by a lake, and she talked a long time about her man who has been dead ten years, "who was one of the finest" in new york and that meant something in those days. mrs. cassidy set down in the shade with billy, and tom and jack and me went over the place. jack was crazy about it. he would take little handfuls of mud and smell it or taste it, and say, "too sour," or "it needs salt" or "there ain't lime enough," just kinda talking to himself all the time. he found the pasture with a brook running through it, and said it would be just the right thing for pigs, and he saw about ten acres he said the lord intended for an onion field. he made over the barn in his mind, and filled it full of holsteins, and i think if it had not begun to get late and we had to catch a train, that he would have all the holsteins mothers of growing families, cause he just located the right kind of a calf pen when we took him by the coat-tails and dragged him away. we got home awful tired, and everybody went to bed except jack, who set down with a pencil and paper to figure out how much money it would need to make lake rest the model farm of new jersey. good bye, kate, don't feel too bad. remember you are going to be just as happy as me some day, and that's going some. yours, _nan_. xxxvii _dear kate_: i got the grandest idea. i just can't wait to tell you. i thought it all out in the middle of the night, and i had to talk to somebody, so i got up and went into mrs. cassidy's room and got in bed with her and we talked till most morning. she was awful nice, and we talked it over and over. here it is now, kate, don't you think it is wonderful? you and billy and jack can live at lake rest when you come out! now what do you think of it! the house is there all furnished, and jack will do the farming. he is just crazy about it, and he says sure he can make it pay. tom says he will cough up and buy the things jack needs to start, if the little money jack's father left him ain't enough. you give the farm and the house, and jack will furnish the farming things and the work, and you can go halves. that sounds all right, doesn't it? anyway, even if you don't make much the first few years, you get your living, which is about all we get anyway, ain't it, kate? i feel awful bad that i can't do much, but my money all went to jim, but i will live on eggs and buttermilk, and every cent i make will go into the place. you can't help but get along, kate, and out there the old crowd will never get on to you, nobody will ever know nothing about you, and you can begin again as if you was new born. oh, i think it is grand, kate! i can see tom and mrs. cassidy and me coming to see you on a sunday morning, and you and billy and jack waiting for us at the station when the train pulls in, and we will drive over to the place and look at the chickens and scratch the pig and pick the cabbage and hear about the onions, and then after supper we will set on the porch and listen to the frogs and the whip-o-wills and see the shadows come on the lake, and feel that everything is all right, and somebody must be a sure taking care of us. write me soon, kate, and tell me you are as glad about this as i am. _nan_. xxxviii _dear kate_: i feel so kind of shamed, kind of choked up and happy, that it is awful hard for me to put down on paper just what i am a feeling, i don't know what you will say about it, kate, and i know that you will nearly drop dead when you read this, but i am going to get married and--wait a minute--i am going to marry a cop! can you beat that? me, nancy lane, who has been brought up since a kid to feel that cops is her natural enemy, and to hate a uniform as the devil hates holy water. but some way i never think of tom as being a policeman, he is so kind and good and big hearted, always doing something nice for people, and he is so nice at home, just like a great, big boy. he loves his little mother and jollies her and laughs at her, he is just like a good pal to both her and jack, and they simply worship the ground he walks on, and i don't blame them, kate, because--put your head down close--dear, i do too. it is the first time i dared say it out loud even to myself. i didn't know what was the matter with me, i used to be so anxious to get up in the morning to see him at the breakfast table, and i liked to pour his coffee, and fasten his stick in his belt and go to the gate with him. it seemed like the day would never go by until he got back. sometimes he would call me up on the telephone. why, kate, i couldn't hardly talk to him and he would notice it and his voice would get worried and he would ask me if i was sick. when he would come home at night, we would all have supper, and set around and josh and laugh and talk, him and jack half quarreling in a good natured way over their vegetables, or we would dance, or just set out on the front porch with some of the neighbors who'd come in. i didn't know i was loving him cause i wanted to be close to him, but when he was a setting by me, i didn't want to talk or nothing, i was happy just being near him. one night everybody went in and left us on the porch together. he was quiet for a long while, then he moved over closer to me and put his arm around me and he said soft and quiet-like, "nan, are you happy here with us?" and i said, "why, i ain't never been so happy in my life," and he said, "do you think you could stand it to stay always," and i kinda edged away from him and said, "i can't stay always, i must go to work next week," and he said, "no, you ain't going to work no more, nan, except for tom cassidy. you have got a life-long job teaching him to tango." i laughed kinda nervous-like. "that ain't no lie. it would take more than one life to teach you to tango." tom took hold of my face and leaned my head back, and said, "nannie, little girl, i just want you. won't you marry me?" "oh, tom," i said, and i couldn't say no more, and he said, "i don't know how to make love much, but i do love you, nan. from the first minit i laid eyes on you i wanted to take you up in my big arms and take care of you, you seemed so little and alone--and you crept right inside of my uniform and stuck around my heart till there ain't room for nothing else. why everything i hear says your name, and your face goes dancing before me as i walk up and down my beat, and when i looked up sudden the other day at the captain, hanged if for a minit he didn't have red, curly hair. say you will marry me, nancy, and we will be the happiest bunch in the bronx." when he had been talking to me it seemed i was just choked up two ways, one with happiness and the other with misery. i said to him, "oh, tom, i couldn't marry you." he said, "why not, don't you love me?" "it ain't that, tom," i said, "but my family is all crooks. you couldn't marry _me_." he said, "well, what has that got to do with it? i don't see how they can stop me marrying you. most of them is in jail anyway." i couldn't help but laugh, as he was so earnest about it, but i said, "why, tom, if they knowed down at central office that you had married me, they might break you. all the bulls know father." and then tom got mad. "break me--what would they break me for? i guess i got the right to marry the finest little girl in new york if i want to and i would just as soon take you right up to the chief himself and say 'chief, this is nancy lane and i am going to marry her. her father is old bill lane, and the worst crook this side of the pacific, but my little girl is white and clean right through.' and do you know what he would do? he would give you one look over with that clever eye of his, and say, 'put a rose in your hair and go as far as you like, _and_ because you have shown common sense for once in your life, you will be made a captain next week.'" i laughed and couldn't say nothing much, and he moved over close to me again and laid my face against his coat, and put his head down on my hair, kinda patting my face soft with his big hand. he said, "nancy darling, you do like me a little bit, don't you? i will be so good to you, little one, and i will stand between you and all your troubles. you have had your share, and you never need to have no more, cause when things don't go right, all you need to do is to run to big tom cassidy, and rub your little face up and down the front of his big coat, and squeeze a little water out of one eye, and put a little tremble in your voice, and he would go out and lick a st. patrick's day procession for you." then he was quiet but went on after a while soft and tender like, "i sure do love you, little one. don't you care for me a little?" "oh, tom," i said, "it ain't little, it is lots." then he said, "why won't you say we will be married?" and i said, "tom, i care more for you than for anything in the world, but i wouldn't hurt you for nothing." and he said, "the only way you can hurt me, nan, is to say you won't have me and you don't say that, do you dear?" i looked up at him for a minit and he must a saw what was in my eyes, cause he was quiet, just a looking deep into my eyes. then he drew my face to him with his two hands and kissed me. kate i went all of a tremble and it seemed my heart came right up on my lips when i felt his touch mine, and when he said, "say, 'i love you, tom,'" i only needed to whisper it for him to hear, and i was glad cause i couldn't have spoke it out loud to save my soul. oh, kate, i didn't know there was such a thing in the world as what i am feeling. i am so happy it keeps me quiet, and i like to set by myself and think of tom, how big and strong he is, how he will always fight my troubles. but i feel i will never have troubles if i live with him, cause he is so good and kind and gentle, that sorrow could never come near him or his. i won't write you more, cause if i wrote you a hundred pages, i couldn't say more than that i'm the happiest girl in the world, cause i love him, love him, love him. _nan_. xxxix _dear kate_: tom told his mother this morning at the breakfast table and she put down her saucer of coffee, and come over to me and kissed me, and said, "faith, the gosoon, i thought he never was going to do it. sure he's not the son of his father, or he'd a asked you the question the second day you was here. i've always wanted a daughter and now i've got one that couldn't a suited me better if i'd ordered her making." she was so happy, she spent the whole morning making plans for the future, how she would pass part of the time with me and tom, and then when we got tired of her, she would go over to see you and jack. and kate you sure will love her. she is just a dear little irish woman who has always had a great big husband or a son to stand between her and anything that might hurt her. and just think, dear, i won't never have to be alone no more, never have to worry about things all by myself, cause i, too, am going to have a great big man all my own. your happy _nan_. xl _dear kate_: we were married this morning by the priest at the church near here. mother was there (oh, kate, it is nice to say "mother"), and jack and the captain of the station that bullied me so, but he is really all right when his uniform is off and he was a great friend of tom's father. it was over awful sudden. it seemed they just had begun, when he said, "kiss your wife," and i found we was married. now you are out on saturday, kate. tom is coming with me, and we will be there at 10:30. now, i don't want you to feel, like you said in your letter, that you are ashamed to look anybody in the face. you don't need to be, and when those old doors close behind you, you just forget them, and think of what is before you. why, you went in there with nobody but me and jim and billy, and you come out having a great big family, a mother and two brothers, a kid and a sister, not to speak of a farm and two live pigs and a black and white cow that is a waiting for you, and we are all a loving you, and ain't a thinking or a caring nothing about your past, just going to help you make a future. when we step out of the gates, we will look up at the great big, blue sky and though none of us ain't long on prayer, perhaps who is ever watching above there, will know just what we feel and will start us right. anyway, kate, we will be waiting for you, and we are all going to be so happy, that there will never be a grey day, they will all be blue and gold with the sun a shining. yours, _nan cassidy_. the end dorothy and the wizard in oz a faithful record of their amazing adventures in an underground world; and how with the aid of their friends zeb hugson, eureka the kitten, and jim the cab-horse, they finally reached the wonderful land of oz by l. frank baum "royal historian of oz" --to my readers- 1. the earthquake 2. the glass city 3. the arrival of the wizard 4. the vegetable kingdom 5. dorothy picks the princess 6. the mangaboos prove dangerous 7. into the black pit and out again 8. the valley of voices 9. they fight the invisible bears 10. the braided man of pyramid mountain 11. they meet the wooden gargoyles 12. a wonderful escape 13. the den of the dragonettes 14. ozma uses the magic belt 15. old friends are reunited 16. jim, the cab-horse 17. the nine tiny piglets 18. the trial of eureka, the kitten 19. the wizard performs another trick 20. zeb returns to the ranch to my readers it's no use; no use at all. the children won't let me stop telling tales of the land of oz. i know lots of other stories, and i hope to tell them, some time or another; but just now my loving tyrants won't allow me. they cry: "oz--oz! more about oz, mr. baum!" and what can i do but obey their commands? this is our book--mine and the children's. for they have flooded me with thousands of suggestions in regard to it, and i have honestly tried to adopt as many of these suggestions as could be fitted into one story. after the wonderful success of "ozma of oz" it is evident that dorothy has become a firm fixture in these oz stories. the little ones all love dorothy, and as one of my small friends aptly states: "it isn't a real oz story without her." so here she is again, as sweet and gentle and innocent as ever, i hope, and the heroine of another strange adventure. there were many requests from my little correspondents for "more about the wizard." it seems the jolly old fellow made hosts of friends in the first oz book, in spite of the fact that he frankly acknowledged himself "a humbug." the children had heard how he mounted into the sky in a balloon and they were all waiting for him to come down again. so what could i do but tell "what happened to the wizard afterward"? you will find him in these pages, just the same humbug wizard as before. there was one thing the children demanded which i found it impossible to do in this present book: they bade me introduce toto, dorothy's little black dog, who has many friends among my readers. but you will see, when you begin to read the story, that toto was in kansas while dorothy was in california, and so she had to start on her adventure without him. in this book dorothy had to take her kitten with her instead of her dog; but in the next oz book, if i am permitted to write one, i intend to tell a good deal about toto's further history. princess ozma, whom i love as much as my readers do, is again introduced in this story, and so are several of our old friends of oz. you will also become acquainted with jim the cab-horse, the nine tiny piglets, and eureka, the kitten. i am sorry the kitten was not as well behaved as she ought to have been; but perhaps she wasn't brought up properly. dorothy found her, you see, and who her parents were nobody knows. i believe, my dears, that i am the proudest story-teller that ever lived. many a time tears of pride and joy have stood in my eyes while i read the tender, loving, appealing letters that came to me in almost every mail from my little readers. to have pleased you, to have interested you, to have won your friendship, and perhaps your love, through my stories, is to my mind as great an achievement as to become president of the united states. indeed, i would much rather be your story-teller, under these conditions, than to be the president. so you have helped me to fulfill my life's ambition, and i am more grateful to you, my dears, than i can express in words. i try to answer every letter of my young correspondents; yet sometimes there are so many letters that a little time must pass before you get your answer. but be patient, friends, for the answer will surely come, and by writing to me you more than repay me for the pleasant task of preparing these books. besides, i am proud to acknowledge that the books are partly yours, for your suggestions often guide me in telling the stories, and i am sure they would not be half so good without your clever and thoughtful assistance. l. frank baum coronado, 1908. 1. the earthquake the train from 'frisco was very late. it should have arrived at hugson's siding at midnight, but it was already five o'clock and the gray dawn was breaking in the east when the little train slowly rumbled up to the open shed that served for the station-house. as it came to a stop the conductor called out in a loud voice: "hugson's siding!" at once a little girl rose from her seat and walked to the door of the car, carrying a wicker suit-case in one hand and a round bird-cage covered up with newspapers in the other, while a parasol was tucked under her arm. the conductor helped her off the car and then the engineer started his train again, so that it puffed and groaned and moved slowly away up the track. the reason he was so late was because all through the night there were times when the solid earth shook and trembled under him, and the engineer was afraid that at any moment the rails might spread apart and an accident happen to his passengers. so he moved the cars slowly and with caution. the little girl stood still to watch until the train had disappeared around a curve; then she turned to see where she was. the shed at hugson's siding was bare save for an old wooden bench, and did not look very inviting. as she peered through the soft gray light not a house of any sort was visible near the station, nor was any person in sight; but after a while the child discovered a horse and buggy standing near a group of trees a short distance away. she walked toward it and found the horse tied to a tree and standing motionless, with its head hanging down almost to the ground. it was a big horse, tall and bony, with long legs and large knees and feet. she could count his ribs easily where they showed through the skin of his body, and his head was long and seemed altogether too big for him, as if it did not fit. his tail was short and scraggly, and his harness had been broken in many places and fastened together again with cords and bits of wire. the buggy seemed almost new, for it had a shiny top and side curtains. getting around in front, so that she could look inside, the girl saw a boy curled up on the seat, fast asleep. she set down the bird-cage and poked the boy with her parasol. presently he woke up, rose to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes briskly. "hello!" he said, seeing her, "are you dorothy gale?" "yes," she answered, looking gravely at his tousled hair and blinking gray eyes. "have you come to take me to hugson's ranch?" "of course," he answered. "train in?" "i couldn't be here if it wasn't," she said. he laughed at that, and his laugh was merry and frank. jumping out of the buggy he put dorothy's suit-case under the seat and her bird-cage on the floor in front. "canary-birds?" he asked. "oh no; it's just eureka, my kitten. i thought that was the best way to carry her." the boy nodded. "eureka's a funny name for a cat," he remarked. "i named my kitten that because i found it," she explained. "uncle henry says 'eureka' means 'i have found it.'" "all right; hop in." she climbed into the buggy and he followed her. then the boy picked up the reins, shook them, and said "gid-dap!" the horse did not stir. dorothy thought he just wiggled one of his drooping ears, but that was all. "gid-dap!" called the boy, again. the horse stood still. "perhaps," said dorothy, "if you untied him, he would go." the boy laughed cheerfully and jumped out. "guess i'm half asleep yet," he said, untying the horse. "but jim knows his business all right--don't you, jim?" patting the long nose of the animal. then he got into the buggy again and took the reins, and the horse at once backed away from the tree, turned slowly around, and began to trot down the sandy road which was just visible in the dim light. "thought that train would never come," observed the boy. "i've waited at that station for five hours." "we had a lot of earthquakes," said dorothy. "didn't you feel the ground shake?" "yes; but we're used to such things in california," he replied. "they don't scare us much." "the conductor said it was the worst quake he ever knew." "did he? then it must have happened while i was asleep," he said thoughtfully. "how is uncle henry?" she enquired, after a pause during which the horse continued to trot with long, regular strides. "he's pretty well. he and uncle hugson have been having a fine visit." "is mr. hugson your uncle?" she asked. "yes. uncle bill hugson married your uncle henry's wife's sister; so we must be second cousins," said the boy, in an amused tone. "i work for uncle bill on his ranch, and he pays me six dollars a month and my board." "isn't that a great deal?" she asked, doubtfully. "why, it's a great deal for uncle hugson, but not for me. i'm a splendid worker. i work as well as i sleep," he added, with a laugh. "what is your name?" said dorothy, thinking she liked the boy's manner and the cheery tone of his voice. "not a very pretty one," he answered, as if a little ashamed. "my whole name is zebediah; but folks just call me 'zeb.' you've been to australia, haven't you?" "yes; with uncle henry," she answered. "we got to san francisco a week ago, and uncle henry went right on to hugson's ranch for a visit while i stayed a few days in the city with some friends we had met." "how long will you be with us?" he asked. "only a day. tomorrow uncle henry and i must start back for kansas. we've been away for a long time, you know, and so we're anxious to get home again." the boy flicked the big, boney horse with his whip and looked thoughtful. then he started to say something to his little companion, but before he could speak the buggy began to sway dangerously from side to side and the earth seemed to rise up before them. next minute there was a roar and a sharp crash, and at her side dorothy saw the ground open in a wide crack and then come together again. "goodness!" she cried, grasping the iron rail of the seat. "what was that?" "that was an awful big quake," replied zeb, with a white face. "it almost got us that time, dorothy." the horse had stopped short, and stood firm as a rock. zeb shook the reins and urged him to go, but jim was stubborn. then the boy cracked his whip and touched the animal's flanks with it, and after a low moan of protest jim stepped slowly along the road. neither the boy nor the girl spoke again for some minutes. there was a breath of danger in the very air, and every few moments the earth would shake violently. jim's ears were standing erect upon his head and every muscle of his big body was tense as he trotted toward home. he was not going very fast, but on his flanks specks of foam began to appear and at times he would tremble like a leaf. the sky had grown darker again and the wind made queer sobbing sounds as it swept over the valley. suddenly there was a rending, tearing sound, and the earth split into another great crack just beneath the spot where the horse was standing. with a wild neigh of terror the animal fell bodily into the pit, drawing the buggy and its occupants after him. dorothy grabbed fast hold of the buggy top and the boy did the same. the sudden rush into space confused them so that they could not think. blackness engulfed them on every side, and in breathless silence they waited for the fall to end and crush them against jagged rocks or for the earth to close in on them again and bury them forever in its dreadful depths. the horrible sensation of falling, the darkness and the terrifying noises, proved more than dorothy could endure and for a few moments the little girl lost consciousness. zeb, being a boy, did not faint, but he was badly frightened, and clung to the buggy seat with a tight grip, expecting every moment would be his last. 2. the glass city when dorothy recovered her senses they were still falling, but not so fast. the top of the buggy caught the air like a parachute or an umbrella filled with wind, and held them back so that they floated downward with a gentle motion that was not so very disagreeable to bear. the worst thing was their terror of reaching the bottom of this great crack in the earth, and the natural fear that sudden death was about to overtake them at any moment. crash after crash echoed far above their heads, as the earth came together where it had split, and stones and chunks of clay rattled around them on every side. these they could not see, but they could feel them pelting the buggy top, and jim screamed almost like a human being when a stone overtook him and struck his boney body. they did not really hurt the poor horse, because everything was falling together; only the stones and rubbish fell faster than the horse and buggy, which were held back by the pressure of the air, so that the terrified animal was actually more frightened than he was injured. how long this state of things continued dorothy could not even guess, she was so greatly bewildered. but bye and bye, as she stared ahead into the black chasm with a beating heart, she began to dimly see the form of the horse jim--his head up in the air, his ears erect and his long legs sprawling in every direction as he tumbled through space. also, turning her head, she found that she could see the boy beside her, who had until now remained as still and silent as she herself. dorothy sighed and commenced to breathe easier. she began to realize that death was not in store for her, after all, but that she had merely started upon another adventure, which promised to be just as queer and unusual as were those she had before encountered. with this thought in mind the girl took heart and leaned her head over the side of the buggy to see where the strange light was coming from. far below her she found six great glowing balls suspended in the air. the central and largest one was white, and reminded her of the sun. around it were arranged, like the five points of a star, the other five brilliant balls; one being rose colored, one violet, one yellow, one blue and one orange. this splendid group of colored suns sent rays darting in every direction, and as the horse and buggy--with dorothy and zeb--sank steadily downward and came nearer to the lights, the rays began to take on all the delicate tintings of a rainbow, growing more and more distinct every moment until all the space was brilliantly illuminated. dorothy was too dazed to say much, but she watched one of jim's big ears turn to violet and the other to rose, and wondered that his tail should be yellow and his body striped with blue and orange like the stripes of a zebra. then she looked at zeb, whose face was blue and whose hair was pink, and gave a little laugh that sounded a bit nervous. "isn't it funny?" she said. the boy was startled and his eyes were big. dorothy had a green streak through the center of her face where the blue and yellow lights came together, and her appearance seemed to add to his fright. "i--i don't s-s-see any-thing funny--'bout it!" he stammered. just then the buggy tipped slowly over upon its side, the body of the horse tipping also. but they continued to fall, all together, and the boy and girl had no difficulty in remaining upon the seat, just as they were before. then they turned bottom side up, and continued to roll slowly over until they were right side up again. during this time jim struggled frantically, all his legs kicking the air; but on finding himself in his former position the horse said, in a relieved tone of voice: "well, that's better!" dorothy and zeb looked at one another in wonder. "can your horse talk?" she asked. "never knew him to, before," replied the boy. "those were the first words i ever said," called out the horse, who had overheard them, "and i can't explain why i happened to speak then. this is a nice scrape you've got me into, isn't it?" "as for that, we are in the same scrape ourselves," answered dorothy, cheerfully. "but never mind; something will happen pretty soon." "of course," growled the horse, "and then we shall be sorry it happened." zeb gave a shiver. all this was so terrible and unreal that he could not understand it at all, and so had good reason to be afraid. swiftly they drew near to the flaming colored suns, and passed close beside them. the light was then so bright that it dazzled their eyes, and they covered their faces with their hands to escape being blinded. there was no heat in the colored suns, however, and after they had passed below them the top of the buggy shut out many of the piercing rays so that the boy and girl could open their eyes again. "we've got to come to the bottom some time," remarked zeb, with a deep sigh. "we can't keep falling forever, you know." "of course not," said dorothy. "we are somewhere in the middle of the earth, and the chances are we'll reach the other side of it before long. but it's a big hollow, isn't it?" "awful big!" answered the boy. "we're coming to something now," announced the horse. at this they both put their heads over the side of the buggy and looked down. yes; there was land below them; and not so very far away, either. but they were floating very, very slowly--so slowly that it could no longer be called a fall--and the children had ample time to take heart and look about them. they saw a landscape with mountains and plains, lakes and rivers, very like those upon the earth's surface; but all the scene was splendidly colored by the variegated lights from the six suns. here and there were groups of houses that seemed made of clear glass, because they sparkled so brightly. "i'm sure we are in no danger," said dorothy, in a sober voice. "we are falling so slowly that we can't be dashed to pieces when we land, and this country that we are coming to seems quite pretty." "we'll never get home again, though!" declared zeb, with a groan. "oh, i'm not so sure of that," replied the girl. "but don't let us worry over such things, zeb; we can't help ourselves just now, you know, and i've always been told it's foolish to borrow trouble." the boy became silent, having no reply to so sensible a speech, and soon both were fully occupied in staring at the strange scenes spread out below them. they seemed to be falling right into the middle of a big city which had many tall buildings with glass domes and sharp-pointed spires. these spires were like great spear-points, and if they tumbled upon one of them they were likely to suffer serious injury. jim the horse had seen these spires, also, and his ears stood straight up with fear, while dorothy and zeb held their breaths in suspense. but no; they floated gently down upon a broad, flat roof, and came to a stop at last. when jim felt something firm under his feet the poor beast's legs trembled so much that he could hardly stand; but zeb at once leaped out of the buggy to the roof, and he was so awkward and hasty that he kicked over dorothy's bird-cage, which rolled out upon the roof so that the bottom came off. at once a pink kitten crept out of the upset cage, sat down upon the glass roof, and yawned and blinked its round eyes. "oh," said dorothy. "there's eureka." "first time i ever saw a pink cat," said zeb. "eureka isn't pink; she's white. it's this queer light that gives her that color." "where's my milk?" asked the kitten, looking up into dorothy's face. "i'm 'most starved to death." "oh, eureka! can you talk?" "talk! am i talking? good gracious, i believe i am. isn't it funny?" asked the kitten. "it's all wrong," said zeb, gravely. "animals ought not to talk. but even old jim has been saying things since we had our accident." "i can't see that it's wrong," remarked jim, in his gruff tones. "at least, it isn't as wrong as some other things. what's going to become of us now?" "i don't know," answered the boy, looking around him curiously. the houses of the city were all made of glass, so clear and transparent that one could look through the walls as easily as through a window. dorothy saw, underneath the roof on which she stood, several rooms used for rest chambers, and even thought she could make out a number of queer forms huddled into the corners of these rooms. the roof beside them had a great hole smashed through it, and pieces of glass were lying scattered in every direction. a nearby steeple had been broken off short and the fragments lay heaped beside it. other buildings were cracked in places or had corners chipped off from them; but they must have been very beautiful before these accidents had happened to mar their perfection. the rainbow tints from the colored suns fell upon the glass city softly and gave to the buildings many delicate, shifting hues which were very pretty to see. but not a sound had broken the stillness since the strangers had arrived, except that of their own voices. they began to wonder if there were no people to inhabit this magnificent city of the inner world. suddenly a man appeared through a hole in the roof next to the one they were on and stepped into plain view. he was not a very large man, but was well formed and had a beautiful face--calm and serene as the face of a fine portrait. his clothing fitted his form snugly and was gorgeously colored in brilliant shades of green, which varied as the sunbeams touched them but was not wholly influenced by the solar rays. the man had taken a step or two across the glass roof before he noticed the presence of the strangers; but then he stopped abruptly. there was no expression of either fear or surprise upon his tranquil face, yet he must have been both astonished and afraid; for after his eyes had rested upon the ungainly form of the horse for a moment he walked rapidly to the furthest edge of the roof, his head turned back over his shoulder to gaze at the strange animal. "look out!" cried dorothy, who noticed that the beautiful man did not look where he was going; "be careful, or you'll fall off!" but he paid no attention to her warning. he reached the edge of the tall roof, stepped one foot out into the air, and walked into space as calmly as if he were on firm ground. the girl, greatly astonished, ran to lean over the edge of the roof, and saw the man walking rapidly through the air toward the ground. soon he reached the street and disappeared through a glass doorway into one of the glass buildings. "how strange!" she exclaimed, drawing a long breath. "yes; but it's lots of fun, if it is strange," remarked the small voice of the kitten, and dorothy turned to find her pet walking in the air a foot or so away from the edge of the roof. "come back, eureka!" she called, in distress, "you'll certainly be killed." "i have nine lives," said the kitten, purring softly as it walked around in a circle and then came back to the roof; "but i can't lose even one of them by falling in this country, because i really couldn't manage to fall if i wanted to." "does the air bear up your weight?" asked the girl. "of course; can't you see?" and again the kitten wandered into the air and back to the edge of the roof. "it's wonderful!" said dorothy. "suppose we let eureka go down to the street and get some one to help us," suggested zeb, who had been even more amazed than dorothy at these strange happenings. "perhaps we can walk on the air ourselves," replied the girl. zeb drew back with a shiver. "i wouldn't dare try," he said. "maybe jim will go," continued dorothy, looking at the horse. "and maybe he won't!" answered jim. "i've tumbled through the air long enough to make me contented on this roof." "but we didn't tumble to the roof," said the girl; "by the time we reached here we were floating very slowly, and i'm almost sure we could float down to the street without getting hurt. eureka walks on the air all right." "eureka weights only about half a pound," replied the horse, in a scornful tone, "while i weigh about half a ton." "you don't weigh as much as you ought to, jim," remarked the girl, shaking her head as she looked at the animal. "you're dreadfully skinny." "oh, well; i'm old," said the horse, hanging his head despondently, "and i've had lots of trouble in my day, little one. for a good many years i drew a public cab in chicago, and that's enough to make anyone skinny." "he eats enough to get fat, i'm sure," said the boy, gravely. "do i? can you remember any breakfast that i've had today?" growled jim, as if he resented zeb's speech. "none of us has had breakfast," said the boy; "and in a time of danger like this it's foolish to talk about eating." "nothing is more dangerous than being without food," declared the horse, with a sniff at the rebuke of his young master; "and just at present no one can tell whether there are any oats in this queer country or not. if there are, they are liable to be glass oats!" "oh, no!" exclaimed dorothy. "i can see plenty of nice gardens and fields down below us, at the edge of this city. but i wish we could find a way to get to the ground." "why don't you walk down?" asked eureka. "i'm as hungry as the horse is, and i want my milk." "will you try it, zeb?" asked the girl, turning to her companion. zeb hesitated. he was still pale and frightened, for this dreadful adventure had upset him and made him nervous and worried. but he did not wish the little girl to think him a coward, so he advanced slowly to the edge of the roof. dorothy stretched out a hand to him and zeb put one foot out and let it rest in the air a little over the edge of the roof. it seemed firm enough to walk upon, so he took courage and put out the other foot. dorothy kept hold of his hand and followed him, and soon they were both walking through the air, with the kitten frisking beside them. "come on, jim!" called the boy. "it's all right." jim had crept to the edge of the roof to look over, and being a sensible horse and quite experienced, he made up his mind that he could go where the others did. so, with a snort and a neigh and a whisk of his short tail he trotted off the roof into the air and at once began floating downward to the street. his great weight made him fall faster than the children walked, and he passed them on the way down; but when he came to the glass pavement he alighted upon it so softly that he was not even jarred. "well, well!" said dorothy, drawing a long breath, "what a strange country this is." people began to come out of the glass doors to look at the new arrivals, and pretty soon quite a crowd had assembled. there were men and women, but no children at all, and the folks were all beautifully formed and attractively dressed and had wonderfully handsome faces. there was not an ugly person in all the throng, yet dorothy was not especially pleased by the appearance of these people because their features had no more expression than the faces of dolls. they did not smile nor did they frown, or show either fear or surprise or curiosity or friendliness. they simply started at the strangers, paying most attention to jim and eureka, for they had never before seen either a horse or a cat and the children bore an outward resemblance to themselves. pretty soon a man joined the group who wore a glistening star in the dark hair just over his forehead. he seemed to be a person of authority, for the others pressed back to give him room. after turning his composed eyes first upon the animals and then upon the children he said to zeb, who was a little taller than dorothy: "tell me, intruder, was it you who caused the rain of stones?" for a moment the boy did not know what he meant by this question. then, remembering the stones that had fallen with them and passed them long before they had reached this place, he answered: "no, sir; we didn't cause anything. it was the earthquake." the man with the star stood for a time quietly thinking over this speech. then he asked: "what is an earthquake?" "i don't know," said zeb, who was still confused. but dorothy, seeing his perplexity, answered: "it's a shaking of the earth. in this quake a big crack opened and we fell through--horse and buggy, and all--and the stones got loose and came down with us." the man with the star regarded her with his calm, expressionless eyes. "the rain of stones has done much damage to our city," he said; "and we shall hold you responsible for it unless you can prove your innocence." "how can we do that?" asked the girl. "that i am not prepared to say. it is your affair, not mine. you must go to the house of the sorcerer, who will soon discover the truth." "where is the house of the sorcerer?" the girl enquired. "i will lead you to it. come!" he turned and walked down the street, and after a moment's hesitation dorothy caught eureka in her arms and climbed into the buggy. the boy took his seat beside her and said: "gid-dap jim." as the horse ambled along, drawing the buggy, the people of the glass city made way for them and formed a procession in their rear. slowly they moved down one street and up another, turning first this way and then that, until they came to an open square in the center of which was a big glass palace having a central dome and four tall spires on each corner. 3. the arrival of the wizard the doorway of the glass palace was quite big enough for the horse and buggy to enter, so zeb drove straight through it and the children found themselves in a lofty hall that was very beautiful. the people at once followed and formed a circle around the sides of the spacious room, leaving the horse and buggy and the man with the star to occupy the center of the hall. "come to us, oh, gwig!" called the man, in a loud voice. instantly a cloud of smoke appeared and rolled over the floor; then it slowly spread and ascended into the dome, disclosing a strange personage seated upon a glass throne just before jim's nose. he was formed just as were the other inhabitants of this land and his clothing only differed from theirs in being bright yellow. but he had no hair at all, and all over his bald head and face and upon the backs of his hands grew sharp thorns like those found on the branches of rose-bushes. there was even a thorn upon the tip of his nose and he looked so funny that dorothy laughed when she saw him. the sorcerer, hearing the laugh, looked toward the little girl with cold, cruel eyes, and his glance made her grow sober in an instant. "why have you dared to intrude your unwelcome persons into the secluded land of the mangaboos?" he asked, sternly. "'cause we couldn't help it," said dorothy. "why did you wickedly and viciously send the rain of stones to crack and break our houses?" he continued. "we didn't," declared the girl. "prove it!" cried the sorcerer. "we don't have to prove it," answered dorothy, indignantly. "if you had any sense at all you'd known it was the earthquake." "we only know that yesterday came a rain of stones upon us, which did much damage and injured some of our people. today came another rain of stones, and soon after it you appeared among us." "by the way," said the man with the star, looking steadily at the sorcerer, "you told us yesterday that there would not be a second rain of stones. yet one has just occurred that was even worse than the first. what is your sorcery good for if it cannot tell us the truth?" "my sorcery does tell the truth!" declared the thorn-covered man. "i said there would be but one rain of stones. this second one was a rain of people-and-horse-and-buggy. and some stones came with them." "will there be any more rains?" asked the man with the star. "no, my prince." "neither stones nor people?" "no, my prince." "are you sure?" "quite sure, my prince. my sorcery tells me so." just then a man came running into the hall and addressed the prince after making a low bow. "more wonders in the air, my lord," said he. immediately the prince and all of his people flocked out of the hall into the street, that they might see what was about to happen. dorothy and zeb jumped out of the buggy and ran after them, but the sorcerer remained calmly in his throne. far up in the air was an object that looked like a balloon. it was not so high as the glowing star of the six colored suns, but was descending slowly through the air--so slowly that at first it scarcely seemed to move. the throng stood still and waited. it was all they could do, for to go away and leave that strange sight was impossible; nor could they hurry its fall in any way. the earth children were not noticed, being so near the average size of the mangaboos, and the horse had remained in the house of the sorcerer, with eureka curled up asleep on the seat of the buggy. gradually the balloon grew bigger, which was proof that it was settling down upon the land of the mangaboos. dorothy was surprised to find how patient the people were, for her own little heart was beating rapidly with excitement. a balloon meant to her some other arrival from the surface of the earth, and she hoped it would be some one able to assist her and zeb out of their difficulties. in an hour the balloon had come near enough for her to see a basket suspended below it; in two hours she could see a head looking over the side of the basket; in three hours the big balloon settled slowly into the great square in which they stood and came to rest on the glass pavement. then a little man jumped out of the basket, took off his tall hat, and bowed very gracefully to the crowd of mangaboos around him. he was quite an old little man and his head was long and entirely bald. "why," cried dorothy, in amazement, "it's oz!" the little man looked toward her and seemed as much surprised as she was. but he smiled and bowed as he answered: "yes, my dear; i am oz, the great and terrible. eh? and you are little dorothy, from kansas. i remember you very well." "who did you say it was?" whispered zeb to the girl. "it's the wonderful wizard of oz. haven't you heard of him?" just then the man with the star came and stood before the wizard. "sir," said he, "why are you here, in the land of the mangaboos?" "didn't know what land it was, my son," returned the other, with a pleasant smile; "and, to be honest, i didn't mean to visit you when i started out. i live on top of the earth, your honor, which is far better than living inside it; but yesterday i went up in a balloon, and when i came down i fell into a big crack in the earth, caused by an earthquake. i had let so much gas out of my balloon that i could not rise again, and in a few minutes the earth closed over my head. so i continued to descend until i reached this place, and if you will show me a way to get out of it, i'll go with pleasure. sorry to have troubled you; but it couldn't be helped." the prince had listened with attention. said he: "this child, who is from the crust of the earth, like yourself, called you a wizard. is not a wizard something like a sorcerer?" "it's better," replied oz, promptly. "one wizard is worth three sorcerers." "ah, you shall prove that," said the prince. "we mangaboos have, at the present time, one of the most wonderful sorcerers that ever was picked from a bush; but he sometimes makes mistakes. do you ever make mistakes?" "never!" declared the wizard, boldly. "oh, oz!" said dorothy; "you made a lot of mistakes when you were in the marvelous land of oz." "nonsense!" said the little man, turning red--although just then a ray of violet sunlight was on his round face. "come with me," said the prince to him. "i wish to meet our sorcerer." the wizard did not like this invitation, but he could not refuse to accept it. so he followed the prince into the great domed hall, and dorothy and zeb came after them, while the throng of people trooped in also. there sat the thorny sorcerer in his chair of state, and when the wizard saw him he began to laugh, uttering comical little chuckles. "what an absurd creature!" he exclaimed. "he may look absurd," said the prince, in his quiet voice; "but he is an excellent sorcerer. the only fault i find with him is that he is so often wrong." "i am never wrong," answered the sorcerer. "only a short time ago you told me there would be no more rain of stones or of people," said the prince. "well, what then?" "here is another person descended from the air to prove you were wrong." "one person cannot be called 'people,'" said the sorcerer. "if two should come out of the sky you might with justice say i was wrong; but unless more than this one appears i will hold that i was right." "very clever," said the wizard, nodding his head as if pleased. "i am delighted to find humbugs inside the earth, just the same as on top of it. were you ever with a circus, brother?" "no," said the sorcerer. "you ought to join one," declared the little man seriously. "i belong to bailum & barney's great consolidated shows--three rings in one tent and a menagerie on the side. it's a fine aggregation, i assure you." "what do you do?" asked the sorcerer. "i go up in a balloon, usually, to draw the crowds to the circus. but i've just had the bad luck to come out of the sky, skip the solid earth, and land lower down than i intended. but never mind. it isn't everybody who gets a chance to see your land of the gabazoos." "mangaboos," said the sorcerer, correcting him. "if you are a wizard you ought to be able to call people by their right names." "oh, i'm a wizard; you may be sure of that. just as good a wizard as you are a sorcerer." "that remains to be seen," said the other. "if you are able to prove that you are better," said the prince to the little man, "i will make you the chief wizard of this domain. otherwise--" "what will happen otherwise?" asked the wizard. "i will stop you from living and forbid you to be planted," returned the prince. "that does not sound especially pleasant," said the little man, looking at the one with the star uneasily. "but never mind. i'll beat old prickly, all right." "my name is gwig," said the sorcerer, turning his heartless, cruel eyes upon his rival. "let me see you equal the sorcery i am about to perform." he waved a thorny hand and at once the tinkling of bells was heard, playing sweet music. yet, look where she would, dorothy could discover no bells at all in the great glass hall. the mangaboo people listened, but showed no great interest. it was one of the things gwig usually did to prove he was a sorcerer. now was the wizard's turn, so he smiled upon the assemblage and asked: "will somebody kindly loan me a hat?" no one did, because the mangaboos did not wear hats, and zeb had lost his, somehow, in his flight through the air. "ahem!" said the wizard, "will somebody please loan me a handkerchief?" but they had no handkerchiefs, either. "very good," remarked the wizard. "i'll use my own hat, if you please. now, good people, observe me carefully. you see, there is nothing up my sleeve and nothing concealed about my person. also, my hat is quite empty." he took off his hat and held it upside down, shaking it briskly. "let me see it," said the sorcerer. he took the hat and examined it carefully, returning it afterward to the wizard. "now," said the little man, "i will create something out of nothing." he placed the hat upon the glass floor, made a pass with his hand, and then removed the hat, displaying a little white piglet no bigger than a mouse, which began to run around here and there and to grunt and squeal in a tiny, shrill voice. the people watched it intently, for they had never seen a pig before, big or little. the wizard reached out, caught the wee creature in his hand, and holding its head between one thumb and finger and its tail between the other thumb and finger he pulled it apart, each of the two parts becoming a whole and separate piglet in an instant. he placed one upon the floor, so that it could run around, and pulled apart the other, making three piglets in all; and then one of these was pulled apart, making four piglets. the wizard continued this surprising performance until nine tiny piglets were running about at his feet, all squealing and grunting in a very comical way. "now," said the wizard of oz, "having created something from nothing, i will make something nothing again." with this he caught up two of the piglets and pushed them together, so that the two were one. then he caught up another piglet and pushed it into the first, where it disappeared. and so, one by one, the nine tiny piglets were pushed together until but a single one of the creatures remained. this the wizard placed underneath his hat and made a mystic sign above it. when he removed his hat the last piglet had disappeared entirely. the little man gave a bow to the silent throng that had watched him, and then the prince said, in his cold, calm voice: "you are indeed a wonderful wizard, and your powers are greater than those of my sorcerer." "he will not be a wonderful wizard long," remarked gwig. "why not?" enquired the wizard. "because i am going to stop your breath," was the reply. "i perceive that you are curiously constructed, and that if you cannot breathe you cannot keep alive." the little man looked troubled. "how long will it take you to stop my breath?" he asked. "about five minutes. i'm going to begin now. watch me carefully." he began making queer signs and passes toward the wizard; but the little man did not watch him long. instead, he drew a leathern case from his pocket and took from it several sharp knives, which he joined together, one after another, until they made a long sword. by the time he had attached a handle to this sword he was having much trouble to breathe, as the charm of the sorcerer was beginning to take effect. so the wizard lost no more time, but leaping forward he raised the sharp sword, whirled it once or twice around his head, and then gave a mighty stroke that cut the body of the sorcerer exactly in two. dorothy screamed and expected to see a terrible sight; but as the two halves of the sorcerer fell apart on the floor she saw that he had no bones or blood inside of him at all, and that the place where he was cut looked much like a sliced turnip or potato. "why, he's vegetable!" cried the wizard, astonished. "of course," said the prince. "we are all vegetable, in this country. are you not vegetable, also?" "no," answered the wizard. "people on top of the earth are all meat. will your sorcerer die?" "certainly, sir. he is really dead now, and will wither very quickly. so we must plant him at once, that other sorcerers may grow upon his bush," continued the prince. "what do you mean by that?" asked the little wizard, greatly puzzled. "if you will accompany me to our public gardens," replied the prince, "i will explain to you much better than i can here the mysteries of our vegetable kingdom." 4. the vegetable kingdom after the wizard had wiped the dampness from his sword and taken it apart and put the pieces into their leathern case again, the man with the star ordered some of his people to carry the two halves of the sorcerer to the public gardens. jim pricked up his ears when he heard they were going to the gardens, and wanted to join the party, thinking he might find something proper to eat; so zeb put down the top of the buggy and invited the wizard to ride with them. the seat was amply wide enough for the little man and the two children, and when jim started to leave the hall the kitten jumped upon his back and sat there quite contentedly. so the procession moved through the streets, the bearers of the sorcerer first, the prince next, then jim drawing the buggy with the strangers inside of it, and last the crowd of vegetable people who had no hearts and could neither smile nor frown. the glass city had several fine streets, for a good many people lived there; but when the procession had passed through these it came upon a broad plain covered with gardens and watered by many pretty brooks that flowed through it. there were paths through these gardens, and over some of the brooks were ornamental glass bridges. dorothy and zeb now got out of the buggy and walked beside the prince, so that they might see and examine the flowers and plants better. "who built these lovely bridges?" asked the little girl. "no one built them," answered the man with the star. "they grow." "that's queer," said she. "did the glass houses in your city grow, too?" "of course," he replied. "but it took a good many years for them to grow as large and fine as they are now. that is why we are so angry when a rain of stones comes to break our towers and crack our roofs." "can't you mend them?" she enquired. "no; but they will grow together again, in time, and we must wait until they do." they first passed through many beautiful gardens of flowers, which grew nearest the city; but dorothy could hardly tell what kind of flowers they were, because the colors were constantly changing under the shifting lights of the six suns. a flower would be pink one second, white the next, then blue or yellow; and it was the same way when they came to the plants, which had broad leaves and grew close to the ground. when they passed over a field of grass jim immediately stretched down his head and began to nibble. "a nice country this is," he grumbled, "where a respectable horse has to eat pink grass!" "it's violet," said the wizard, who was in the buggy. "now it's blue," complained the horse. "as a matter of fact, i'm eating rainbow grass." "how does it taste?" asked the wizard. "not bad at all," said jim. "if they give me plenty of it i'll not complain about its color." by this time the party had reached a freshly plowed field, and the prince said to dorothy: "this is our planting-ground." several mangaboos came forward with glass spades and dug a hole in the ground. then they put the two halves of the sorcerer into it and covered him up. after that other people brought water from a brook and sprinkled the earth. "he will sprout very soon," said the prince, "and grow into a large bush, from which we shall in time be able to pick several very good sorcerers." "do all your people grow on bushes?" asked the boy. "certainly," was the reply. "do not all people grow upon bushes where you came from, on the outside of the earth?" "not that i ever hear of." "how strange! but if you will come with me to one of our folk gardens i will show you the way we grow in the land of the mangaboos." it appeared that these odd people, while they were able to walk through the air with ease, usually moved upon the ground in the ordinary way. there were no stairs in their houses, because they did not need them, but on a level surface they generally walked just as we do. the little party of strangers now followed the prince across a few more of the glass bridges and along several paths until they came to a garden enclosed by a high hedge. jim had refused to leave the field of grass, where he was engaged in busily eating; so the wizard got out of the buggy and joined zeb and dorothy, and the kitten followed demurely at their heels. inside the hedge they came upon row after row of large and handsome plants with broad leaves gracefully curving until their points nearly reached the ground. in the center of each plant grew a daintily dressed mangaboo, for the clothing of all these creatures grew upon them and was attached to their bodies. the growing mangaboos were of all sizes, from the blossom that had just turned into a wee baby to the full-grown and almost ripe man or woman. on some of the bushes might be seen a bud, a blossom, a baby, a half-grown person and a ripe one; but even those ready to pluck were motionless and silent, as if devoid of life. this sight explained to dorothy why she had seen no children among the mangaboos, a thing she had until now been unable to account for. "our people do not acquire their real life until they leave their bushes," said the prince. "you will notice they are all attached to the plants by the soles of their feet, and when they are quite ripe they are easily separated from the stems and at once attain the powers of motion and speech. so while they grow they cannot be said to really live, and they must be picked before they can become good citizens." "how long do you live, after you are picked?" asked dorothy. "that depends upon the care we take of ourselves," he replied. "if we keep cool and moist, and meet with no accidents, we often live for five years. i've been picked over six years, but our family is known to be especially long lived." "do you eat?" asked the boy. "eat! no, indeed. we are quite solid inside our bodies, and have no need to eat, any more than does a potato." "but the potatoes sometimes sprout," said zeb. "and sometimes we do," answered the prince; "but that is considered a great misfortune, for then we must be planted at once." "where did you grow?" asked the wizard. "i will show you," was the reply. "step this way, please." he led them within another but smaller circle of hedge, where grew one large and beautiful bush. "this," said he, "is the royal bush of the mangaboos. all of our princes and rulers have grown upon this one bush from time immemorial." they stood before it in silent admiration. on the central stalk stood poised the figure of a girl so exquisitely formed and colored and so lovely in the expression of her delicate features that dorothy thought she had never seen so sweet and adorable a creature in all her life. the maiden's gown was soft as satin and fell about her in ample folds, while dainty lace-like traceries trimmed the bodice and sleeves. her flesh was fine and smooth as polished ivory, and her poise expressed both dignity and grace. "who is this?" asked the wizard, curiously. the prince had been staring hard at the girl on the bush. now he answered, with a touch of uneasiness in his cold tones: "she is the ruler destined to be my successor, for she is a royal princess. when she becomes fully ripe i must abandon the sovereignty of the mangaboos to her." "isn't she ripe now?" asked dorothy. he hesitated. "not quite," said he, finally. "it will be several days before she needs to be picked, or at least that is my judgment. i am in no hurry to resign my office and be planted, you may be sure." "probably not," declared the wizard, nodding. "this is one of the most unpleasant things about our vegetable lives," continued the prince, with a sigh, "that while we are in our full prime we must give way to another, and be covered up in the ground to sprout and grow and give birth to other people." "i'm sure the princess is ready to be picked," asserted dorothy, gazing hard at the beautiful girl on the bush. "she's as perfect as she can be." "never mind," answered the prince, hastily, "she will be all right for a few days longer, and it is best for me to rule until i can dispose of you strangers, who have come to our land uninvited and must be attended to at once." "what are you going to do with us?" asked zeb. "that is a matter i have not quite decided upon," was the reply. "i think i shall keep this wizard until a new sorcerer is ready to pick, for he seems quite skillful and may be of use to us. but the rest of you must be destroyed in some way, and you cannot be planted, because i do not wish horses and cats and meat people growing all over our country." "you needn't worry," said dorothy. "we wouldn't grow under ground, i'm sure." "but why destroy my friends?" asked the little wizard. "why not let them live?" "they do not belong here," returned the prince. "they have no right to be inside the earth at all." "we didn't ask to come down here; we fell," said dorothy. "that is no excuse," declared the prince, coldly. the children looked at each other in perplexity, and the wizard sighed. eureka rubbed her paw on her face and said in her soft, purring voice: "he won't need to destroy me, for if i don't get something to eat pretty soon i shall starve to death, and so save him the trouble." "if he planted you, he might grow some cat-tails," suggested the wizard. "oh, eureka! perhaps we can find you some milk-weeds to eat," said the boy. "phoo!" snarled the kitten; "i wouldn't touch the nasty things!" "you don't need milk, eureka," remarked dorothy; "you are big enough now to eat any kind of food." "if i can get it," added eureka. "i'm hungry myself," said zeb. "but i noticed some strawberries growing in one of the gardens, and some melons in another place. these people don't eat such things, so perhaps on our way back they will let us get them." "never mind your hunger," interrupted the prince. "i shall order you destroyed in a few minutes, so you will have no need to ruin our pretty melon vines and berry bushes. follow me, please, to meet your doom." 5. dorothy picks the princess the words of the cold and moist vegetable prince were not very comforting, and as he spoke them he turned away and left the enclosure. the children, feeling sad and despondent, were about to follow him when the wizard touched dorothy softly on her shoulder. "wait!" he whispered. "what for?" asked the girl. "suppose we pick the royal princess," said the wizard. "i'm quite sure she's ripe, and as soon as she comes to life she will be the ruler, and may treat us better than that heartless prince intends to." "all right!" exclaimed dorothy, eagerly. "let's pick her while we have the chance, before the man with the star comes back." so together they leaned over the great bush and each of them seized one hand of the lovely princess. "pull!" cried dorothy, and as they did so the royal lady leaned toward them and the stems snapped and separated from her feet. she was not at all heavy, so the wizard and dorothy managed to lift her gently to the ground. the beautiful creature passed her hands over her eyes an instant, tucked in a stray lock of hair that had become disarranged, and after a look around the garden made those present a gracious bow and said, in a sweet but even toned voice: "i thank you very much." "we salute your royal highness!" cried the wizard, kneeling and kissing her hand. just then the voice of the prince was heard calling upon them to hasten, and a moment later he returned to the enclosure, followed by a number of his people. instantly the princess turned and faced him, and when he saw that she was picked the prince stood still and began to tremble. "sir," said the royal lady, with much dignity, "you have wronged me greatly, and would have wronged me still more had not these strangers come to my rescue. i have been ready for picking all the past week, but because you were selfish and desired to continue your unlawful rule, you left me to stand silent upon my bush." "i did not know that you were ripe," answered the prince, in a low voice. "give me the star of royalty!" she commanded. slowly he took the shining star from his own brow and placed it upon that of the princess. then all the people bowed low to her, and the prince turned and walked away alone. what became of him afterward our friends never knew. the people of mangaboo now formed themselves into a procession and marched toward the glass city to escort their new ruler to her palace and to perform those ceremonies proper to the occasion. but while the people in the procession walked upon the ground the princess walked in the air just above their heads, to show that she was a superior being and more exalted than her subjects. no one now seemed to pay any attention to the strangers, so dorothy and zeb and the wizard let the train pass on and then wandered by themselves into the vegetable gardens. they did not bother to cross the bridges over the brooks, but when they came to a stream they stepped high and walked in the air to the other side. this was a very interesting experience to them, and dorothy said: "i wonder why it is that we can walk so easily in the air." "perhaps," answered the wizard, "it is because we are close to the center of the earth, where the attraction of gravitation is very slight. but i've noticed that many queer things happen in fairy countries." "is this a fairy country?" asked the boy. "of course it is," returned dorothy promptly. "only a fairy country could have veg'table people; and only in a fairy country could eureka and jim talk as we do." "that's true," said zeb, thoughtfully. in the vegetable gardens they found the strawberries and melons, and several other unknown but delicious fruits, of which they ate heartily. but the kitten bothered them constantly by demanding milk or meat, and called the wizard names because he could not bring her a dish of milk by means of his magical arts. as they sat upon the grass watching jim, who was still busily eating, eureka said: "i don't believe you are a wizard at all!" "no," answered the little man, "you are quite right. in the strict sense of the word i am not a wizard, but only a humbug." "the wizard of oz has always been a humbug," agreed dorothy. "i've known him for a long time." "if that is so," said the boy, "how could he do that wonderful trick with the nine tiny piglets?" "don't know," said dorothy, "but it must have been humbug." "very true," declared the wizard, nodding at her. "it was necessary to deceive that ugly sorcerer and the prince, as well as their stupid people; but i don't mind telling you, who are my friends, that the thing was only a trick." "but i saw the little pigs with my own eyes!" exclaimed zeb. "so did i," purred the kitten. "to be sure," answered the wizard. "you saw them because they were there. they are in my inside pocket now. but the pulling of them apart and pushing them together again was only a sleight-of-hand trick." "let's see the pigs," said eureka, eagerly. the little man felt carefully in his pocket and pulled out the tiny piglets, setting them upon the grass one by one, where they ran around and nibbled the tender blades. "they're hungry, too," he said. "oh, what cunning things!" cried dorothy, catching up one and petting it. "be careful!" said the piglet, with a squeal, "you're squeezing me!" "dear me!" murmured the wizard, looking at his pets in astonishment. "they can actually talk!" "may i eat one of them?" asked the kitten, in a pleading voice. "i'm awfully hungry." "why, eureka," said dorothy, reproachfully, "what a cruel question! it would be dreadful to eat these dear little things." "i should say so!" grunted another of the piglets, looking uneasily at the kitten; "cats are cruel things." "i'm not cruel," replied the kitten, yawning. "i'm just hungry." "you cannot eat my piglets, even if you are starving," declared the little man, in a stern voice. "they are the only things i have to prove i'm a wizard." "how did they happen to be so little?" asked dorothy. "i never saw such small pigs before." "they are from the island of teenty-weent," said the wizard, "where everything is small because it's a small island. a sailor brought them to los angeles and i gave him nine tickets to the circus for them." "but what am i going to eat?" wailed the kitten, sitting in front of dorothy and looking pleadingly into her face. "there are no cows here to give milk; or any mice, or even grasshoppers. and if i can't eat the piglets you may as well plant me at once and raise catsup." "i have an idea," said the wizard, "that there are fishes in these brooks. do you like fish?" "fish!" cried the kitten. "do i like fish? why, they're better than piglets--or even milk!" "then i'll try to catch you some," said he. "but won't they be veg'table, like everything else here?" asked the kitten. "i think not. fishes are not animals, and they are as cold and moist as the vegetables themselves. there is no reason, that i can see, why they may not exist in the waters of this strange country." then the wizard bent a pin for a hook and took a long piece of string from his pocket for a fish-line. the only bait he could find was a bright red blossom from a flower; but he knew fishes are easy to fool if anything bright attracts their attention, so he decided to try the blossom. having thrown the end of his line in the water of a nearby brook he soon felt a sharp tug that told him a fish had bitten and was caught on the bent pin; so the little man drew in the string and, sure enough, the fish came with it and was landed safely on the shore, where it began to flop around in great excitement. the fish was fat and round, and its scales glistened like beautifully cut jewels set close together; but there was no time to examine it closely, for eureka made a jump and caught it between her claws, and in a few moments it had entirely disappeared. "oh, eureka!" cried dorothy, "did you eat the bones?" "if it had any bones, i ate them," replied the kitten, composedly, as it washed its face after the meal. "but i don't think that fish had any bones, because i didn't feel them scratch my throat." "you were very greedy," said the girl. "i was very hungry," replied the kitten. the little pigs had stood huddled in a group, watching this scene with frightened eyes. "cats are dreadful creatures!" said one of them. "i'm glad we are not fishes!" said another. "don't worry," dorothy murmured, soothingly, "i'll not let the kitten hurt you." then she happened to remember that in a corner of her suit-case were one or two crackers that were left over from her luncheon on the train, and she went to the buggy and brought them. eureka stuck up her nose at such food, but the tiny piglets squealed delightedly at the sight of the crackers and ate them up in a jiffy. "now let us go back to the city," suggested the wizard. "that is, if jim has had enough of the pink grass." the cab-horse, who was browsing near, lifted his head with a sigh. "i've tried to eat a lot while i had the chance," said he, "for it's likely to be a long while between meals in this strange country. but i'm ready to go, now, at any time you wish." so, after the wizard had put the piglets back into his inside pocket, where they cuddled up and went to sleep, the three climbed into the buggy and jim started back to the town. "where shall we stay?" asked the girl. "i think i shall take possession of the house of the sorcerer," replied the wizard; "for the prince said in the presence of his people that he would keep me until they picked another sorcerer, and the new princess won't know but that we belong there." they agreed to this plan, and when they reached the great square jim drew the buggy into the big door of the domed hall. "it doesn't look very homelike," said dorothy, gazing around at the bare room. "but it's a place to stay, anyhow." "what are those holes up there?" enquired the boy, pointing to some openings that appeared near the top of the dome. "they look like doorways," said dorothy; "only there are no stairs to get to them." "you forget that stairs are unnecessary," observed the wizard. "let us walk up, and see where the doors lead to." with this he began walking in the air toward the high openings, and dorothy and zeb followed him. it was the same sort of climb one experiences when walking up a hill, and they were nearly out of breath when they came to the row of openings, which they perceived to be doorways leading into halls in the upper part of the house. following these halls they discovered many small rooms opening from them, and some were furnished with glass benches, tables and chairs. but there were no beds at all. "i wonder if these people never sleep," said the girl. "why, there seems to be no night at all in this country," zeb replied. "those colored suns are exactly in the same place they were when we came, and if there is no sunset there can be no night." "very true," agreed the wizard. "but it is a long time since i have had any sleep, and i'm tired. so i think i shall lie down upon one of these hard glass benches and take a nap." "i will, too," said dorothy, and chose a little room at the end of the hall. zeb walked down again to unharness jim, who, when he found himself free, rolled over a few times and then settled down to sleep, with eureka nestling comfortably beside his big, boney body. then the boy returned to one of the upper rooms, and in spite of the hardness of the glass bench was soon deep in slumberland. 6. the mangaboos prove dangerous when the wizard awoke the six colored suns were shining down upon the land of the mangaboos just as they had done ever since his arrival. the little man, having had a good sleep, felt rested and refreshed, and looking through the glass partition of the room he saw zeb sitting up on his bench and yawning. so the wizard went in to him. "zeb," said he, "my balloon is of no further use in this strange country, so i may as well leave it on the square where it fell. but in the basket-car are some things i would like to keep with me. i wish you would go and fetch my satchel, two lanterns, and a can of kerosene oil that is under the seat. there is nothing else that i care about." so the boy went willingly upon the errand, and by the time he had returned dorothy was awake. then the three held a counsel to decide what they should do next, but could think of no way to better their condition. "i don't like these veg'table people," said the little girl. "they're cold and flabby, like cabbages, in spite of their prettiness." "i agree with you. it is because there is no warm blood in them," remarked the wizard. "and they have no hearts; so they can't love anyone--not even themselves," declared the boy. "the princess is lovely to look at," continued dorothy, thoughtfully; "but i don't care much for her, after all. if there was any other place to go, i'd like to go there." "but is there any other place?" asked the wizard. "i don't know," she answered. just then they heard the big voice of jim the cab-horse calling to them, and going to the doorway leading to the dome they found the princess and a throng of her people had entered the house of the sorcerer. so they went down to greet the beautiful vegetable lady, who said to them: "i have been talking with my advisors about you meat people, and we have decided that you do not belong in the land of the mangaboos and must not remain here." "how can we go away?" asked dorothy. "oh, you cannot go away, of course; so you must be destroyed," was the answer. "in what way?" enquired the wizard. "we shall throw you three people into the garden of the twining vines," said the princess, "and they will soon crush you and devour your bodies to make themselves grow bigger. the animals you have with you we will drive to the mountains and put into the black pit. then our country will be rid of all its unwelcome visitors." "but you are in need of a sorcerer," said the wizard, "and not one of those growing is yet ripe enough to pick. i am greater than any thorn-covered sorcerer that every grew in your garden. why destroy me?" "it is true we need a sorcerer," acknowledged the princess, "but i am informed that one of our own will be ready to pick in a few days, to take the place of gwig, whom you cut in two before it was time for him to be planted. let us see your arts, and the sorceries you are able to perform. then i will decide whether to destroy you with the others or not." at this the wizard made a bow to the people and repeated his trick of producing the nine tiny piglets and making them disappear again. he did it very cleverly, indeed, and the princess looked at the strange piglets as if she were as truly astonished as any vegetable person could be. but afterward she said: "i have heard of this wonderful magic. but it accomplishes nothing of value. what else can you do?" the wizard tried to think. then he jointed together the blades of his sword and balanced it very skillfully upon the end of his nose. but even that did not satisfy the princess. just then his eye fell upon the lanterns and the can of kerosene oil which zeb had brought from the car of his balloon, and he got a clever idea from those commonplace things. "your highness," said he, "i will now proceed to prove my magic by creating two suns that you have never seen before; also i will exhibit a destroyer much more dreadful that your clinging vines." so he placed dorothy upon one side of him and the boy upon the other and set a lantern upon each of their heads. "don't laugh," he whispered to them, "or you will spoil the effect of my magic." then, with much dignity and a look of vast importance upon his wrinkled face, the wizard got out his match-box and lighted the two lanterns. the glare they made was very small when compared with the radiance of the six great colored suns; but still they gleamed steadily and clearly. the mangaboos were much impressed because they had never before seen any light that did not come directly from their suns. next the wizard poured a pool of oil from the can upon the glass floor, where it covered quite a broad surface. when he lighted the oil a hundred tongues of flame shot up, and the effect was really imposing. "now, princess," exclaimed the wizard, "those of your advisors who wished to throw us into the garden of clinging vines must step within this circle of light. if they advised you well, and were in the right, they will not be injured in any way. but if any advised you wrongly, the light will wither him." the advisors of the princess did not like this test; but she commanded them to step into the flame and one by one they did so, and were scorched so badly that the air was soon filled with an odor like that of baked potatoes. some of the mangaboos fell down and had to be dragged from the fire, and all were so withered that it would be necessary to plant them at once. "sir," said the princess to the wizard, "you are greater than any sorcerer we have ever known. as it is evident that my people have advised me wrongly, i will not cast you three people into the dreadful garden of the clinging vines; but your animals must be driven into the black pit in the mountain, for my subjects cannot bear to have them around." the wizard was so pleased to have saved the two children and himself that he said nothing against this decree; but when the princess had gone both jim and eureka protested they did not want to go to the black pit, and dorothy promised she would do all that she could to save them from such a fate. for two or three days after this--if we call days the periods between sleep, there being no night to divide the hours into days--our friends were not disturbed in any way. they were even permitted to occupy the house of the sorcerer in peace, as if it had been their own, and to wander in the gardens in search of food. once they came near to the enclosed garden of the clinging vines, and walking high into the air looked down upon it with much interest. they saw a mass of tough green vines all matted together and writhing and twisting around like a nest of great snakes. everything the vines touched they crushed, and our adventurers were indeed thankful to have escaped being cast among them. whenever the wizard went to sleep he would take the nine tiny piglets from his pocket and let them run around on the floor of his room to amuse themselves and get some exercise; and one time they found his glass door ajar and wandered into the hall and then into the bottom part of the great dome, walking through the air as easily as eureka could. they knew the kitten, by this time, so they scampered over to where she lay beside jim and commenced to frisk and play with her. the cab-horse, who never slept long at a time, sat upon his haunches and watched the tiny piglets and the kitten with much approval. "don't be rough!" he would call out, if eureka knocked over one of the round, fat piglets with her paw; but the pigs never minded, and enjoyed the sport very greatly. suddenly they looked up to find the room filled with the silent, solemn-eyed mangaboos. each of the vegetable folks bore a branch covered with sharp thorns, which was thrust defiantly toward the horse, the kitten and the piglets. "here--stop this foolishness!" jim roared, angrily; but after being pricked once or twice he got upon his four legs and kept out of the way of the thorns. the mangaboos surrounded them in solid ranks, but left an opening to the doorway of the hall; so the animals slowly retreated until they were driven from the room and out upon the street. here were more of the vegetable people with thorns, and silently they urged the now frightened creatures down the street. jim had to be careful not to step upon the tiny piglets, who scampered under his feet grunting and squealing, while eureka, snarling and biting at the thorns pushed toward her, also tried to protect the pretty little things from injury. slowly but steadily the heartless mangaboos drove them on, until they had passed through the city and the gardens and come to the broad plains leading to the mountain. "what does all this mean, anyhow?" asked the horse, jumping to escape a thorn. "why, they are driving us toward the black pit, into which they threatened to cast us," replied the kitten. "if i were as big as you are, jim, i'd fight these miserable turnip-roots!" "what would you do?" enquired jim. "i'd kick out with those long legs and iron-shod hoofs." "all right," said the horse; "i'll do it." an instant later he suddenly backed toward the crowd of mangaboos and kicked out his hind legs as hard as he could. a dozen of them smashed together and tumbled to the ground, and seeing his success jim kicked again and again, charging into the vegetable crowd, knocking them in all directions and sending the others scattering to escape his iron heels. eureka helped him by flying into the faces of the enemy and scratching and biting furiously, and the kitten ruined so many vegetable complexions that the mangaboos feared her as much as they did the horse. but the foes were too many to be repulsed for long. they tired jim and eureka out, and although the field of battle was thickly covered with mashed and disabled mangaboos, our animal friends had to give up at last and allow themselves to be driven to the mountain. 7. into the black pit and out again when they came to the mountain it proved to be a rugged, towering chunk of deep green glass, and looked dismal and forbidding in the extreme. half way up the steep was a yawning cave, black as night beyond the point where the rainbow rays of the colored suns reached into it. the mangaboos drove the horse and the kitten and the piglets into this dark hole and then, having pushed the buggy in after them--for it seemed some of them had dragged it all the way from the domed hall--they began to pile big glass rocks within the entrance, so that the prisoners could not get out again. "this is dreadful!" groaned jim. "it will be about the end of our adventures, i guess." "if the wizard was here," said one of the piglets, sobbing bitterly, "he would not see us suffer so." "we ought to have called him and dorothy when we were first attacked," added eureka. "but never mind; be brave, my friends, and i will go and tell our masters where you are, and get them to come to your rescue." the mouth of the hole was nearly filled up now, but the kitten gave a leap through the remaining opening and at once scampered up into the air. the mangaboos saw her escape, and several of them caught up their thorns and gave chase, mounting through the air after her. eureka, however, was lighter than the mangaboos, and while they could mount only about a hundred feet above the earth the kitten found she could go nearly two hundred feet. so she ran along over their heads until she had left them far behind and below and had come to the city and the house of the sorcerer. there she entered in at dorothy's window in the dome and aroused her from her sleep. as soon as the little girl knew what had happened she awakened the wizard and zeb, and at once preparations were made to go to the rescue of jim and the piglets. the wizard carried his satchel, which was quite heavy, and zeb carried the two lanterns and the oil can. dorothy's wicker suit-case was still under the seat of the buggy, and by good fortune the boy had also placed the harness in the buggy when he had taken it off from jim to let the horse lie down and rest. so there was nothing for the girl to carry but the kitten, which she held close to her bosom and tried to comfort, for its little heart was still beating rapidly. some of the mangaboos discovered them as soon as they left the house of the sorcerer; but when they started toward the mountain the vegetable people allowed them to proceed without interference, yet followed in a crowd behind them so that they could not go back again. before long they neared the black pit, where a busy swarm of mangaboos, headed by their princess, was engaged in piling up glass rocks before the entrance. "stop, i command you!" cried the wizard, in an angry tone, and at once began pulling down the rocks to liberate jim and the piglets. instead of opposing him in this they stood back in silence until he had made a good-sized hole in the barrier, when by order of the princess they all sprang forward and thrust out their sharp thorns. dorothy hopped inside the opening to escape being pricked, and zeb and the wizard, after enduring a few stabs from the thorns, were glad to follow her. at once the mangaboos began piling up the rocks of glass again, and as the little man realized that they were all about to be entombed in the mountain he said to the children: "my dears, what shall we do? jump out and fight?" "what's the use?" replied dorothy. "i'd as soon die here as live much longer among these cruel and heartless people." "that's the way i feel about it," remarked zeb, rubbing his wounds. "i've had enough of the mangaboos." "all right," said the wizard; "i'm with you, whatever you decide. but we can't live long in this cavern, that's certain." noticing that the light was growing dim he picked up his nine piglets, patted each one lovingly on its fat little head, and placed them carefully in his inside pocket. zeb struck a match and lighted one of the lanterns. the rays of the colored suns were now shut out from them forever, for the last chinks had been filled up in the wall that separated their prison from the land of the mangaboos. "how big is this hole?" asked dorothy. "i'll explore it and see," replied the boy. so he carried the lantern back for quite a distance, while dorothy and the wizard followed at his side. the cavern did not come to an end, as they had expected it would, but slanted upward through the great glass mountain, running in a direction that promised to lead them to the side opposite the mangaboo country. "it isn't a bad road," observed the wizard, "and if we followed it it might lead us to some place that is more comfortable than this black pocket we are now in. i suppose the vegetable folk were always afraid to enter this cavern because it is dark; but we have our lanterns to light the way, so i propose that we start out and discover where this tunnel in the mountain leads to." the others agreed readily to this sensible suggestion, and at once the boy began to harness jim to the buggy. when all was in readiness the three took their seats in the buggy and jim started cautiously along the way, zeb driving while the wizard and dorothy each held a lighted lantern so the horse could see where to go. sometimes the tunnel was so narrow that the wheels of the buggy grazed the sides; then it would broaden out as wide as a street; but the floor was usually smooth, and for a long time they travelled on without any accident. jim stopped sometimes to rest, for the climb was rather steep and tiresome. "we must be nearly as high as the six colored suns, by this time," said dorothy. "i didn't know this mountain was so tall." "we are certainly a good distance away from the land of the mangaboos," added zeb; "for we have slanted away from it ever since we started." but they kept steadily moving, and just as jim was about tired out with his long journey the way suddenly grew lighter, and zeb put out the lanterns to save the oil. to their joy they found it was a white light that now greeted them, for all were weary of the colored rainbow lights which, after a time, had made their eyes ache with their constantly shifting rays. the sides of the tunnel showed before them like the inside of a long spy-glass, and the floor became more level. jim hastened his lagging steps at this assurance of a quick relief from the dark passage, and in a few moments more they had emerged from the mountain and found themselves face to face with a new and charming country. 8. the valley of voices by journeying through the glass mountain they had reached a delightful valley that was shaped like the hollow of a great cup, with another rugged mountain showing on the other side of it, and soft and pretty green hills at the ends. it was all laid out into lovely lawns and gardens, with pebble paths leading through them and groves of beautiful and stately trees dotting the landscape here and there. there were orchards, too, bearing luscious fruits that are all unknown in our world. alluring brooks of crystal water flowed sparkling between their flower-strewn banks, while scattered over the valley were dozens of the quaintest and most picturesque cottages our travelers had ever beheld. none of them were in clusters, such as villages or towns, but each had ample grounds of its own, with orchards and gardens surrounding it. as the new arrivals gazed upon this exquisite scene they were enraptured by its beauties and the fragrance that permeated the soft air, which they breathed so gratefully after the confined atmosphere of the tunnel. several minutes were consumed in silent admiration before they noticed two very singular and unusual facts about this valley. one was that it was lighted from some unseen source; for no sun or moon was in the arched blue sky, although every object was flooded with a clear and perfect light. the second and even more singular fact was the absence of any inhabitant of this splendid place. from their elevated position they could overlook the entire valley, but not a single moving object could they see. all appeared mysteriously deserted. the mountain on this side was not glass, but made of a stone similar to granite. with some difficulty and danger jim drew the buggy over the loose rocks until he reached the green lawns below, where the paths and orchards and gardens began. the nearest cottage was still some distance away. "isn't it fine?" cried dorothy, in a joyous voice, as she sprang out of the buggy and let eureka run frolicking over the velvety grass. "yes, indeed!" answered zeb. "we were lucky to get away from those dreadful vegetable people." "it wouldn't be so bad," remarked the wizard, gazing around him, "if we were obliged to live here always. we couldn't find a prettier place, i'm sure." he took the piglets from his pocket and let them run on the grass, and jim tasted a mouthful of the green blades and declared he was very contented in his new surroundings. "we can't walk in the air here, though," called eureka, who had tried it and failed; but the others were satisfied to walk on the ground, and the wizard said they must be nearer the surface of the earth then they had been in the mangaboo country, for everything was more homelike and natural. "but where are the people?" asked dorothy. the little man shook his bald head. "can't imagine, my dear," he replied. they heard the sudden twittering of a bird, but could not find the creature anywhere. slowly they walked along the path toward the nearest cottage, the piglets racing and gambolling beside them and jim pausing at every step for another mouthful of grass. presently they came to a low plant which had broad, spreading leaves, in the center of which grew a single fruit about as large as a peach. the fruit was so daintily colored and so fragrant, and looked so appetizing and delicious that dorothy stopped and exclaimed: "what is it, do you s'pose?" the piglets had smelled the fruit quickly, and before the girl could reach out her hand to pluck it every one of the nine tiny ones had rushed in and commenced to devour it with great eagerness. "it's good, anyway," said zeb, "or those little rascals wouldn't have gobbled it up so greedily." "where are they?" asked dorothy, in astonishment. they all looked around, but the piglets had disappeared. "dear me!" cried the wizard; "they must have run away. but i didn't see them go; did you?" "no!" replied the boy and the girl, together. "here,--piggy, piggy, piggy!" called their master, anxiously. several squeals and grunts were instantly heard at his feet, but the wizard could not discover a single piglet. "where are you?" he asked. "why, right beside you," spoke a tiny voice. "can't you see us?" "no," answered the little man, in a puzzled tone. "we can see you," said another of the piglets. the wizard stooped down and put out his hand, and at once felt the small fat body of one of his pets. he picked it up, but could not see what he held. "it is very strange," said he, soberly. "the piglets have become invisible, in some curious way." "i'll bet it's because they ate that peach!" cried the kitten. "it wasn't a peach, eureka," said dorothy. "i only hope it wasn't poison." "it was fine, dorothy," called one of the piglets. "we'll eat all we can find of them," said another. "but we mus'n't eat them," the wizard warned the children, "or we too may become invisible, and lose each other. if we come across another of the strange fruit we must avoid it." calling the piglets to him he picked them all up, one by one, and put them away in his pocket; for although he could not see them he could feel them, and when he had buttoned his coat he knew they were safe for the present. the travellers now resumed their walk toward the cottage, which they presently reached. it was a pretty place, with vines growing thickly over the broad front porch. the door stood open and a table was set in the front room, with four chairs drawn up to it. on the table were plates, knives and forks, and dishes of bread, meat and fruits. the meat was smoking hot and the knives and forks were performing strange antics and jumping here and there in quite a puzzling way. but not a single person appeared to be in the room. "how funny!" exclaimed dorothy, who with zeb and the wizard now stood in the doorway. a peal of merry laughter answered her, and the knives and forks fell to the plates with a clatter. one of the chairs pushed back from the table, and this was so astonishing and mysterious that dorothy was almost tempted to run away in fright. "here are strangers, mama!" cried the shrill and childish voice of some unseen person. "so i see, my dear," answered another voice, soft and womanly. "what do you want?" demanded a third voice, in a stern, gruff accent. "well, well!" said the wizard; "are there really people in this room?" "of course," replied the man's voice. "and--pardon me for the foolish question--but, are you all invisible?" "surely," the woman answered, repeating her low, rippling laughter. "are you surprised that you are unable to see the people of voe?" "why, yes," stammered the wizard. "all the people i have ever met before were very plain to see." "where do you come from, then?" asked the woman, in a curious tone. "we belong upon the face of the earth," explained the wizard, "but recently, during an earthquake, we fell down a crack and landed in the country of the mangaboos." "dreadful creatures!" exclaimed the woman's voice. "i've heard of them." "they walled us up in a mountain," continued the wizard; "but we found there was a tunnel through to this side, so we came here. it is a beautiful place. what do you call it?" "it is the valley of voe." "thank you. we have seen no people since we arrived, so we came to this house to enquire our way." "are you hungry?" asked the woman's voice. "i could eat something," said dorothy. "so could i," added zeb. "but we do not wish to intrude, i assure you," the wizard hastened to say. "that's all right," returned the man's voice, more pleasantly than before. "you are welcome to what we have." as he spoke the voice came so near to zeb that he jumped back in alarm. two childish voices laughed merrily at this action, and dorothy was sure they were in no danger among such light-hearted folks, even if those folks couldn't be seen. "what curious animal is that which is eating the grass on my lawn?" enquired the man's voice. "that's jim," said the girl. "he's a horse." "what is he good for?" was the next question. "he draws the buggy you see fastened to him, and we ride in the buggy instead of walking," she explained. "can he fight?" asked the man's voice. "no! he can kick pretty hard with his heels, and bite a little; but jim can't 'zactly fight," she replied. "then the bears will get him," said one of the children's voices. "bears!" exclaimed dorothy. "are these bears here?" "that is the one evil of our country," answered the invisible man. "many large and fierce bears roam in the valley of voe, and when they can catch any of us they eat us up; but as they cannot see us, we seldom get caught." "are the bears invis'ble, too?" asked the girl. "yes; for they eat of the dama-fruit, as we all do, and that keeps them from being seen by any eye, whether human or animal." "does the dama-fruit grow on a low bush, and look something like a peach?" asked the wizard. "yes," was the reply. "if it makes you invis'ble, why do you eat it?" dorothy enquired. "for two reasons, my dear," the woman's voice answered. "the dama-fruit is the most delicious thing that grows, and when it makes us invisible the bears cannot find us to eat us up. but now, good wanderers, your luncheon is on the table, so please sit down and eat as much as you like." 9. they fight the invisible bears the strangers took their seats at the table willingly enough, for they were all hungry and the platters were now heaped with good things to eat. in front of each place was a plate bearing one of the delicious dama-fruit, and the perfume that rose from these was so enticing and sweet that they were sorely tempted to eat of them and become invisible. but dorothy satisfied her hunger with other things, and her companions did likewise, resisting the temptation. "why do you not eat the damas?" asked the woman's voice. "we don't want to get invis'ble," answered the girl. "but if you remain visible the bears will see you and devour you," said a girlish young voice, that belonged to one of the children. "we who live here much prefer to be invisible; for we can still hug and kiss one another, and are quite safe from the bears." "and we do not have to be so particular about our dress," remarked the man. "and mama can't tell whether my face is dirty or not!" added the other childish voice, gleefully. "but i make you wash it, every time i think of it," said the mother; "for it stands to reason your face is dirty, ianu, whether i can see it or not." dorothy laughed and stretched out her hands. "come here, please--ianu and your sister--and let me feel of you," she requested. they came to her willingly, and dorothy passed her hands over their faces and forms and decided one was a girl of about her own age and the other a boy somewhat smaller. the girl's hair was soft and fluffy and her skin as smooth as satin. when dorothy gently touched her nose and ears and lips they seemed to be well and delicately formed. "if i could see you i am sure you would be beautiful," she declared. the girl laughed, and her mother said: "we are not vain in the valley of voe, because we can not display our beauty, and good actions and pleasant ways are what make us lovely to our companions. yet we can see and appreciate the beauties of nature, the dainty flowers and trees, the green fields and the clear blue of the sky." "how about the birds and beasts and fishes?" asked zeb. "the birds we cannot see, because they love to eat of the damas as much as we do; yet we hear their sweet songs and enjoy them. neither can we see the cruel bears, for they also eat the fruit. but the fishes that swim in our brooks we can see, and often we catch them to eat." "it occurs to me you have a great deal to make you happy, even while invisible," remarked the wizard. "nevertheless, we prefer to remain visible while we are in your valley." just then eureka came in, for she had been until now wandering outside with jim; and when the kitten saw the table set with food she cried out: "now you must feed me, dorothy, for i'm half starved." the children were inclined to be frightened by the sight of the small animal, which reminded them of the bears; but dorothy reassured them by explaining that eureka was a pet and could do no harm even if she wished to. then, as the others had by this time moved away from the table, the kitten sprang upon the chair and put her paws upon the cloth to see what there was to eat. to her surprise an unseen hand clutched her and held her suspended in the air. eureka was frantic with terror, and tried to scratch and bite, so the next moment she was dropped to the floor. "did you see that, dorothy?" she gasped. "yes, dear," her mistress replied; "there are people living in this house, although we cannot see them. and you must have better manners, eureka, or something worse will happen to you." she placed a plate of food upon the floor and the kitten ate greedily. "give me that nice-smelling fruit i saw on the table," she begged, when she had cleaned the plate. "those are damas," said dorothy, "and you must never even taste them, eureka, or you'll get invis'ble, and then we can't see you at all." the kitten gazed wistfully at the forbidden fruit. "does it hurt to be invis'ble?" she asked. "i don't know," dorothy answered; "but it would hurt me dre'fully to lose you." "very well, i won't touch it," decided the kitten; "but you must keep it away from me, for the smell is very tempting." "can you tell us, sir or ma'am," said the wizard, addressing the air because he did not quite know where the unseen people stood, "if there is any way we can get out of your beautiful valley, and on top of the earth again." "oh, one can leave the valley easily enough," answered the man's voice; "but to do so you must enter a far less pleasant country. as for reaching the top of the earth, i have never heard that it is possible to do that, and if you succeeded in getting there you would probably fall off." "oh, no," said dorothy, "we've been there, and we know." "the valley of voe is certainly a charming place," resumed the wizard; "but we cannot be contented in any other land than our own, for long. even if we should come to unpleasant places on our way it is necessary, in order to reach the earth's surface, to keep moving on toward it." "in that case," said the man, "it will be best for you to cross our valley and mount the spiral staircase inside the pyramid mountain. the top of that mountain is lost in the clouds, and when you reach it you will be in the awful land of naught, where the gargoyles live." "what are gargoyles?" asked zeb. "i do not know, young sir. our greatest champion, overman-anu, once climbed the spiral stairway and fought nine days with the gargoyles before he could escape them and come back; but he could never be induced to describe the dreadful creatures, and soon afterward a bear caught him and ate him up." the wanders were rather discouraged by this gloomy report, but dorothy said with a sigh: "if the only way to get home is to meet the gurgles, then we've got to meet 'em. they can't be worse than the wicked witch or the nome king." "but you must remember you had the scarecrow and the tin woodman to help you conquer those enemies," suggested the wizard. "just now, my dear, there is not a single warrior in your company." "oh, i guess zeb could fight if he had to. couldn't you, zeb?" asked the little girl. "perhaps; if i had to," answered zeb, doubtfully. "and you have the jointed sword that you chopped the veg'table sorcerer in two with," the girl said to the little man. "true," he replied; "and in my satchel are other useful things to fight with." "what the gargoyles most dread is a noise," said the man's voice. "our champion told me that when he shouted his battle-cry the creatures shuddered and drew back, hesitating to continue the combat. but they were in great numbers, and the champion could not shout much because he had to save his breath for fighting." "very good," said the wizard; "we can all yell better than we can fight, so we ought to defeat the gargoyles." "but tell me," said dorothy, "how did such a brave champion happen to let the bears eat him? and if he was invis'ble, and the bears invis'ble, who knows that they really ate him up?" "the champion had killed eleven bears in his time," returned the unseen man; "and we know this is true because when any creature is dead the invisible charm of the dama-fruit ceases to be active, and the slain one can be plainly seen by all eyes. when the champion killed a bear everyone could see it; and when the bears killed the champion we all saw several pieces of him scattered about, which of course disappeared again when the bears devoured them." they now bade farewell to the kind but unseen people of the cottage, and after the man had called their attention to a high, pyramid-shaped mountain on the opposite side of the valley, and told them how to travel in order to reach it, they again started upon their journey. they followed the course of a broad stream and passed several more pretty cottages; but of course they saw no one, nor did any one speak to them. fruits and flowers grew plentifully all about, and there were many of the delicious damas that the people of voe were so fond of. about noon they stopped to allow jim to rest in the shade of a pretty orchard, and while they plucked and ate some of the cherries and plums that grew there a soft voice suddenly said to them: "there are bears near by. be careful." the wizard got out his sword at once, and zeb grabbed the horse-whip. dorothy climbed into the buggy, although jim had been unharnessed from it and was grazing some distance away. the owner of the unseen voice laughed lightly and said: "you cannot escape the bears that way." "how can we 'scape?" asked dorothy, nervously, for an unseen danger is always the hardest to face. "you must take to the river," was the reply. "the bears will not venture upon the water." "but we would be drowned!" exclaimed the girl. "oh, there is no need of that," said the voice, which from its gentle tones seemed to belong to a young girl. "you are strangers in the valley of voe, and do not seem to know our ways; so i will try to save you." the next moment a broad-leaved plant was jerked from the ground where it grew and held suspended in the air before the wizard. "sir," said the voice, "you must rub these leaves upon the soles of all your feet, and then you will be able to walk upon the water without sinking below the surface. it is a secret the bears do not know, and we people of voe usually walk upon the water when we travel, and so escape our enemies." "thank you!" cried the wizard, joyfully, and at once rubbed a leaf upon the soles of dorothy's shoes and then upon his own. the girl took a leaf and rubbed it upon the kitten's paws, and the rest of the plant was handed to zeb, who, after applying it to his own feet, carefully rubbed it upon all four of jim's hoofs and then upon the tires of the buggy-wheels. he had nearly finished this last task when a low growling was suddenly heard and the horse began to jump around and kick viciously with his heels. "quick! to the water or you are lost!" cried their unseen friend, and without hesitation the wizard drew the buggy down the bank and out upon the broad river, for dorothy was still seated in it with eureka in her arms. they did not sink at all, owing to the virtues of the strange plant they had used, and when the buggy was in the middle of the stream the wizard returned to the bank to assist zeb and jim. the horse was plunging madly about, and two or three deep gashes appeared upon its flanks, from which the blood flowed freely. "run for the river!" shouted the wizard, and jim quickly freed himself from his unseen tormenters by a few vicious kicks and then obeyed. as soon as he trotted out upon the surface of the river he found himself safe from pursuit, and zeb was already running across the water toward dorothy. as the little wizard turned to follow them he felt a hot breath against his cheek and heard a low, fierce growl. at once he began stabbing at the air with his sword, and he knew that he had struck some substance because when he drew back the blade it was dripping with blood. the third time that he thrust out the weapon there was a loud roar and a fall, and suddenly at his feet appeared the form of a great red bear, which was nearly as big as the horse and much stronger and fiercer. the beast was quite dead from the sword thrusts, and after a glance at its terrible claws and sharp teeth the little man turned in a panic and rushed out upon the water, for other menacing growls told him more bears were near. on the river, however, the adventurers seemed to be perfectly safe. dorothy and the buggy had floated slowly down stream with the current of the water, and the others made haste to join her. the wizard opened his satchel and got out some sticking-plaster with which he mended the cuts jim had received from the claws of the bears. "i think we'd better stick to the river, after this," said dorothy. "if our unknown friend hadn't warned us, and told us what to do, we would all be dead by this time." "that is true," agreed the wizard, "and as the river seems to be flowing in the direction of the pyramid mountain it will be the easiest way for us to travel." zeb hitched jim to the buggy again, and the horse trotted along and drew them rapidly over the smooth water. the kitten was at first dreadfully afraid of getting wet, but dorothy let her down and soon eureka was frisking along beside the buggy without being scared a bit. once a little fish swam too near the surface, and the kitten grabbed it in her mouth and ate it up as quick as a wink; but dorothy cautioned her to be careful what she ate in this valley of enchantments, and no more fishes were careless enough to swim within reach. after a journey of several hours they came to a point where the river curved, and they found they must cross a mile or so of the valley before they came to the pyramid mountain. there were few houses in this part, and few orchards or flowers; so our friends feared they might encounter more of the savage bears, which they had learned to dread with all their hearts. "you'll have to make a dash, jim," said the wizard, "and run as fast as you can go." "all right," answered the horse; "i'll do my best. but you must remember i'm old, and my dashing days are past and gone." all three got into the buggy and zeb picked up the reins, though jim needed no guidance of any sort. the horse was still smarting from the sharp claws of the invisible bears, and as soon as he was on land and headed toward the mountain the thought that more of those fearsome creatures might be near acted as a spur and sent him galloping along in a way that made dorothy catch her breath. then zeb, in a spirit of mischief, uttered a growl like that of the bears, and jim pricked up his ears and fairly flew. his boney legs moved so fast they could scarcely be seen, and the wizard clung fast to the seat and yelled "whoa!" at the top of his voice. "i--i'm 'fraid he's--he's running away!" gasped dorothy. "i know he is," said zeb; "but no bear can catch him if he keeps up that gait--and the harness or the buggy don't break." jim did not make a mile a minute; but almost before they were aware of it he drew up at the foot of the mountain, so suddenly that the wizard and zeb both sailed over the dashboard and landed in the soft grass--where they rolled over several times before they stopped. dorothy nearly went with them, but she was holding fast to the iron rail of the seat, and that saved her. she squeezed the kitten, though, until it screeched; and then the old cab-horse made several curious sounds that led the little girl to suspect he was laughing at them all. 10. the braided man of pyramid mountain the mountain before them was shaped like a cone and was so tall that its point was lost in the clouds. directly facing the place where jim had stopped was an arched opening leading to a broad stairway. the stairs were cut in the rock inside the mountain, and they were broad and not very steep, because they circled around like a cork-screw, and at the arched opening where the flight began the circle was quite big. at the foot of the stairs was a sign reading: warning. these steps lead to the land of the gargoyles. danger! keep out. "i wonder how jim is ever going to draw the buggy up so many stairs," said dorothy, gravely. "no trouble at all," declared the horse, with a contemptuous neigh. "still, i don't care to drag any passengers. you'll all have to walk." "suppose the stairs get steeper?" suggested zeb, doubtfully. "then you'll have to boost the buggy-wheels, that's all," answered jim. "we'll try it, anyway," said the wizard. "it's the only way to get out of the valley of voe." so they began to ascend the stairs, dorothy and the wizard first, jim next, drawing the buggy, and then zeb to watch that nothing happened to the harness. the light was dim, and soon they mounted into total darkness, so that the wizard was obliged to get out his lanterns to light the way. but this enabled them to proceed steadily until they came to a landing where there was a rift in the side of the mountain that let in both light and air. looking through this opening they could see the valley of voe lying far below them, the cottages seeming like toy houses from that distance. after resting a few moments they resumed their climb, and still the stairs were broad and low enough for jim to draw the buggy easily after him. the old horse panted a little, and had to stop often to get his breath. at such times they were all glad to wait for him, for continually climbing up stairs is sure to make one's legs ache. they wound about, always going upward, for some time. the lights from the lanterns dimly showed the way, but it was a gloomy journey, and they were pleased when a broad streak of light ahead assured them they were coming to a second landing. here one side of the mountain had a great hole in it, like the mouth of a cavern, and the stairs stopped at the near edge of the floor and commenced ascending again at the opposite edge. the opening in the mountain was on the side opposite to the valley of voe, and our travellers looked out upon a strange scene. below them was a vast space, at the bottom of which was a black sea with rolling billows, through which little tongues of flame constantly shot up. just above them, and almost on a level with their platform, were banks of rolling clouds which constantly shifted position and changed color. the blues and greys were very beautiful, and dorothy noticed that on the cloud banks sat or reclined fleecy, shadowy forms of beautiful beings who must have been the cloud fairies. mortals who stand upon the earth and look up at the sky cannot often distinguish these forms, but our friends were now so near to the clouds that they observed the dainty fairies very clearly. "are they real?" asked zeb, in an awed voice. "of course," replied dorothy, softly. "they are the cloud fairies." "they seem like open-work," remarked the boy, gazing intently. "if i should squeeze one, there wouldn't be anything left of it." in the open space between the clouds and the black, bubbling sea far beneath, could be seen an occasional strange bird winging its way swiftly through the air. these birds were of enormous size, and reminded zeb of the rocs he had read about in the arabian nights. they had fierce eyes and sharp talons and beaks, and the children hoped none of them would venture into the cavern. "well, i declare!" suddenly exclaimed the little wizard. "what in the world is this?" they turned around and found a man standing on the floor in the center of the cave, who bowed very politely when he saw he had attracted their attention. he was a very old man, bent nearly double; but the queerest thing about him was his white hair and beard. these were so long that they reached to his feet, and both the hair and the beard were carefully plaited into many braids, and the end of each braid fastened with a bow of colored ribbon. "where did you come from?" asked dorothy, wonderingly. "no place at all," answered the man with the braids; "that is, not recently. once i lived on top the earth, but for many years i have had my factory in this spot--half way up pyramid mountain." "are we only half way up?" enquired the boy, in a discouraged tone. "i believe so, my lad," replied the braided man. "but as i have never been in either direction, down or up, since i arrived, i cannot be positive whether it is exactly half way or not." "have you a factory in this place?" asked the wizard, who had been examining the strange personage carefully. "to be sure," said the other. "i am a great inventor, you must know, and i manufacture my products in this lonely spot." "what are your products?" enquired the wizard. "well, i make assorted flutters for flags and bunting, and a superior grade of rustles for ladies' silk gowns." "i thought so," said the wizard, with a sigh. "may we examine some of these articles?" "yes, indeed; come into my shop, please," and the braided man turned and led the way into a smaller cave, where he evidently lived. here, on a broad shelf, were several card-board boxes of various sizes, each tied with cotton cord. "this," said the man, taking up a box and handling it gently, "contains twelve dozen rustles--enough to last any lady a year. will you buy it, my dear?" he asked, addressing dorothy. "my gown isn't silk," she said, smiling. "never mind. when you open the box the rustles will escape, whether you are wearing a silk dress or not," said the man, seriously. then he picked up another box. "in this," he continued, "are many assorted flutters. they are invaluable to make flags flutter on a still day, when there is no wind. you, sir," turning to the wizard, "ought to have this assortment. once you have tried my goods i am sure you will never be without them." "i have no money with me," said the wizard, evasively. "i do not want money," returned the braided man, "for i could not spend it in this deserted place if i had it. but i would like very much a blue hair-ribbon. you will notice my braids are tied with yellow, pink, brown, red, green, white and black; but i have no blue ribbons." "i'll get you one!" cried dorothy, who was sorry for the poor man; so she ran back to the buggy and took from her suit-case a pretty blue ribbon. it did her good to see how the braided man's eyes sparkled when he received this treasure. "you have made me very, very happy, my dear!" he exclaimed; and then he insisted on the wizard taking the box of flutters and the little girl accepting the box of rustles. "you may need them, some time," he said, "and there is really no use in my manufacturing these things unless somebody uses them." "why did you leave the surface of the earth?" enquired the wizard. "i could not help it. it is a sad story, but if you will try to restrain your tears i will tell you about it. on earth i was a manufacturer of imported holes for american swiss cheese, and i will acknowledge that i supplied a superior article, which was in great demand. also i made pores for porous plasters and high-grade holes for doughnuts and buttons. finally i invented a new adjustable post-hole, which i thought would make my fortune. i manufactured a large quantity of these post-holes, and having no room in which to store them i set them all end to end and put the top one in the ground. that made an extraordinary long hole, as you may imagine, and reached far down into the earth; and, as i leaned over it to try to see to the bottom, i lost my balance and tumbled in. unfortunately, the hole led directly into the vast space you see outside this mountain; but i managed to catch a point of rock that projected from this cavern, and so saved myself from tumbling headlong into the black waves beneath, where the tongues of flame that dart out would certainly have consumed me. here, then, i made my home; and although it is a lonely place i amuse myself making rustles and flutters, and so get along very nicely." when the braided man had completed this strange tale dorothy nearly laughed, because it was all so absurd; but the wizard tapped his forehead significantly, to indicate that he thought the poor man was crazy. so they politely bade him good day, and went back to the outer cavern to resume their journey. 11. they meet the wooden gargoyles another breathless climb brought our adventurers to a third landing where there was a rift in the mountain. on peering out all they could see was rolling banks of clouds, so thick that they obscured all else. but the travellers were obliged to rest, and while they were sitting on the rocky floor the wizard felt in his pocket and brought out the nine tiny piglets. to his delight they were now plainly visible, which proved that they had passed beyond the influence of the magical valley of voe. "why, we can see each other again!" cried one, joyfully. "yes," sighed eureka; "and i also can see you again, and the sight makes me dreadfully hungry. please, mr. wizard, may i eat just one of the fat little piglets? you'd never miss one of them, i'm sure!" "what a horrid, savage beast!" exclaimed a piglet; "and after we've been such good friends, too, and played with one another!" "when i'm not hungry, i love to play with you all," said the kitten, demurely; "but when my stomach is empty it seems that nothing would fill it so nicely as a fat piglet." "and we trusted you so!" said another of the nine, reproachfully. "and thought you were respectable!" said another. "it seems we were mistaken," declared a third, looking at the kitten timorously, "no one with such murderous desires should belong to our party, i'm sure." "you see, eureka," remarked dorothy, reprovingly, "you are making yourself disliked. there are certain things proper for a kitten to eat; but i never heard of a kitten eating a pig, under any cir'stances." "did you ever see such little pigs before?" asked the kitten. "they are no bigger than mice, and i'm sure mice are proper for me to eat." "it isn't the bigness, dear; its the variety," replied the girl. "these are mr. wizard's pets, just as you are my pet, and it wouldn't be any more proper for you to eat them than it would be for jim to eat you." "and that's just what i shall do if you don't let those little balls of pork alone," said jim, glaring at the kitten with his round, big eyes. "if you injure any one of them i'll chew you up instantly." the kitten looked at the horse thoughtfully, as if trying to decide whether he meant it or not. "in that case," she said, "i'll leave them alone. you haven't many teeth left, jim, but the few you have are sharp enough to make me shudder. so the piglets will be perfectly safe, hereafter, as far as i am concerned." "that is right, eureka," remarked the wizard, earnestly. "let us all be a happy family and love one another." eureka yawned and stretched herself. "i've always loved the piglets," she said; "but they don't love me." "no one can love a person he's afraid of," asserted dorothy. "if you behave, and don't scare the little pigs, i'm sure they'll grow very fond of you." the wizard now put the nine tiny ones back into his pocket and the journey was resumed. "we must be pretty near the top, now," said the boy, as they climbed wearily up the dark, winding stairway. "the country of the gurgles can't be far from the top of the earth," remarked dorothy. "it isn't very nice down here. i'd like to get home again, i'm sure." no one replied to this, because they found they needed all their breath for the climb. the stairs had become narrower and zeb and the wizard often had to help jim pull the buggy from one step to another, or keep it from jamming against the rocky walls. at last, however, a dim light appeared ahead of them, which grew clearer and stronger as they advanced. "thank goodness we're nearly there!" panted the little wizard. jim, who was in advance, saw the last stair before him and stuck his head above the rocky sides of the stairway. then he halted, ducked down and began to back up, so that he nearly fell with the buggy onto the others. "let's go down again!" he said, in his hoarse voice. "nonsense!" snapped the tired wizard. "what's the matter with you, old man?" "everything," grumbled the horse. "i've taken a look at this place, and it's no fit country for real creatures to go to. everything's dead, up there--no flesh or blood or growing thing anywhere." "never mind; we can't turn back," said dorothy; "and we don't intend to stay there, anyhow." "it's dangerous," growled jim, in a stubborn tone. "see here, my good steed," broke in the wizard, "little dorothy and i have been in many queer countries in our travels, and always escaped without harm. we've even been to the marvelous land of oz--haven't we, dorothy?--so we don't much care what the country of the gargoyles is like. go ahead, jim, and whatever happens we'll make the best of it." "all right," answered the horse; "this is your excursion, and not mine; so if you get into trouble don't blame me." with this speech he bent forward and dragged the buggy up the remaining steps. the others followed and soon they were all standing upon a broad platform and gazing at the most curious and startling sight their eyes had ever beheld. "the country of the gargoyles is all wooden!" exclaimed zeb; and so it was. the ground was sawdust and the pebbles scattered around were hard knots from trees, worn smooth in course of time. there were odd wooden houses, with carved wooden flowers in the front yards. the tree-trunks were of coarse wood, but the leaves of the trees were shavings. the patches of grass were splinters of wood, and where neither grass nor sawdust showed was a solid wooden flooring. wooden birds fluttered among the trees and wooden cows were browsing upon the wooden grass; but the most amazing things of all were the wooden people--the creatures known as gargoyles. these were very numerous, for the place was thickly inhabited, and a large group of the queer people clustered near, gazing sharply upon the strangers who had emerged from the long spiral stairway. the gargoyles were very small of stature, being less than three feet in height. their bodies were round, their legs short and thick and their arms extraordinarily long and stout. their heads were too big for their bodies and their faces were decidedly ugly to look upon. some had long, curved noses and chins, small eyes and wide, grinning mouths. others had flat noses, protruding eyes, and ears that were shaped like those of an elephant. there were many types, indeed, scarcely two being alike; but all were equally disagreeable in appearance. the tops of their heads had no hair, but were carved into a variety of fantastic shapes, some having a row of points or balls around the top, others designs resembling flowers or vegetables, and still others having squares that looked like waffles cut criss-cross on their heads. they all wore short wooden wings which were fastened to their wooden bodies by means of wooden hinges with wooden screws, and with these wings they flew swiftly and noiselessly here and there, their legs being of little use to them. this noiseless motion was one of the most peculiar things about the gargoyles. they made no sounds at all, either in flying or trying to speak, and they conversed mainly by means of quick signals made with their wooden fingers or lips. neither was there any sound to be heard anywhere throughout the wooden country. the birds did not sing, nor did the cows moo; yet there was more than ordinary activity everywhere. the group of these queer creatures which was discovered clustered near the stairs at first remained staring and motionless, glaring with evil eyes at the intruders who had so suddenly appeared in their land. in turn the wizard and the children, the horse and the kitten, examined the gargoyles with the same silent attention. "there's going to be trouble, i'm sure," remarked the horse. "unhitch those tugs, zeb, and set me free from the buggy, so i can fight comfortably." "jim's right," sighed the wizard. "there's going to be trouble, and my sword isn't stout enough to cut up those wooden bodies--so i shall have to get out my revolvers." he got his satchel from the buggy and, opening it, took out two deadly looking revolvers that made the children shrink back in alarm just to look at. "what harm can the gurgles do?" asked dorothy. "they have no weapons to hurt us with." "each of their arms is a wooden club," answered the little man, "and i'm sure the creatures mean mischief, by the looks of their eyes. even these revolvers can merely succeed in damaging a few of their wooden bodies, and after that we will be at their mercy." "but why fight at all, in that case?" asked the girl. "so i may die with a clear conscience," returned the wizard, gravely. "it's every man's duty to do the best he knows how; and i'm going to do it." "wish i had an axe," said zeb, who by now had unhitched the horse. "if we had known we were coming we might have brought along several other useful things," responded the wizard. "but we dropped into this adventure rather unexpectedly." the gargoyles had backed away a distance when they heard the sound of talking, for although our friends had spoken in low tones their words seemed loud in the silence surrounding them. but as soon as the conversation ceased, the grinning, ugly creatures arose in a flock and flew swiftly toward the strangers, their long arms stretched out before them like the bowsprits of a fleet of sail-boats. the horse had especially attracted their notice, because it was the biggest and strangest creature they had ever seen; so it became the center of their first attack. but jim was ready for them, and when he saw them coming he turned his heels toward them and began kicking out as hard as he could. crack! crash! bang! went his iron-shod hoofs against the wooden bodies of the gargoyles, and they were battered right and left with such force that they scattered like straws in the wind. but the noise and clatter seemed as dreadful to them as jim's heels, for all who were able swiftly turned and flew away to a great distance. the others picked themselves up from the ground one by one and quickly rejoined their fellows, so for a moment the horse thought he had won the fight with ease. but the wizard was not so confident. "those wooden things are impossible to hurt," he said, "and all the damage jim has done to them is to knock a few splinters from their noses and ears. that cannot make them look any uglier, i'm sure, and it is my opinion they will soon renew the attack." "what made them fly away?" asked dorothy. "the noise, of course. don't you remember how the champion escaped them by shouting his battle-cry?" "suppose we escape down the stairs, too," suggested the boy. "we have time, just now, and i'd rather face the invis'ble bears than those wooden imps." "no," returned dorothy, stoutly, "it won't do to go back, for then we would never get home. let's fight it out." "that is what i advise," said the wizard. "they haven't defeated us yet, and jim is worth a whole army." but the gargoyles were clever enough not to attack the horse the next time. they advanced in a great swarm, having been joined by many more of their kind, and they flew straight over jim's head to where the others were standing. the wizard raised one of his revolvers and fired into the throng of his enemies, and the shot resounded like a clap of thunder in that silent place. some of the wooden beings fell flat upon the ground, where they quivered and trembled in every limb; but most of them managed to wheel and escape again to a distance. zeb ran and picked up one of the gargoyles that lay nearest to him. the top of its head was carved into a crown and the wizard's bullet had struck it exactly in the left eye, which was a hard wooden knot. half of the bullet stuck in the wood and half stuck out, so it had been the jar and the sudden noise that had knocked the creature down, more than the fact that it was really hurt. before this crowned gargoyle had recovered himself zeb had wound a strap several times around its body, confining its wings and arms so that it could not move. then, having tied the wooden creature securely, the boy buckled the strap and tossed his prisoner into the buggy. by that time the others had all retired. 12. a wonderful escape for a while the enemy hesitated to renew the attack. then a few of them advanced until another shot from the wizard's revolver made them retreat. "that's fine," said zeb. "we've got 'em on the run now, sure enough." "but only for a time," replied the wizard, shaking his head gloomily. "these revolvers are good for six shots each, but when those are gone we shall be helpless." the gargoyles seemed to realize this, for they sent a few of their band time after time to attack the strangers and draw the fire from the little man's revolvers. in this way none of them was shocked by the dreadful report more than once, for the main band kept far away and each time a new company was sent into the battle. when the wizard had fired all of his twelve bullets he had caused no damage to the enemy except to stun a few by the noise, and so be as no nearer to victory than in the beginning of the fray. "what shall we do now?" asked dorothy, anxiously. "let's yell--all together," said zeb. "and fight at the same time," added the wizard. "we will get near jim, so that he can help us, and each one must take some weapon and do the best he can. i'll use my sword, although it isn't much account in this affair. dorothy must take her parasol and open it suddenly when the wooden folks attack her. i haven't anything for you, zeb." "i'll use the king," said the boy, and pulled his prisoner out of the buggy. the bound gargoyle's arms extended far out beyond its head, so by grasping its wrists zeb found the king made a very good club. the boy was strong for one of his years, having always worked upon a farm; so he was likely to prove more dangerous to the enemy than the wizard. when the next company of gargoyles advanced, our adventurers began yelling as if they had gone mad. even the kitten gave a dreadfully shrill scream and at the same time jim the cab-horse neighed loudly. this daunted the enemy for a time, but the defenders were soon out of breath. perceiving this, as well as the fact that there were no more of the awful "bangs" to come from the revolvers, the gargoyles advanced in a swarm as thick as bees, so that the air was filled with them. dorothy squatted upon the ground and put up her parasol, which nearly covered her and proved a great protection. the wizard's sword-blade snapped into a dozen pieces at the first blow he struck against the wooden people. zeb pounded away with the gargoyle he was using as a club until he had knocked down dozens of foes; but at the last they clustered so thickly about him that he no longer had room in which to swing his arms. the horse performed some wonderful kicking and even eureka assisted when she leaped bodily upon the gargoyles and scratched and bit at them like a wild-cat. but all this bravery amounted to nothing at all. the wooden things wound their long arms around zeb and the wizard and held them fast. dorothy was captured in the same way, and numbers of the gargoyles clung to jim's legs, so weighting him down that the poor beast was helpless. eureka made a desperate dash to escape and scampered along the ground like a streak; but a grinning gargoyle flew after her and grabbed her before she had gone very far. all of them expected nothing less than instant death; but to their surprise the wooden creatures flew into the air with them and bore them far away, over miles and miles of wooden country, until they came to a wooden city. the houses of this city had many corners, being square and six-sided and eight-sided. they were tower-like in shape and the best of them seemed old and weather-worn; yet all were strong and substantial. to one of these houses which had neither doors nor windows, but only one broad opening far up underneath the roof, the prisoners were brought by their captors. the gargoyles roughly pushed them into the opening, where there was a platform, and then flew away and left them. as they had no wings the strangers could not fly away, and if they jumped down from such a height they would surely be killed. the creatures had sense enough to reason that way, and the only mistake they made was in supposing the earth people were unable to overcome such ordinary difficulties. jim was brought with the others, although it took a good many gargoyles to carry the big beast through the air and land him on the high platform, and the buggy was thrust in after him because it belonged to the party and the wooden folks had no idea what it was used for or whether it was alive or not. when eureka's captor had thrown the kitten after the others the last gargoyle silently disappeared, leaving our friends to breathe freely once more. "what an awful fight!" said dorothy, catching her breath in little gasps. "oh, i don't know," purred eureka, smoothing her ruffled fur with her paw; "we didn't manage to hurt anybody, and nobody managed to hurt us." "thank goodness we are together again, even if we are prisoners," sighed the little girl. "i wonder why they didn't kill us on the spot," remarked zeb, who had lost his king in the struggle. "they are probably keeping us for some ceremony," the wizard answered, reflectively; "but there is no doubt they intend to kill us as dead as possible in a short time." "as dead as poss'ble would be pretty dead, wouldn't it?" asked dorothy. "yes, my dear. but we have no need to worry about that just now. let us examine our prison and see what it is like." the space underneath the roof, where they stood, permitted them to see on all sides of the tall building, and they looked with much curiosity at the city spread out beneath them. everything visible was made of wood, and the scene seemed stiff and extremely unnatural. from their platform a stair descended into the house, and the children and the wizard explored it after lighting a lantern to show them the way. several stories of empty rooms rewarded their search, but nothing more; so after a time they came back to the platform again. had there been any doors or windows in the lower rooms, or had not the boards of the house been so thick and stout, escape could have been easy; but to remain down below was like being in a cellar or the hold of a ship, and they did not like the darkness or the damp smell. in this country, as in all others they had visited underneath the earth's surface, there was no night, a constant and strong light coming from some unknown source. looking out, they could see into some of the houses near them, where there were open windows in abundance, and were able to mark the forms of the wooden gargoyles moving about in their dwellings. "this seems to be their time of rest," observed the wizard. "all people need rest, even if they are made of wood, and as there is no night here they select a certain time of the day in which to sleep or doze." "i feel sleepy myself," remarked zeb, yawning. "why, where's eureka?" cried dorothy, suddenly. they all looked around, but the kitten was no place to be seen. "she's gone out for a walk," said jim, gruffly. "where? on the roof?" asked the girl. "no; she just dug her claws into the wood and climbed down the sides of this house to the ground." "she couldn't climb down, jim," said dorothy. "to climb means to go up." "who said so?" demanded the horse. "my school-teacher said so; and she knows a lot, jim." "to 'climb down' is sometimes used as a figure of speech," remarked the wizard. "well, this was a figure of a cat," said jim, "and she went down, anyhow, whether she climbed or crept." "dear me! how careless eureka is," exclaimed the girl, much distressed. "the gurgles will get her, sure!" "ha, ha!" chuckled the old cab-horse; "they're not 'gurgles,' little maid; they're gargoyles." "never mind; they'll get eureka, whatever they're called." "no they won't," said the voice of the kitten, and eureka herself crawled over the edge of the platform and sat down quietly upon the floor. "wherever have you been, eureka?" asked dorothy, sternly. "watching the wooden folks. they're too funny for anything, dorothy. just now they are all going to bed, and--what do you think?--they unhook the hinges of their wings and put them in a corner until they wake up again." "what, the hinges?" "no; the wings." "that," said zeb, "explains why this house is used by them for a prison. if any of the gargoyles act badly, and have to be put in jail, they are brought here and their wings unhooked and taken away from them until they promise to be good." the wizard had listened intently to what eureka had said. "i wish we had some of those loose wings," he said. "could we fly with them?" asked dorothy. "i think so. if the gargoyles can unhook the wings then the power to fly lies in the wings themselves, and not in the wooden bodies of the people who wear them. so, if we had the wings, we could probably fly as well as they do--as least while we are in their country and under the spell of its magic." "but how would it help us to be able to fly?" questioned the girl. "come here," said the little man, and took her to one of the corners of the building. "do you see that big rock standing on the hillside yonder?" he continued, pointing with his finger. "yes; it's a good way off, but i can see it," she replied. "well, inside that rock, which reaches up into the clouds, is an archway very much like the one we entered when we climbed the spiral stairway from the valley of voe. i'll get my spy-glass, and then you can see it more plainly." he fetched a small but powerful telescope, which had been in his satchel, and by its aid the little girl clearly saw the opening. "where does it lead to?" she asked. "that i cannot tell," said the wizard; "but we cannot now be far below the earth's surface, and that entrance may lead to another stairway that will bring us on top of our world again, where we belong. so, if we had the wings, and could escape the gargoyles, we might fly to that rock and be saved." "i'll get you the wings," said zeb, who had thoughtfully listened to all this. "that is, if the kitten will show me where they are." "but how can you get down?" enquired the girl, wonderingly. for answer zeb began to unfasten jim's harness, strap by strap, and to buckle one piece to another until he had made a long leather strip that would reach to the ground. "i can climb down that, all right," he said. "no you can't," remarked jim, with a twinkle in his round eyes. "you may go down, but you can only climb up." "well, i'll climb up when i get back, then," said the boy, with a laugh. "now, eureka, you'll have to show me the way to those wings." "you must be very quiet," warned the kitten; "for if you make the least noise the gargoyles will wake up. they can hear a pin drop." "i'm not going to drop a pin," said zeb. he had fastened one end of the strap to a wheel of the buggy, and now he let the line dangle over the side of the house. "be careful," cautioned dorothy, earnestly. "i will," said the boy, and let himself slide over the edge. the girl and the wizard leaned over and watched zeb work his way carefully downward, hand over hand, until he stood upon the ground below. eureka clung with her claws to the wooden side of the house and let herself down easily. then together they crept away to enter the low doorway of a neighboring dwelling. the watchers waited in breathless suspense until the boy again appeared, his arms now full of the wooden wings. when he came to where the strap was hanging he tied the wings all in a bunch to the end of the line, and the wizard drew them up. then the line was let down again for zeb to climb up by. eureka quickly followed him, and soon they were all standing together upon the platform, with eight of the much prized wooden wings beside them. the boy was no longer sleepy, but full of energy and excitement. he put the harness together again and hitched jim to the buggy. then, with the wizard's help, he tried to fasten some of the wings to the old cab-horse. this was no easy task, because half of each one of the hinges of the wings was missing, it being still fastened to the body of the gargoyle who had used it. however, the wizard went once more to his satchel--which seemed to contain a surprising variety of odds and ends--and brought out a spool of strong wire, by means of which they managed to fasten four of the wings to jim's harness, two near his head and two near his tail. they were a bit wiggley, but secure enough if only the harness held together. the other four wings were then fastened to the buggy, two on each side, for the buggy must bear the weight of the children and the wizard as it flew through the air. these preparations had not consumed a great deal of time, but the sleeping gargoyles were beginning to wake up and move around, and soon some of them would be hunting for their missing wings. so the prisoners resolved to leave their prison at once. they mounted into the buggy, dorothy holding eureka safe in her lap. the girl sat in the middle of the seat, with zeb and the wizard on each side of her. when all was ready the boy shook the reins and said: "fly away, jim!" "which wings must i flop first?" asked the cab-horse, undecidedly. "flop them all together," suggested the wizard. "some of them are crooked," objected the horse. "never mind; we will steer with the wings on the buggy," said zeb. "just you light out and make for that rock, jim; and don't waste any time about it, either." so the horse gave a groan, flopped its four wings all together, and flew away from the platform. dorothy was a little anxious about the success of their trip, for the way jim arched his long neck and spread out his bony legs as he fluttered and floundered through the air was enough to make anybody nervous. he groaned, too, as if frightened, and the wings creaked dreadfully because the wizard had forgotten to oil them; but they kept fairly good time with the wings of the buggy, so that they made excellent progress from the start. the only thing that anyone could complain of with justice was the fact that they wobbled first up and then down, as if the road were rocky instead of being as smooth as the air could make it. the main point, however, was that they flew, and flew swiftly, if a bit unevenly, toward the rock for which they had headed. some of the gargoyles saw them, presently, and lost no time in collecting a band to pursue the escaping prisoners; so that when dorothy happened to look back she saw them coming in a great cloud that almost darkened the sky. 13. the den of the dragonettes our friends had a good start and were able to maintain it, for with their eight wings they could go just as fast as could the gargoyles. all the way to the great rock the wooden people followed them, and when jim finally alighted at the mouth of the cavern the pursuers were still some distance away. "but, i'm afraid they'll catch us yet," said dorothy, greatly excited. "no; we must stop them," declared the wizard. "quick zeb, help me pull off these wooden wings!" they tore off the wings, for which they had no further use, and the wizard piled them in a heap just outside the entrance to the cavern. then he poured over them all the kerosene oil that was left in his oil-can, and lighting a match set fire to the pile. the flames leaped up at once and the bonfire began to smoke and roar and crackle just as the great army of wooden gargoyles arrived. the creatures drew back at once, being filled with fear and horror; for such as dreadful thing as a fire they had never before known in all the history of their wooden land. inside the archway were several doors, leading to different rooms built into the mountain, and zeb and the wizard lifted these wooden doors from their hinges and tossed them all on the flames. "that will prove a barrier for some time to come," said the little man, smiling pleasantly all over his wrinkled face at the success of their stratagem. "perhaps the flames will set fire to all that miserable wooden country, and if it does the loss will be very small and the gargoyles never will be missed. but come, my children; let us explore the mountain and discover which way we must go in order to escape from this cavern, which is getting to be almost as hot as a bake-oven." to their disappointment there was within this mountain no regular flight of steps by means of which they could mount to the earth's surface. a sort of inclined tunnel led upward for a way, and they found the floor of it both rough and steep. then a sudden turn brought them to a narrow gallery where the buggy could not pass. this delayed and bothered them for a while, because they did not wish to leave the buggy behind them. it carried their baggage and was useful to ride in wherever there were good roads, and since it had accompanied them so far in their travels they felt it their duty to preserve it. so zeb and the wizard set to work and took off the wheels and the top, and then they put the buggy edgewise, so it would take up the smallest space. in this position they managed, with the aid of the patient cab-horse, to drag the vehicle through the narrow part of the passage. it was not a great distance, fortunately, and when the path grew broader they put the buggy together again and proceeded more comfortably. but the road was nothing more than a series of rifts or cracks in the mountain, and it went zig-zag in every direction, slanting first up and then down until they were puzzled as to whether they were any nearer to the top of the earth than when they had started, hours before. "anyhow," said dorothy, "we've 'scaped those awful gurgles, and that's one comfort!" "probably the gargoyles are still busy trying to put out the fire," returned the wizard. "but even if they succeeded in doing that it would be very difficult for them to fly amongst these rocks; so i am sure we need fear them no longer." once in a while they would come to a deep crack in the floor, which made the way quite dangerous; but there was still enough oil in the lanterns to give them light, and the cracks were not so wide but that they were able to jump over them. sometimes they had to climb over heaps of loose rock, where jim could scarcely drag the buggy. at such times dorothy, zeb and the wizard all pushed behind, and lifted the wheels over the roughest places; so they managed, by dint of hard work, to keep going. but the little party was both weary and discouraged when at last, on turning a sharp corner, the wanderers found themselves in a vast cave arching high over their heads and having a smooth, level floor. the cave was circular in shape, and all around its edge, near to the ground, appeared groups of dull yellow lights, two of them being always side by side. these were motionless at first, but soon began to flicker more brightly and to sway slowly from side to side and then up and down. "what sort of place is this?" asked the boy, trying to see more clearly through the gloom. "i cannot imagine, i'm sure," answered the wizard, also peering about. "woogh!" snarled eureka, arching her back until her hair stood straight on end; "it's den of alligators, or crocodiles, or some other dreadful creatures! don't you see their terrible eyes?" "eureka sees better in the dark than we can," whispered dorothy. "tell us, dear, what do the creatures look like?" she asked, addressing her pet. "i simply can't describe 'em," answered the kitten, shuddering. "their eyes are like pie-plates and their mouths like coal-scuttles. but their bodies don't seem very big." "where are they?" enquired the girl. "they are in little pockets all around the edge of this cavern. oh, dorothy--you can't imagine what horrid things they are! they're uglier than the gargoyles." "tut-tut! be careful how you criticise your neighbors," spoke a rasping voice near by. "as a matter of fact you are rather ugly-looking creatures yourselves, and i'm sure mother has often told us we were the loveliest and prettiest things in all the world." hearing these words our friends turned in the direction of the sound, and the wizard held his lanterns so that their light would flood one of the little pockets in the rock. "why, it's a dragon!" he exclaimed. "no," answered the owner of the big yellow eyes which were blinking at them so steadily; "you are wrong about that. we hope to grow to be dragons some day, but just now we're only dragonettes." "what's that?" asked dorothy, gazing fearfully at the great scaley head, the yawning mouth and the big eyes. "young dragons, of course; but we are not allowed to call ourselves real dragons until we get our full growth," was the reply. "the big dragons are very proud, and don't think children amount to much; but mother says that some day we will all be very powerful and important." "where is your mother?" asked the wizard, anxiously looking around. "she has gone up to the top of the earth to hunt for our dinner. if she has good luck she will bring us an elephant, or a brace of rhinoceri, or perhaps a few dozen people to stay our hunger." "oh; are you hungry?" enquired dorothy, drawing back. "very," said the dragonette, snapping its jaws. "and--and--do you eat people?" "to be sure, when we can get them. but they've been very scarce for a few years and we usually have to be content with elephants or buffaloes," answered the creature, in a regretful tone. "how old are you?" enquired zeb, who stared at the yellow eyes as if fascinated. "quite young, i grieve to say; and all of my brothers and sisters that you see here are practically my own age. if i remember rightly, we were sixty-six years old the day before yesterday." "but that isn't young!" cried dorothy, in amazement. "no?" drawled the dragonette; "it seems to me very babyish." "how old is your mother?" asked the girl. "mother's about two thousand years old; but she carelessly lost track of her age a few centuries ago and skipped several hundreds. she's a little fussy, you know, and afraid of growing old, being a widow and still in her prime." "i should think she would be," agreed dorothy. then, after a moment's thought, she asked: "are we friends or enemies? i mean, will you be good to us, or do you intend to eat us?" "as for that, we dragonettes would love to eat you, my child; but unfortunately mother has tied all our tails around the rocks at the back of our individual caves, so that we can not crawl out to get you. if you choose to come nearer we will make a mouthful of you in a wink; but unless you do you will remain quite safe." there was a regretful accent in the creature's voice, and at the words all the other dragonettes sighed dismally. dorothy felt relieved. presently she asked: "why did your mother tie your tails?" "oh, she is sometimes gone for several weeks on her hunting trips, and if we were not tied we would crawl all over the mountain and fight with each other and get into a lot of mischief. mother usually knows what she is about, but she made a mistake this time; for you are sure to escape us unless you come too near, and you probably won't do that." "no, indeed!" said the little girl. "we don't wish to be eaten by such awful beasts." "permit me to say," returned the dragonette, "that you are rather impolite to call us names, knowing that we cannot resent your insults. we consider ourselves very beautiful in appearance, for mother has told us so, and she knows. and we are of an excellent family and have a pedigree that i challenge any humans to equal, as it extends back about twenty thousand years, to the time of the famous green dragon of atlantis, who lived in a time when humans had not yet been created. can you match that pedigree, little girl?" "well," said dorothy, "i was born on a farm in kansas, and i guess that's being just as 'spectable and haughty as living in a cave with your tail tied to a rock. if it isn't i'll have to stand it, that's all." "tastes differ," murmured the dragonette, slowly drooping its scaley eyelids over its yellow eyes, until they looked like half-moons. being reassured by the fact that the creatures could not crawl out of their rock-pockets, the children and the wizard now took time to examine them more closely. the heads of the dragonettes were as big as barrels and covered with hard, greenish scales that glittered brightly under the light of the lanterns. their front legs, which grew just back of their heads, were also strong and big; but their bodies were smaller around than their heads, and dwindled away in a long line until their tails were slim as a shoe-string. dorothy thought, if it had taken them sixty-six years to grow to this size, that it would be fully a hundred years more before they could hope to call themselves dragons, and that seemed like a good while to wait to grow up. "it occurs to me," said the wizard, "that we ought to get out of this place before the mother dragon comes back." "don't hurry," called one of the dragonettes; "mother will be glad to meet you, i'm sure." "you may be right," replied the wizard, "but we're a little particular about associating with strangers. will you kindly tell us which way your mother went to get on top the earth?" "that is not a fair question to ask us," declared another dragonette. "for, if we told you truly, you might escape us altogether; and if we told you an untruth we would be naughty and deserve to be punished." "then," decided dorothy, "we must find our way out the best we can." they circled all around the cavern, keeping a good distance away from the blinking yellow eyes of the dragonettes, and presently discovered that there were two paths leading from the wall opposite to the place where they had entered. they selected one of these at a venture and hurried along it as fast as they could go, for they had no idea when the mother dragon would be back and were very anxious not to make her acquaintance. 14. ozma uses the magic belt for a considerable distance the way led straight upward in a gentle incline, and the wanderers made such good progress that they grew hopeful and eager, thinking they might see sunshine at any minute. but at length they came unexpectedly upon a huge rock that shut off the passage and blocked them from proceeding a single step farther. this rock was separate from the rest of the mountain and was in motion, turning slowly around and around as if upon a pivot. when first they came to it there was a solid wall before them; but presently it revolved until there was exposed a wide, smooth path across it to the other side. this appeared so unexpectedly that they were unprepared to take advantage of it at first, and allowed the rocky wall to swing around again before they had decided to pass over. but they knew now that there was a means of escape and so waited patiently until the path appeared for the second time. the children and the wizard rushed across the moving rock and sprang into the passage beyond, landing safely though a little out of breath. jim the cab-horse came last, and the rocky wall almost caught him; for just as he leaped to the floor of the further passage the wall swung across it and a loose stone that the buggy wheels knocked against fell into the narrow crack where the rock turned, and became wedged there. they heard a crunching, grinding sound, a loud snap, and the turn-table came to a stop with its broadest surface shutting off the path from which they had come. "never mind," said zeb, "we don't want to get back, anyhow." "i'm not so sure of that," returned dorothy. "the mother dragon may come down and catch us here." "it is possible," agreed the wizard, "if this proves to be the path she usually takes. but i have been examining this tunnel, and i do not see any signs of so large a beast having passed through it." "then we're all right," said the girl, "for if the dragon went the other way she can't poss'bly get to us now." "of course not, my dear. but there is another thing to consider. the mother dragon probably knows the road to the earth's surface, and if she went the other way then we have come the wrong way," said the wizard, thoughtfully. "dear me!" cried dorothy. "that would be unlucky, wouldn't it?" "very. unless this passage also leads to the top of the earth," said zeb. "for my part, if we manage to get out of here i'll be glad it isn't the way the dragon goes." "so will i," returned dorothy. "it's enough to have your pedigree flung in your face by those saucy dragonettes. no one knows what the mother might do." they now moved on again, creeping slowly up another steep incline. the lanterns were beginning to grow dim, and the wizard poured the remaining oil from one into the other, so that the one light would last longer. but their journey was almost over, for in a short time they reached a small cave from which there was no further outlet. they did not realize their ill fortune at first, for their hearts were gladdened by the sight of a ray of sunshine coming through a small crack in the roof of the cave, far overhead. that meant that their world--the real world--was not very far away, and that the succession of perilous adventures they had encountered had at last brought them near the earth's surface, which meant home to them. but when the adventurers looked more carefully around them they discovered that there were in a strong prison from which there was no hope of escape. "but we're almost on earth again," cried dorothy, "for there is the sun--the most beau'ful sun that shines!" and she pointed eagerly at the crack in the distant roof. "almost on earth isn't being there," said the kitten, in a discontented tone. "it wouldn't be possible for even me to get up to that crack--or through it if i got there." "it appears that the path ends here," announced the wizard, gloomily. "and there is no way to go back," added zeb, with a low whistle of perplexity. "i was sure it would come to this, in the end," remarked the old cab-horse. "folks don't fall into the middle of the earth and then get back again to tell of their adventures--not in real life. and the whole thing has been unnatural because that cat and i are both able to talk your language, and to understand the words you say." "and so can the nine tiny piglets," added eureka. "don't forget them, for i may have to eat them, after all." "i've heard animals talk before," said dorothy, "and no harm came of it." "were you ever before shut up in a cave, far under the earth, with no way of getting out?" enquired the horse, seriously. "no," answered dorothy. "but don't you lose heart, jim, for i'm sure this isn't the end of our story, by any means." the reference to the piglets reminded the wizard that his pets had not enjoyed much exercise lately, and must be tired of their prison in his pocket. so he sat down upon the floor of the cave, brought the piglets out one by one, and allowed them to run around as much as they pleased. "my dears," he said to them, "i'm afraid i've got you into a lot of trouble, and that you will never again be able to leave this gloomy cave." "what's wrong?" asked a piglet. "we've been in the dark quite a while, and you may as well explain what has happened." the wizard told them of the misfortune that had overtaken the wanderers. "well," said another piglet, "you are a wizard, are you not?" "i am," replied the little man. "then you can do a few wizzes and get us out of this hole," declared the tiny one, with much confidence. "i could if i happened to be a real wizard," returned the master sadly. "but i'm not, my piggy-wees; i'm a humbug wizard." "nonsense!" cried several of the piglets, together. "you can ask dorothy," said the little man, in an injured tone. "it's true enough," returned the girl, earnestly. "our friend oz is merely a humbug wizard, for he once proved it to me. he can do several very wonderful things--if he knows how. but he can't wiz a single thing if he hasn't the tools and machinery to work with." "thank you, my dear, for doing me justice," responded the wizard, gratefully. "to be accused of being a real wizard, when i'm not, is a slander i will not tamely submit to. but i am one of the greatest humbug wizards that ever lived, and you will realize this when we have all starved together and our bones are scattered over the floor of this lonely cave." "i don't believe we'll realize anything, when it comes to that," remarked dorothy, who had been deep in thought. "but i'm not going to scatter my bones just yet, because i need them, and you prob'ly need yours, too." "we are helpless to escape," sighed the wizard. "we may be helpless," answered dorothy, smiling at him, "but there are others who can do more than we can. cheer up, friends. i'm sure ozma will help us." "ozma!" exclaimed the wizard. "who is ozma?" "the girl that rules the marvelous land of oz," was the reply. "she's a friend of mine, for i met her in the land of ev, not long ago, and went to oz with her." "for the second time?" asked the wizard, with great interest. "yes. the first time i went to oz i found you there, ruling the emerald city. after you went up in a balloon, and escaped us, i got back to kansas by means of a pair of magical silver shoes." "i remember those shoes," said the little man, nodding. "they once belonged to the wicked witch. have you them here with you?" "no; i lost them somewhere in the air," explained the child. "but the second time i went to the land of oz i owned the nome king's magic belt, which is much more powerful than were the silver shoes." "where is that magic belt?" enquired the wizard, who had listened with great interest. "ozma has it; for its powers won't work in a common, ordinary country like the united states. anyone in a fairy country like the land of oz can do anything with it; so i left it with my friend the princess ozma, who used it to wish me in australia with uncle henry." "and were you?" asked zeb, astonished at what he heard. "of course; in just a jiffy. and ozma has an enchanted picture hanging in her room that shows her the exact scene where any of her friends may be, at any time she chooses. all she has to do is to say: 'i wonder what so-and-so is doing,' and at once the picture shows where her friend is and what the friend is doing. that's real magic, mr. wizard; isn't it? well, every day at four o'clock ozma has promised to look at me in that picture, and if i am in need of help i am to make her a certain sign and she will put on the nome king's magic belt and wish me to be with her in oz." "do you mean that princess ozma will see this cave in her enchanted picture, and see all of us here, and what we are doing?" demanded zeb. "of course; when it is four o'clock," she replied, with a laugh at his startled expression. "and when you make a sign she will bring you to her in the land of oz?" continued the boy. "that's it, exactly; by means of the magic belt." "then," said the wizard, "you will be saved, little dorothy; and i am very glad of it. the rest of us will die much more cheerfully when we know you have escaped our sad fate." "i won't die cheerfully!" protested the kitten. "there's nothing cheerful about dying that i could ever see, although they say a cat has nine lives, and so must die nine times." "have you ever died yet?" enquired the boy. "no, and i'm not anxious to begin," said eureka. "don't worry, dear," dorothy exclaimed, "i'll hold you in my arms, and take you with me." "take us, too!" cried the nine tiny piglets, all in one breath. "perhaps i can," answered dorothy. "i'll try." "couldn't you manage to hold me in your arms?" asked the cab-horse. dorothy laughed. "i'll do better than that," she promised, "for i can easily save you all, once i am myself in the land of oz." "how?" they asked. "by using the magic belt. all i need do is to wish you with me, and there you'll be--safe in the royal palace!" "good!" cried zeb. "i built that palace, and the emerald city, too," remarked the wizard, in a thoughtful tone, "and i'd like to see them again, for i was very happy among the munchkins and winkies and quadlings and gillikins." "who are they?" asked the boy. "the four nations that inhabit the land of oz," was the reply. "i wonder if they would treat me nicely if i went there again." "of course they would!" declared dorothy. "they are still proud of their former wizard, and often speak of you kindly." "do you happen to know whatever became of the tin woodman and the scarecrow?" he enquired. "they live in oz yet," said the girl, "and are very important people." "and the cowardly lion?" "oh, he lives there too, with his friend the hungry tiger; and billina is there, because she liked the place better than kansas, and wouldn't go with me to australia." "i'm afraid i don't know the hungry tiger and billina," said the wizard, shaking his head. "is billina a girl?" "no; she's a yellow hen, and a great friend of mine. you're sure to like billina, when you know her," asserted dorothy. "your friends sound like a menagerie," remarked zeb, uneasily. "couldn't you wish me in some safer place than oz." "don't worry," replied the girl. "you'll just love the folks in oz, when you get acquainted. what time is it, mr. wizard?" the little man looked at his watch--a big silver one that he carried in his vest pocket. "half-past three," he said. "then we must wait for half an hour," she continued; "but it won't take long, after that, to carry us all to the emerald city." they sat silently thinking for a time. then jim suddenly asked: "are there any horses in oz?" "only one," replied dorothy, "and he's a sawhorse." "a what?" "a sawhorse. princess ozma once brought him to life with a witch-powder, when she was a boy." "was ozma once a boy?" asked zeb, wonderingly. "yes; a wicked witch enchanted her, so she could not rule her kingdom. but she's a girl now, and the sweetest, loveliest girl in all the world." "a sawhorse is a thing they saw boards on," remarked jim, with a sniff. "it is when it's not alive," acknowledged the girl. "but this sawhorse can trot as fast as you can, jim; and he's very wise, too." "pah! i'll race the miserable wooden donkey any day in the week!" cried the cab-horse. dorothy did not reply to that. she felt that jim would know more about the saw-horse later on. the time dragged wearily enough to the eager watchers, but finally the wizard announced that four o'clock had arrived, and dorothy caught up the kitten and began to make the signal that had been agreed upon to the far-away invisible ozma. "nothing seems to happen," said zeb, doubtfully. "oh, we must give ozma time to put on the magic belt," replied the girl. she had scarcely spoken the words then she suddenly disappeared from the cave, and with her went the kitten. there had been no sound of any kind and no warning. one moment dorothy sat beside them with the kitten in her lap, and a moment later the horse, the piglets, the wizard and the boy were all that remained in the underground prison. "i believe we will soon follow her," announced the wizard, in a tone of great relief; "for i know something about the magic of the fairyland that is called the land of oz. let us be ready, for we may be sent for any minute." he put the piglets safely away in his pocket again and then he and zeb got into the buggy and sat expectantly upon the seat. "will it hurt?" asked the boy, in a voice that trembled a little. "not at all," replied the wizard. "it will all happen as quick as a wink." and that was the way it did happen. the cab-horse gave a nervous start and zeb began to rub his eyes to make sure he was not asleep. for they were in the streets of a beautiful emerald-green city, bathed in a grateful green light that was especially pleasing to their eyes, and surrounded by merry faced people in gorgeous green-and-gold costumes of many extraordinary designs. before them were the jewel-studded gates of a magnificent palace, and now the gates opened slowly as if inviting them to enter the courtyard, where splendid flowers were blooming and pretty fountains shot their silvery sprays into the air. zeb shook the reins to rouse the cab-horse from his stupor of amazement, for the people were beginning to gather around and stare at the strangers. "gid-dap!" cried the boy, and at the word jim slowly trotted into the courtyard and drew the buggy along the jewelled driveway to the great entrance of the royal palace. 15. old friends are reunited many servants dressed in handsome uniforms stood ready to welcome the new arrivals, and when the wizard got out of the buggy a pretty girl in a green gown cried out in surprise: "why, it's oz, the wonderful wizard, come back again!" the little man looked at her closely and then took both the maiden's hands in his and shook them cordially. "on my word," he exclaimed, "it's little jellia jamb--as pert and pretty as ever!" "why not, mr. wizard?" asked jellia, bowing low. "but i'm afraid you cannot rule the emerald city, as you used to, because we now have a beautiful princess whom everyone loves dearly." "and the people will not willingly part with her," added a tall soldier in a captain-general's uniform. the wizard turned to look at him. "did you not wear green whiskers at one time?" he asked. "yes," said the soldier; "but i shaved them off long ago, and since then i have risen from a private to be the chief general of the royal armies." "that's nice," said the little man. "but i assure you, my good people, that i do not wish to rule the emerald city," he added, earnestly. "in that case you are very welcome!" cried all the servants, and it pleased the wizard to note the respect with which the royal retainers bowed before him. his fame had not been forgotten in the land of oz, by any means. "where is dorothy?" enquired zeb, anxiously, as he left the buggy and stood beside his friend the little wizard. "she is with the princess ozma, in the private rooms of the palace," replied jellia jamb. "but she has ordered me to make you welcome and to show you to your apartments." the boy looked around him with wondering eyes. such magnificence and wealth as was displayed in this palace was more than he had ever dreamed of, and he could scarcely believe that all the gorgeous glitter was real and not tinsel. "what's to become of me?" asked the horse, uneasily. he had seen considerable of life in the cities in his younger days, and knew that this regal palace was no place for him. it perplexed even jellia jamb, for a time, to know what to do with the animal. the green maiden was much astonished at the sight of so unusual a creature, for horses were unknown in this land; but those who lived in the emerald city were apt to be astonished by queer sights, so after inspecting the cab-horse and noting the mild look in his big eyes the girl decided not to be afraid of him. "there are no stables here," said the wizard, "unless some have been built since i went away." "we have never needed them before," answered jellia; "for the sawhorse lives in a room of the palace, being much smaller and more natural in appearance than this great beast you have brought with you." "do you mean that i'm a freak?" asked jim, angrily. "oh, no," she hastened to say, "there may be many more like you in the place you came from, but in oz any horse but a sawhorse is unusual." this mollified jim a little, and after some thought the green maiden decided to give the cab-horse a room in the palace, such a big building having many rooms that were seldom in use. so zeb unharnessed jim, and several of the servants then led the horse around to the rear, where they selected a nice large apartment that he could have all to himself. then jellia said to the wizard: "your own room--which was back of the great throne room--has been vacant ever since you left us. would you like it again?" "yes, indeed!" returned the little man. "it will seem like being at home again, for i lived in that room for many, many years." he knew the way to it, and a servant followed him, carrying his satchel. zeb was also escorted to a room--so grand and beautiful that he almost feared to sit in the chairs or lie upon the bed, lest he might dim their splendor. in the closets he discovered many fancy costumes of rich velvets and brocades, and one of the attendants told him to dress himself in any of the clothes that pleased him and to be prepared to dine with the princess and dorothy in an hour's time. opening from the chamber was a fine bathroom having a marble tub with perfumed water; so the boy, still dazed by the novelty of his surroundings, indulged in a good bath and then selected a maroon velvet costume with silver buttons to replace his own soiled and much worn clothing. there were silk stockings and soft leather slippers with diamond buckles to accompany his new costume, and when he was fully dressed zeb looked much more dignified and imposing than ever before in his life. he was all ready when an attendant came to escort him to the presence of the princess; he followed bashfully and was ushered into a room more dainty and attractive than it was splendid. here he found dorothy seated beside a young girl so marvelously beautiful that the boy stopped suddenly with a gasp of admiration. but dorothy sprang up and ran to seize her friend's hand drawing him impulsively toward the lovely princess, who smiled most graciously upon her guest. then the wizard entered, and his presence relieved the boy's embarrassment. the little man was clothed in black velvet, with many sparkling emerald ornaments decorating his breast; but his bald head and wrinkled features made him appear more amusing than impressive. ozma had been quite curious to meet the famous man who had built the emerald city and united the munchkins, gillikins, quadlings and winkies into one people; so when they were all four seated at the dinner table the princess said: "please tell me, mr. wizard, whether you called yourself oz after this great country, or whether you believe my country is called oz after you. it is a matter that i have long wished to enquire about, because you are of a strange race and my own name is ozma. no, one, i am sure, is better able to explain this mystery than you." "that is true," answered the little wizard; "therefore it will give me pleasure to explain my connection with your country. in the first place, i must tell you that i was born in omaha, and my father, who was a politician, named me oscar zoroaster phadrig isaac norman henkle emmannuel ambroise diggs, diggs being the last name because he could think of no more to go before it. taken altogether, it was a dreadfully long name to weigh down a poor innocent child, and one of the hardest lessons i ever learned was to remember my own name. when i grew up i just called myself o. z., because the other initials were p-i-n-h-e-a-d; and that spelled 'pinhead,' which was a reflection on my intelligence." "surely no one could blame you for cutting your name short," said ozma, sympathetically. "but didn't you cut it almost too short?" "perhaps so," replied the wizard. "when a young man i ran away from home and joined a circus. i used to call myself a wizard, and do tricks of ventriloquism." "what does that mean?" asked the princess. "throwing my voice into any object i pleased, to make it appear that the object was speaking instead of me. also i began to make balloon ascensions. on my balloon and on all the other articles i used in the circus i painted the two initials: 'o. z.', to show that those things belonged to me. "one day my balloon ran away with me and brought me across the deserts to this beautiful country. when the people saw me come from the sky they naturally thought me some superior creature, and bowed down before me. i told them i was a wizard, and showed them some easy tricks that amazed them; and when they saw the initials painted on the balloon they called me oz." "now i begin to understand," said the princess, smiling. "at that time," continued the wizard, busily eating his soup while talking, "there were four separate countries in this land, each one of the four being ruled by a witch. but the people thought my power was greater than that of the witches; and perhaps the witches thought so too, for they never dared oppose me. i ordered the emerald city to be built just where the four countries cornered together, and when it was completed i announced myself the ruler of the land of oz, which included all the four countries of the munchkins, the gillikins, the winkies and the quadlings. over this land i ruled in peace for many years, until i grew old and longed to see my native city once again. so when dorothy was first blown to this place by a cyclone i arranged to go away with her in a balloon; but the balloon escaped too soon and carried me back alone. after many adventures i reached omaha, only to find that all my old friends were dead or had moved away. so, having nothing else to do, i joined a circus again, and made my balloon ascensions until the earthquake caught me." "that is quite a history," said ozma; "but there is a little more history about the land of oz that you do not seem to understand--perhaps for the reason that no one ever told it you. many years before you came here this land was united under one ruler, as it is now, and the ruler's name was always 'oz,' which means in our language 'great and good'; or, if the ruler happened to be a woman, her name was always 'ozma.' but once upon a time four witches leagued together to depose the king and rule the four parts of the kingdom themselves; so when the ruler, my grandfather, was hunting one day, one wicked witch named mombi stole him and carried him away, keeping him a close prisoner. then the witches divided up the kingdom, and ruled the four parts of it until you came here. that was why the people were so glad to see you, and why they thought from your initials that you were their rightful ruler." "but, at that time," said the wizard, thoughtfully, "there were two good witches and two wicked witches ruling in the land." "yes," replied ozma, "because a good witch had conquered mombi in the north and glinda the good had conquered the evil witch in the south. but mombi was still my grandfather's jailor, and afterward my father's jailor. when i was born she transformed me into a boy, hoping that no one would ever recognize me and know that i was the rightful princess of the land of oz. but i escaped from her and am now the ruler of my people." "i am very glad of that," said the wizard, "and hope you will consider me one of your most faithful and devoted subjects." "we owe a great deal to the wonderful wizard," continued the princess, "for it was you who built this splendid emerald city." "your people built it," he answered. "i only bossed the job, as we say in omaha." "but you ruled it wisely and well for many years," said she, "and made the people proud of your magical art. so, as you are now too old to wander abroad and work in a circus, i offer you a home here as long as you live. you shall be the official wizard of my kingdom, and be treated with every respect and consideration." "i accept your kind offer with gratitude, gracious princess," the little man said, in a soft voice, and they could all see that tear-drops were standing in his keen old eyes. it meant a good deal to him to secure a home like this. "he's only a humbug wizard, though," said dorothy, smiling at him. "and that is the safest kind of a wizard to have," replied ozma, promptly. "oz can do some good tricks, humbug or no humbug," announced zeb, who was now feeling more at ease. "he shall amuse us with his tricks tomorrow," said the princess. "i have sent messengers to summon all of dorothy's old friends to meet her and give her welcome, and they ought to arrive very soon, now." indeed, the dinner was no sooner finished than in rushed the scarecrow, to hug dorothy in his padded arms and tell her how glad he was to see her again. the wizard was also most heartily welcomed by the straw man, who was an important personage in the land of oz. "how are your brains?" enquired the little humbug, as he grasped the soft, stuffed hands of his old friend. "working finely," answered the scarecrow. "i'm very certain, oz, that you gave me the best brains in the world, for i can think with them day and night, when all other brains are fast asleep." "how long did you rule the emerald city, after i left here?" was the next question. "quite awhile, until i was conquered by a girl named general jinjur. but ozma soon conquered her, with the help of glinda the good, and after that i went to live with nick chopper, the tin woodman." just then a loud cackling was heard outside; and, when a servant threw open the door with a low bow, a yellow hen strutted in. dorothy sprang forward and caught the fluffy fowl in her arms, uttering at the same time a glad cry. "oh, billina!" she said; "how fat and sleek you've grown." "why shouldn't i?" asked the hen, in a sharp, clear voice. "i live on the fat of the land--don't i, ozma?" "you have everything you wish for," said the princess. around billina's neck was a string of beautiful pearls, and on her legs were bracelets of emeralds. she nestled herself comfortably in dorothy's lap until the kitten gave a snarl of jealous anger and leaped up with a sharp claw fiercely bared to strike billina a blow. but the little girl gave the angry kitten such a severe cuff that it jumped down again without daring to scratch. "how horrid of you, eureka!" cried dorothy. "is that the way to treat my friends?" "you have queer friends, seems to me," replied the kitten, in a surly tone. "seems to me the same way," said billina, scornfully, "if that beastly cat is one of them." "look here!" said dorothy, sternly. "i won't have any quarrelling in the land of oz, i can tell you! everybody lives in peace here, and loves everybody else; and unless you two, billina and eureka, make up and be friends, i'll take my magic belt and wish you both home again, immejitly. so, there!" they were both much frightened at the threat, and promised meekly to be good. but it was never noticed that they became very warm friends, for all of that. and now the tin woodman arrived, his body most beautifully nickle-plated, so that it shone splendidly in the brilliant light of the room. the tin woodman loved dorothy most tenderly, and welcomed with joy the return of the little old wizard. "sir," said he to the latter, "i never can thank you enough for the excellent heart you once gave me. it has made me many friends, i assure you, and it beats as kindly and lovingly today as it every did." "i'm glad to hear that," said the wizard. "i was afraid it would get moldy in that tin body of yours." "not at all," returned nick chopper. "it keeps finely, being preserved in my air-tight chest." zeb was a little shy when first introduced to these queer people; but they were so friendly and sincere that he soon grew to admire them very much, even finding some good qualities in the yellow hen. but he became nervous again when the next visitor was announced. "this," said princess ozma, "is my friend mr. h. m. woggle-bug, t. e., who assisted me one time when i was in great distress, and is now the dean of the royal college of athletic science." "ah," said the wizard; "i'm pleased to meet so distinguished a personage." "h. m.," said the woggle-bug, pompously, "means highly magnified; and t. e. means thoroughly educated. i am, in reality, a very big bug, and doubtless the most intelligent being in all this broad domain." "how well you disguise it," said the wizard. "but i don't doubt your word in the least." "nobody doubts it, sir," replied the woggle-bug, and drawing a book from its pocket the strange insect turned its back on the company and sat down in a corner to read. nobody minded this rudeness, which might have seemed more impolite in one less thoroughly educated; so they straightway forgot him and joined in a merry conversation that kept them well amused until bed-time arrived. 16. jim, the cab-horse jim the cab-horse found himself in possession of a large room with a green marble floor and carved marble wainscoting, which was so stately in its appearance that it would have awed anyone else. jim accepted it as a mere detail, and at his command the attendants gave his coat a good rubbing, combed his mane and tail, and washed his hoofs and fetlocks. then they told him dinner would be served directly and he replied that they could not serve it too quickly to suit his convenience. first they brought him a steaming bowl of soup, which the horse eyed in dismay. "take that stuff away!" he commanded. "do you take me for a salamander?" they obeyed at once, and next served a fine large turbot on a silver platter, with drawn gravy poured over it. "fish!" cried jim, with a sniff. "do you take me for a tom-cat? away with it!" the servants were a little discouraged, but soon they brought in a great tray containing two dozen nicely roasted quail on toast. "well, well!" said the horse, now thoroughly provoked. "do you take me for a weasel? how stupid and ignorant you are, in the land of oz, and what dreadful things you feed upon! is there nothing that is decent to eat in this palace?" the trembling servants sent for the royal steward, who came in haste and said: "what would your highness like for dinner?" "highness!" repeated jim, who was unused to such titles. "you are at least six feet high, and that is higher than any other animal in this country," said the steward. "well, my highness would like some oats," declared the horse. "oats? we have no whole oats," the steward replied, with much deference. "but there is any quantity of oatmeal, which we often cook for breakfast. oatmeal is a breakfast dish," added the steward, humbly. "i'll make it a dinner dish," said jim. "fetch it on, but don't cook it, as you value your life." you see, the respect shown the worn-out old cab-horse made him a little arrogant, and he forgot he was a guest, never having been treated otherwise than as a servant since the day he was born, until his arrival in the land of oz. but the royal attendants did not heed the animal's ill temper. they soon mixed a tub of oatmeal with a little water, and jim ate it with much relish. then the servants heaped a lot of rugs upon the floor and the old horse slept on the softest bed he had ever known in his life. in the morning, as soon as it was daylight, he resolved to take a walk and try to find some grass for breakfast; so he ambled calmly through the handsome arch of the doorway, turned the corner of the palace, wherein all seemed asleep, and came face to face with the sawhorse. jim stopped abruptly, being startled and amazed. the sawhorse stopped at the same time and stared at the other with its queer protruding eyes, which were mere knots in the log that formed its body. the legs of the sawhorse were four sticks driving into holes bored in the log; its tail was a small branch that had been left by accident and its mouth a place chopped in one end of the body which projected a little and served as a head. the ends of the wooden legs were shod with plates of solid gold, and the saddle of the princess ozma, which was of red leather set with sparkling diamonds, was strapped to the clumsy body. jim's eyes stuck out as much as those of the sawhorse, and he stared at the creature with his ears erect and his long head drawn back until it rested against his arched neck. in this comical position the two horses circled slowly around each other for a while, each being unable to realize what the singular thing might be which it now beheld for the first time. then jim exclaimed: "for goodness sake, what sort of a being are you?" "i'm a sawhorse," replied the other. "oh; i believe i've heard of you," said the cab-horse; "but you are unlike anything that i expected to see." "i do not doubt it," the sawhorse observed, with a tone of pride. "i am considered quite unusual." "you are, indeed. but a rickety wooden thing like you has no right to be alive." "i couldn't help it," returned the other, rather crestfallen. "ozma sprinkled me with a magic powder, and i just had to live. i know i'm not much account; but i'm the only horse in all the land of oz, so they treat me with great respect." "you, a horse!" "oh, not a real one, of course. there are no real horses here at all. but i'm a splendid imitation of one." jim gave an indignant neigh. "look at me!" he cried. "behold a real horse!" the wooden animal gave a start, and then examined the other intently. "is it possible that you are a real horse?" he murmured. "not only possible, but true," replied jim, who was gratified by the impression he had created. "it is proved by my fine points. for example, look at the long hairs on my tail, with which i can whisk away the flies." "the flies never trouble me," said the saw-horse. "and notice my great strong teeth, with which i nibble the grass." "it is not necessary for me to eat," observed the sawhorse. "also examine my broad chest, which enables me to draw deep, full breaths," said jim, proudly. "i have no need to breathe," returned the other. "no; you miss many pleasures," remarked the cab-horse, pityingly. "you do not know the relief of brushing away a fly that has bitten you, nor the delight of eating delicious food, nor the satisfaction of drawing a long breath of fresh, pure air. you may be an imitation of a horse, but you're a mighty poor one." "oh, i cannot hope ever to be like you," sighed the sawhorse. "but i am glad to meet a last a real horse. you are certainly the most beautiful creature i ever beheld." this praise won jim completely. to be called beautiful was a novelty in his experience. said he: "your chief fault, my friend, is in being made of wood, and that i suppose you cannot help. real horses, like myself, are made of flesh and blood and bones." "i can see the bones all right," replied the sawhorse, "and they are admirable and distinct. also i can see the flesh. but the blood, i suppose is tucked away inside." "exactly," said jim. "what good is it?" asked the sawhorse. jim did not know, but he would not tell the sawhorse that. "if anything cuts me," he replied, "the blood runs out to show where i am cut. you, poor thing! cannot even bleed when you are hurt." "but i am never hurt," said the sawhorse. "once in a while i get broken up some, but i am easily repaired and put in good order again. and i never feel a break or a splinter in the least." jim was almost tempted to envy the wooden horse for being unable to feel pain; but the creature was so absurdly unnatural that he decided he would not change places with it under any circumstances. "how did you happen to be shod with gold?" he asked. "princess ozma did that," was the reply; "and it saves my legs from wearing out. we've had a good many adventures together, ozma and i, and she likes me." the cab-horse was about to reply when suddenly he gave a start and a neigh of terror and stood trembling like a leaf. for around the corner had come two enormous savage beasts, treading so lightly that they were upon him before he was aware of their presence. jim was in the act of plunging down the path to escape when the sawhorse cried out: "stop, my brother! stop, real horse! these are friends, and will do you no harm." jim hesitated, eyeing the beasts fearfully. one was an enormous lion with clear, intelligent eyes, a tawney mane bushy and well kept, and a body like yellow plush. the other was a great tiger with purple stripes around his lithe body, powerful limbs, and eyes that showed through the half closed lids like coals of fire. the huge forms of these monarchs of the forest and jungle were enough to strike terror to the stoutest heart, and it is no wonder jim was afraid to face them. but the sawhorse introduced the stranger in a calm tone, saying: "this, noble horse, is my friend the cowardly lion, who is the valiant king of the forest, but at the same time a faithful vassal of princess ozma. and this is the hungry tiger, the terror of the jungle, who longs to devour fat babies but is prevented by his conscience from doing so. these royal beasts are both warm friends of little dorothy and have come to the emerald city this morning to welcome her to our fairyland." hearing these words jim resolved to conquer his alarm. he bowed his head with as much dignity as he could muster toward the savage looking beasts, who in return nodded in a friendly way. "is not the real horse a beautiful animal?" asked the sawhorse admiringly. "that is doubtless a matter of taste," returned the lion. "in the forest he would be thought ungainly, because his face is stretched out and his neck is uselessly long. his joints, i notice, are swollen and overgrown, and he lacks flesh and is old in years." "and dreadfully tough," added the hungry tiger, in a sad voice. "my conscience would never permit me to eat so tough a morsel as the real horse." "i'm glad of that," said jim; "for i, also, have a conscience, and it tells me not to crush in your skull with a blow of my powerful hoof." if he thought to frighten the striped beast by such language he was mistaken. the tiger seemed to smile, and winked one eye slowly. "you have a good conscience, friend horse," it said, "and if you attend to its teachings it will do much to protect you from harm. some day i will let you try to crush in my skull, and afterward you will know more about tigers than you do now." "any friend of dorothy," remarked the cowardly lion, "must be our friend, as well. so let us cease this talk of skull crushing and converse upon more pleasant subjects. have you breakfasted, sir horse?" "not yet," replied jim. "but here is plenty of excellent clover, so if you will excuse me i will eat now." "he's a vegetarian," remarked the tiger, as the horse began to munch the clover. "if i could eat grass i would not need a conscience, for nothing could then tempt me to devour babies and lambs." just then dorothy, who had risen early and heard the voices of the animals, ran out to greet her old friends. she hugged both the lion and the tiger with eager delight, but seemed to love the king of beasts a little better than she did his hungry friend, having known him longer. by this time they had indulged in a good talk and dorothy had told them all about the awful earthquake and her recent adventures, the breakfast bell rang from the palace and the little girl went inside to join her human comrades. as she entered the great hall a voice called out, in a rather harsh tone: "what! are you here again?" "yes, i am," she answered, looking all around to see where the voice came from. "what brought you back?" was the next question, and dorothy's eye rested on an antlered head hanging on the wall just over the fireplace, and caught its lips in the act of moving. "good gracious!" she exclaimed. "i thought you were stuffed." "so i am," replied the head. "but once on a time i was part of the gump, which ozma sprinkled with the powder of life. i was then for a time the head of the finest flying machine that was ever known to exist, and we did many wonderful things. afterward the gump was taken apart and i was put back on this wall; but i can still talk when i feel in the mood, which is not often." "it's very strange," said the girl. "what were you when you were first alive?" "that i have forgotten," replied the gump's head, "and i do not think it is of much importance. but here comes ozma; so i'd better hush up, for the princess doesn't like me to chatter since she changed her name from tip to ozma." just then the girlish ruler of oz opened the door and greeted dorothy with a good-morning kiss. the little princess seemed fresh and rosy and in good spirits. "breakfast is served, dear," she said, "and i am hungry. so don't let us keep it waiting a single minute." 17. the nine tiny piglets after breakfast ozma announced that she had ordered a holiday to be observed throughout the emerald city, in honor of her visitors. the people had learned that their old wizard had returned to them and all were anxious to see him again, for he had always been a rare favorite. so first there was to be a grand procession through the streets, after which the little old man was requested to perform some of his wizardries in the great throne room of the palace. in the afternoon there were to be games and races. the procession was very imposing. first came the imperial cornet band of oz, dressed in emerald velvet uniforms with slashes of pea-green satin and buttons of immense cut emeralds. they played the national air called "the oz spangled banner," and behind them were the standard bearers with the royal flag. this flag was divided into four quarters, one being colored sky-blue, another pink, a third lavender and a fourth white. in the center was a large emerald-green star, and all over the four quarters were sewn spangles that glittered beautifully in the sunshine. the colors represented the four countries of oz, and the green star the emerald city. just behind the royal standard-bearers came the princess ozma in her royal chariot, which was of gold encrusted with emeralds and diamonds set in exquisite designs. the chariot was drawn on this occasion by the cowardly lion and the hungry tiger, who were decorated with immense pink and blue bows. in the chariot rode ozma and dorothy, the former in splendid raiment and wearing her royal coronet, while the little kansas girl wore around her waist the magic belt she had once captured from the nome king. following the chariot came the scarecrow mounted on the sawhorse, and the people cheered him almost as loudly as they did their lovely ruler. behind him stalked with regular, jerky steps, the famous machine-man called tik-tok, who had been wound up by dorothy for the occasion. tik-tok moved by clockwork, and was made all of burnished copper. he really belonged to the kansas girl, who had much respect for his thoughts after they had been properly wound and set going; but as the copper man would be useless in any place but a fairy country dorothy had left him in charge of ozma, who saw that he was suitably cared for. there followed another band after this, which was called the royal court band, because the members all lived in the palace. they wore white uniforms with real diamond buttons and played "what is oz without ozma" very sweetly. then came professor woggle-bug, with a group of students from the royal college of scientific athletics. the boys wore long hair and striped sweaters and yelled their college yell every other step they took, to the great satisfaction of the populace, which was glad to have this evidence that their lungs were in good condition. the brilliantly polished tin woodman marched next, at the head of the royal army of oz which consisted of twenty-eight officers, from generals down to captains. there were no privates in the army because all were so courageous and skillful that they had been promoted one by one until there were no privates left. jim and the buggy followed, the old cab-horse being driven by zeb while the wizard stood up on the seat and bowed his bald head right and left in answer to the cheers of the people, who crowded thick about him. taken altogether the procession was a grand success, and when it had returned to the palace the citizens crowded into the great throne room to see the wizard perform his tricks. the first thing the little humbug did was to produce a tiny white piglet from underneath his hat and pretend to pull it apart, making two. this act he repeated until all of the nine tiny piglets were visible, and they were so glad to get out of his pocket that they ran around in a very lively manner. the pretty little creatures would have been a novelty anywhere, so the people were as amazed and delighted at their appearance as even the wizard could have desired. when he had made them all disappear again ozma declared she was sorry they were gone, for she wanted one of them to pet and play with. so the wizard pretended to take one of the piglets out of the hair of the princess (while really he slyly took it from his inside pocket) and ozma smiled joyously as the creature nestled in her arms, and she promised to have an emerald collar made for its fat neck and to keep the little squealer always at hand to amuse her. afterward it was noticed that the wizard always performed his famous trick with eight piglets, but it seemed to please the people just as well as if there had been nine of them. in his little room back of the throne room the wizard had found a lot of things he had left behind him when he went away in the balloon, for no one had occupied the apartment in his absence. there was enough material there to enable him to prepare several new tricks which he had learned from some of the jugglers in the circus, and he had passed part of the night in getting them ready. so he followed the trick of the nine tiny piglets with several other wonderful feats that greatly delighted his audience and the people did not seem to care a bit whether the little man was a humbug wizard or not, so long as he succeeded in amusing them. they applauded all his tricks and at the end of the performance begged him earnestly not to go away again and leave them. "in that case," said the little man, gravely, "i will cancel all of my engagements before the crowned heads of europe and america and devote myself to the people of oz, for i love you all so well that i can deny you nothing." after the people had been dismissed with this promise our friends joined princess ozma at an elaborate luncheon in the palace, where even the tiger and the lion were sumptuously fed and jim the cab-horse ate his oatmeal out of a golden bowl with seven rows of rubies, sapphires and diamonds set around the rim of it. in the afternoon they all went to a great field outside the city gates where the games were to be held. there was a beautiful canopy for ozma and her guests to sit under and watch the people run races and jump and wrestle. you may be sure the folks of oz did their best with such a distinguished company watching them, and finally zeb offered to wrestle with a little munchkin who seemed to be the champion. in appearance he was twice as old as zeb, for he had long pointed whiskers and wore a peaked hat with little bells all around the brim of it, which tinkled gaily as he moved. but although the munchkin was hardly tall enough to come to zeb's shoulder he was so strong and clever that he laid the boy three times on his back with apparent ease. zeb was greatly astonished at his defeat, and when the pretty princess joined her people in laughing at him he proposed a boxing-match with the munchkin, to which the little ozite readily agreed. but the first time that zeb managed to give him a sharp box on the ears the munchkin sat down upon the ground and cried until the tears ran down his whiskers, because he had been hurt. this made zeb laugh, in turn, and the boy felt comforted to find that ozma laughed as merrily at her weeping subject as she had at him. just then the scarecrow proposed a race between the sawhorse and the cab-horse; and although all the others were delighted at the suggestion the sawhorse drew back, saying: "such a race would not be fair." "of course not," added jim, with a touch of scorn; "those little wooden legs of yours are not half as long as my own." "it isn't that," said the sawhorse, modestly; "but i never tire, and you do." "bah!" cried jim, looking with great disdain at the other; "do you imagine for an instant that such a shabby imitation of a horse as you are can run as fast as i?" "i don't know, i'm sure," replied the sawhorse. "that is what we are trying to find out," remarked the scarecrow. "the object of a race is to see who can win it--or at least that is what my excellent brains think." "once, when i was young," said jim, "i was a race horse, and defeated all who dared run against me. i was born in kentucky, you know, where all the best and most aristocratic horses come from." "but you're old, now, jim," suggested zeb. "old! why, i feel like a colt today," replied jim. "i only wish there was a real horse here for me to race with. i'd show the people a fine sight, i can tell you." "then why not race with the sawhorse?" enquired the scarecrow. "he's afraid," said jim. "oh, no," answered the sawhorse. "i merely said it wasn't fair. but if my friend the real horse is willing to undertake the race i am quite ready." so they unharnessed jim and took the saddle off the sawhorse, and the two queerly matched animals were stood side by side for the start. "when i say 'go!'" zeb called to them, "you must dig out and race until you reach those three trees you see over yonder. then circle 'round them and come back again. the first one that passes the place where the princess sits shall be named the winner. are you ready?" "i suppose i ought to give the wooden dummy a good start of me," growled jim. "never mind that," said the sawhorse. "i'll do the best i can." "go!" cried zeb; and at the word the two horses leaped forward and the race was begun. jim's big hoofs pounded away at a great rate, and although he did not look very graceful he ran in a way to do credit to his kentucky breeding. but the sawhorse was swifter than the wind. its wooden legs moved so fast that their twinkling could scarcely be seen, and although so much smaller than the cab-horse it covered the ground much faster. before they had reached the trees the sawhorse was far ahead, and the wooden animal returned to the starting place as was being lustily cheered by the ozites before jim came panting up to the canopy where the princess and her friends were seated. i am sorry to record the fact that jim was not only ashamed of his defeat but for a moment lost control of his temper. as he looked at the comical face of the sawhorse he imagined that the creature was laughing at him; so in a fit of unreasonable anger he turned around and made a vicious kick that sent his rival tumbling head over heels upon the ground, and broke off one of its legs and its left ear. an instant later the tiger crouched and launched its huge body through the air swift and resistless as a ball from a cannon. the beast struck jim full on his shoulder and sent the astonished cab-horse rolling over and over, amid shouts of delight from the spectators, who had been horrified by the ungracious act he had been guilty of. when jim came to himself and sat upon his haunches he found the cowardly lion crouched on one side of him and the hungry tiger on the other, and their eyes were glowing like balls of fire. "i beg your pardon, i'm sure," said jim, meekly. "i was wrong to kick the sawhorse, and i am sorry i became angry at him. he has won the race, and won it fairly; but what can a horse of flesh do against a tireless beast of wood?" hearing this apology the tiger and the lion stopped lashing their tails and retreated with dignified steps to the side of the princess. "no one must injure one of our friends in our presence," growled the lion; and zeb ran to jim and whispered that unless he controlled his temper in the future he would probably be torn to pieces. then the tin woodman cut a straight and strong limb from a tree with his gleaming axe and made a new leg and a new ear for the sawhorse; and when they had been securely fastened in place princess ozma took the coronet from her own head and placed it upon that of the winner of the race. said she: "my friend, i reward you for your swiftness by proclaiming you prince of horses, whether of wood or of flesh; and hereafter all other horses--in the land of oz, at least--must be considered imitations, and you the real champion of your race." there was more applause at this, and then ozma had the jewelled saddle replaced upon the sawhorse and herself rode the victor back to the city at the head of the grand procession. "i ought to be a fairy," grumbled jim, as he slowly drew the buggy home; "for to be just an ordinary horse in a fairy country is to be of no account whatever. it's no place for us, zeb." "it's lucky we got here, though," said the boy; and jim thought of the dark cave, and agreed with him. 18. the trial of eureka the kitten several days of festivity and merry-making followed, for such old friends did not often meet and there was much to be told and talked over between them, and many amusements to be enjoyed in this delightful country. ozma was happy to have dorothy beside her, for girls of her own age with whom it was proper for the princess to associate were very few, and often the youthful ruler of oz was lonely for lack of companionship. it was the third morning after dorothy's arrival, and she was sitting with ozma and their friends in a reception room, talking over old times, when the princess said to her maid: "please go to my boudoir, jellia, and get the white piglet i left on the dressing-table. i want to play with it." jellia at once departed on the errand, and she was gone so long that they had almost forgotten her mission when the green robed maiden returned with a troubled face. "the piglet is not there, your highness," said she. "not there!" exclaimed ozma. "are you sure?" "i have hunted in every part of the room," the maid replied. "was not the door closed?" asked the princess. "yes, your highness; i am sure it was; for when i opened it dorothy's white kitten crept out and ran up the stairs." hearing this, dorothy and the wizard exchanged startled glances, for they remembered how often eureka had longed to eat a piglet. the little girl jumped up at once. "come, ozma," she said, anxiously; "let us go ourselves to search for the piglet." so the two went to the dressing-room of the princess and searched carefully in every corner and among the vases and baskets and ornaments that stood about the pretty boudoir. but not a trace could they find of the tiny creature they sought. dorothy was nearly weeping, by this time, while ozma was angry and indignant. when they returned to the others the princess said: "there is little doubt that my pretty piglet has been eaten by that horrid kitten, and if that is true the offender must be punished." "i don't b'lieve eureka would do such a dreadful thing!" cried dorothy, much distressed. "go and get my kitten, please, jellia, and we'll hear what she has to say about it." the green maiden hastened away, but presently returned and said: "the kitten will not come. she threatened to scratch my eyes out if i touched her." "where is she?" asked dorothy. "under the bed in your own room," was the reply. so dorothy ran to her room and found the kitten under the bed. "come here, eureka!" she said. "i won't," answered the kitten, in a surly voice. "oh, eureka! why are you so bad?" the kitten did not reply. "if you don't come to me, right away," continued dorothy, getting provoked, "i'll take my magic belt and wish you in the country of the gurgles." "why do you want me?" asked eureka, disturbed by this threat. "you must go to princess ozma. she wants to talk to you." "all right," returned the kitten, creeping out. "i'm not afraid of ozma--or anyone else." dorothy carried her in her arms back to where the others sat in grieved and thoughtful silence. "tell me, eureka," said the princess, gently: "did you eat my pretty piglet?" "i won't answer such a foolish question," asserted eureka, with a snarl. "oh, yes you will, dear," dorothy declared. "the piglet is gone, and you ran out of the room when jellia opened the door. so, if you are innocent, eureka, you must tell the princess how you came to be in her room, and what has become of the piglet." "who accuses me?" asked the kitten, defiantly. "no one," answered ozma. "your actions alone accuse you. the fact is that i left my little pet in my dressing-room lying asleep upon the table; and you must have stolen in without my knowing it. when next the door was opened you ran out and hid yourself--and the piglet was gone." "that's none of my business," growled the kitten. "don't be impudent, eureka," admonished dorothy. "it is you who are impudent," said eureka, "for accusing me of such a crime when you can't prove it except by guessing." ozma was now greatly incensed by the kitten's conduct. she summoned her captain-general, and when the long, lean officer appeared she said: "carry this cat away to prison, and keep her in safe confinement until she is tried by law for the crime of murder." so the captain-general took eureka from the arms of the now weeping dorothy and in spite of the kitten's snarls and scratches carried it away to prison. "what shall we do now?" asked the scarecrow, with a sigh, for such a crime had cast a gloom over all the company. "i will summon the court to meet in the throne room at three o'clock," replied ozma. "i myself will be the judge, and the kitten shall have a fair trial." "what will happen if she is guilty?" asked dorothy. "she must die," answered the princess. "nine times?" enquired the scarecrow. "as many times as is necessary," was the reply. "i will ask the tin woodman to defend the prisoner, because he has such a kind heart i am sure he will do his best to save her. and the woggle-bug shall be the public accuser, because he is so learned that no one can deceive him." "who will be the jury?" asked the tin woodman. "there ought to be several animals on the jury," said ozma, "because animals understand each other better than we people understand them. so the jury shall consist of the cowardly lion, the hungry tiger, jim the cab-horse, the yellow hen, the scarecrow, the wizard, tik-tok the machine man, the sawhorse and zeb of hugson's ranch. that makes the nine which the law requires, and all my people shall be admitted to hear the testimony." they now separated to prepare for the sad ceremony; for whenever an appeal is made to law sorrow is almost certain to follow--even in a fairyland like oz. but is must be stated that the people of that land were generally so well-behaved that there was not a single lawyer amongst them, and it had been years since any ruler had sat in judgment upon an offender of the law. the crime of murder being the most dreadful crime of all, tremendous excitement prevailed in the emerald city when the news of eureka's arrest and trial became known. the wizard, when he returned to his own room, was exceedingly thoughtful. he had no doubt eureka had eaten his piglet, but he realized that a kitten cannot be depended upon at all times to act properly, since its nature is to destroy small animals and even birds for food, and the tame cat that we keep in our houses today is descended from the wild cat of the jungle--a very ferocious creature, indeed. the wizard knew that if dorothy's pet was found guilty and condemned to death the little girl would be made very unhappy; so, although he grieved over the piglet's sad fate as much as any of them, he resolved to save eureka's life. sending for the tin woodman the wizard took him into a corner and whispered: "my friend, it is your duty to defend the white kitten and try to save her, but i fear you will fail because eureka has long wished to eat a piglet, to my certain knowledge, and my opinion is that she has been unable to resist the temptation. yet her disgrace and death would not bring back the piglet, but only serve to make dorothy unhappy. so i intend to prove the kitten's innocence by a trick." he drew from his inside pocket one of the eight tiny piglets that were remaining and continued: "this creature you must hide in some safe place, and if the jury decides that eureka is guilty you may then produce this piglet and claim it is the one that was lost. all the piglets are exactly alike, so no one can dispute your word. this deception will save eureka's life, and then we may all be happy again." "i do not like to deceive my friends," replied the tin woodman; "still, my kind heart urges me to save eureka's life, and i can usually trust my heart to do the right thing. so i will do as you say, friend wizard." after some thought he placed the little pig inside his funnel-shaped hat, and then put the hat upon his head and went back to his room to think over his speech to the jury. 19. the wizard performs another trick at three o'clock the throne room was crowded with citizens, men, women and children being eager to witness the great trial. princess ozma, dressed in her most splendid robes of state, sat in the magnificent emerald throne, with her jewelled sceptre in her hand and her sparkling coronet upon her fair brow. behind her throne stood the twenty-eight officers of her army and many officials of the royal household. at her right sat the queerly assorted jury--animals, animated dummies and people--all gravely prepared to listen to what was said. the kitten had been placed in a large cage just before the throne, where she sat upon her haunches and gazed through the bars at the crowds around her, with seeming unconcern. and now, at a signal from ozma, the woggle-bug arose and addressed the jury. his tone was pompous and he strutted up and down in an absurd attempt to appear dignified. "your royal highness and fellow citizens," he began; "the small cat you see a prisoner before you is accused of the crime of first murdering and then eating our esteemed ruler's fat piglet--or else first eating and then murdering it. in either case a grave crime has been committed which deserves a grave punishment." "do you mean my kitten must be put in a grave?" asked dorothy. "don't interrupt, little girl," said the woggle-bug. "when i get my thoughts arranged in good order i do not like to have anything upset them or throw them into confusion." "if your thoughts were any good they wouldn't become confused," remarked the scarecrow, earnestly. "my thoughts are always--" "is this a trial of thoughts, or of kittens?" demanded the woggle-bug. "it's a trial of one kitten," replied the scarecrow; "but your manner is a trial to us all." "let the public accuser continue," called ozma from her throne, "and i pray you do not interrupt him." "the criminal who now sits before the court licking her paws," resumed the woggle-bug, "has long desired to unlawfully eat the fat piglet, which was no bigger than a mouse. and finally she made a wicked plan to satisfy her depraved appetite for pork. i can see her, in my mind's eye--" "what's that?" asked the scarecrow. "i say i can see her in my mind's eye--" "the mind has no eye," declared the scarecrow. "it's blind." "your highness," cried the woggle-bug, appealing to ozma, "have i a mind's eye, or haven't i?" "if you have, it is invisible," said the princess. "very true," returned the woggle-bug, bowing. "i say i see the criminal, in my mind's eye, creeping stealthily into the room of our ozma and secreting herself, when no one was looking, until the princess had gone away and the door was closed. then the murderer was alone with her helpless victim, the fat piglet, and i see her pounce upon the innocent creature and eat it up--" "are you still seeing with your mind's eye?" enquired the scarecrow. "of course; how else could i see it? and we know the thing is true, because since the time of that interview there is no piglet to be found anywhere." "i suppose, if the cat had been gone, instead of the piglet, your mind's eye would see the piglet eating the cat," suggested the scarecrow. "very likely," acknowledged the woggle-bug. "and now, fellow citizens and creatures of the jury, i assert that so awful a crime deserves death, and in the case of the ferocious criminal before you--who is now washing her face--the death penalty should be inflicted nine times." there was great applause when the speaker sat down. then the princess spoke in a stern voice: "prisoner, what have you to say for yourself? are you guilty, or not guilty?" "why, that's for you to find out," replied eureka. "if you can prove i'm guilty, i'll be willing to die nine times, but a mind's eye is no proof, because the woggle-bug has no mind to see with." "never mind, dear," said dorothy. then the tin woodman arose and said: "respected jury and dearly beloved ozma, i pray you not to judge this feline prisoner unfeelingly. i do not think the innocent kitten can be guilty, and surely it is unkind to accuse a luncheon of being a murder. eureka is the sweet pet of a lovely little girl whom we all admire, and gentleness and innocence are her chief virtues. look at the kitten's intelligent eyes;" (here eureka closed her eyes sleepily) "gaze at her smiling countenance!" (here eureka snarled and showed her teeth) "mark the tender pose of her soft, padded little hands!" (here eureka bared her sharp claws and scratched at the bars of the cage.) "would such a gentle animal be guilty of eating a fellow creature? no; a thousand times, no!" "oh, cut it short," said eureka; "you've talked long enough." "i'm trying to defend you," remonstrated the tin woodman. "then say something sensible," retorted the kitten. "tell them it would be foolish for me to eat the piglet, because i had sense enough to know it would raise a row if i did. but don't try to make out i'm too innocent to eat a fat piglet if i could do it and not be found out. i imagine it would taste mighty good." "perhaps it would, to those who eat," remarked the tin woodman. "i myself, not being built to eat, have no personal experience in such matters. but i remember that our great poet once said: 'to eat is sweet when hunger's seat demands a treat of savory meat.'" "take this into consideration, friends of the jury, and you will readily decide that the kitten is wrongfully accused and should be set at liberty." when the tin woodman sat down no one applauded him, for his arguments had not been very convincing and few believed that he had proved eureka's innocence. as for the jury, the members whispered to each other for a few minutes and then they appointed the hungry tiger their spokesman. the huge beast slowly arose and said: "kittens have no consciences, so they eat whatever pleases them. the jury believes the white kitten known as eureka is guilty of having eaten the piglet owned by princess ozma, and recommends that she be put to death in punishment of the crime." the judgment of the jury was received with great applause, although dorothy was sobbing miserably at the fate of her pet. the princess was just about to order eureka's head chopped off with the tin woodman's axe when that brilliant personage once more arose and addressed her. "your highness," said he, "see how easy it is for a jury to be mistaken. the kitten could not have eaten your piglet--for here it is!" he took off his funnel hat and from beneath it produced a tiny white piglet, which he held aloft that all might see it clearly. ozma was delighted and exclaimed, eagerly: "give me my pet, nick chopper!" and all the people cheered and clapped their hands, rejoicing that the prisoner had escaped death and been proved to be innocent. as the princess held the white piglet in her arms and stroked its soft hair she said: "let eureka out of the cage, for she is no longer a prisoner, but our good friend. where did you find my missing pet, nick chopper?" "in a room of the palace," he answered. "justice," remarked the scarecrow, with a sigh, "is a dangerous thing to meddle with. if you hadn't happened to find the piglet, eureka would surely have been executed." "but justice prevailed at the last," said ozma, "for here is my pet, and eureka is once more free." "i refuse to be free," cried the kitten, in a sharp voice, "unless the wizard can do his trick with eight piglets. if he can produce but seven, then this is not the piglet that was lost, but another one." "hush, eureka!" warned the wizard. "don't be foolish," advised the tin woodman, "or you may be sorry for it." "the piglet that belonged to the princess wore an emerald collar," said eureka, loudly enough for all to hear. "so it did!" exclaimed ozma. "this cannot be the one the wizard gave me." "of course not; he had nine of them, altogether," declared eureka; "and i must say it was very stingy of him not to let me eat just a few. but now that this foolish trial is ended, i will tell you what really became of your pet piglet." at this everyone in the throne room suddenly became quiet, and the kitten continued, in a calm, mocking tone of voice: "i will confess that i intended to eat the little pig for my breakfast; so i crept into the room where it was kept while the princess was dressing and hid myself under a chair. when ozma went away she closed the door and left her pet on the table. at once i jumped up and told the piglet not to make a fuss, for he would be inside of me in half a second; but no one can teach one of these creatures to be reasonable. instead of keeping still, so i could eat him comfortably, he trembled so with fear that he fell off the table into a big vase that was standing on the floor. the vase had a very small neck, and spread out at the top like a bowl. at first the piglet stuck in the neck of the vase and i thought i should get him, after all, but he wriggled himself through and fell down into the deep bottom part--and i suppose he's there yet." all were astonished at this confession, and ozma at once sent an officer to her room to fetch the vase. when he returned the princess looked down the narrow neck of the big ornament and discovered her lost piglet, just as eureka had said she would. there was no way to get the creature out without breaking the vase, so the tin woodman smashed it with his axe and set the little prisoner free. then the crowd cheered lustily and dorothy hugged the kitten in her arms and told her how delighted she was to know that she was innocent. "but why didn't you tell us at first?" she asked. "it would have spoiled the fun," replied the kitten, yawning. ozma gave the wizard back the piglet he had so kindly allowed nick chopper to substitute for the lost one, and then she carried her own into the apartments of the palace where she lived. and now, the trial being over, the good citizens of the emerald city scattered to their homes, well content with the day's amusement. 20. zeb returns to the ranch eureka was much surprised to find herself in disgrace; but she was, in spite of the fact that she had not eaten the piglet. for the folks of oz knew the kitten had tried to commit the crime, and that only an accident had prevented her from doing so; therefore even the hungry tiger preferred not to associate with her. eureka was forbidden to wander around the palace and was made to stay in confinement in dorothy's room; so she began to beg her mistress to send her to some other place where she could enjoy herself better. dorothy was herself anxious to get home, so she promised eureka they would not stay in the land of oz much longer. the next evening after the trial the little girl begged ozma to allow her to look in the enchanted picture, and the princess readily consented. she took the child to her room and said: "make your wish, dear, and the picture will show the scene you desire to behold." then dorothy found, with the aid of the enchanted picture, that uncle henry had returned to the farm in kansas, and she also saw that both he and aunt em were dressed in mourning, because they thought their little niece had been killed by the earthquake. "really," said the girl, anxiously, "i must get back as soon as poss'ble to my own folks." zeb also wanted to see his home, and although he did not find anyone morning for him, the sight of hugson's ranch in the picture made him long to get back there. "this is a fine country, and i like all the people that live in it," he told dorothy. "but the fact is, jim and i don't seem to fit into a fairyland, and the old horse has been begging me to go home again ever since he lost the race. so, if you can find a way to fix it, we'll be much obliged to you." "ozma can do it, easily," replied dorothy. "tomorrow morning i'll go to kansas and you can go to californy." that last evening was so delightful that the boy will never forget it as long as he lives. they were all together (except eureka) in the pretty rooms of the princess, and the wizard did some new tricks, and the scarecrow told stories, and the tin woodman sang a love song in a sonorous, metallic voice, and everybody laughed and had a good time. then dorothy wound up tik-tok and he danced a jig to amuse the company, after which the yellow hen related some of her adventures with the nome king in the land of ev. the princess served delicious refreshments to those who were in the habit of eating, and when dorothy's bed time arrived the company separated after exchanging many friendly sentiments. next morning they all assembled for the final parting, and many of the officials and courtiers came to look upon the impressive ceremonies. dorothy held eureka in her arms and bade her friends a fond good-bye. "you must come again, some time," said the little wizard; and she promised she would if she found it possible to do so. "but uncle henry and aunt em need me to help them," she added, "so i can't ever be very long away from the farm in kansas." ozma wore the magic belt; and, when she had kissed dorothy farewell and had made her wish, the little girl and her kitten disappeared in a twinkling. "where is she?" asked zeb, rather bewildered by the suddenness of it. "greeting her uncle and aunt in kansas, by this time," returned ozma, with a smile. then zeb brought out jim, all harnessed to the buggy, and took his seat. "i'm much obliged for all your kindness," said the boy, "and very grateful to you for saving my life and sending me home again after all the good times i've had. i think this is the loveliest country in the world; but not being fairies jim and i feel we ought to be where we belong--and that's at the ranch. good-bye, everybody!" he gave a start and rubbed his eyes. jim was trotting along the well-known road, shaking his ears and whisking his tail with a contented motion. just ahead of them were the gates of hugson's ranch, and uncle hugson now came out and stood with uplifted arms and wide open mouth, staring in amazement. "goodness gracious! it's zeb--and jim, too!" he exclaimed. "where in the world have you been, my lad?" "why, in the world, uncle," answered zeb, with a laugh. [illustration: dorothy and the wizard] [illustration: picking the princess.] dorothy and the wizard in oz by l. frank baum author of the wizard of oz, the land of oz, ozma of oz, etc. illustrated by john r. neill books of wonder william morrow & co., inc. new york [illustration] copyright 1908 by l. frank baum all rights reserved * * * * * [illustration] dedicated to harriet a. b. neal. * * * * * to my readers it's no use; no use at all. the children won't let me stop telling tales of the land of oz. i know lots of other stories, and i hope to tell them, some time or another; but just now my loving tyrants won't allow me. they cry: "oz--oz! more about oz, mr. baum!" and what can i do but obey their commands? this is our book--mine and the children's. for they have flooded me with thousands of suggestions in regard to it, and i have honestly tried to adopt as many of these suggestions as could be fitted into one story. after the wonderful success of "ozma of oz" it is evident that dorothy has become a firm fixture in these oz stories. the little ones all love dorothy, and as one of my small friends aptly states: "it isn't a real oz story without her." so here she is again, as sweet and gentle and innocent as ever, i hope, and the heroine of another strange adventure. there were many requests from my little correspondents for "more about the wizard." it seems the jolly old fellow made hosts of friends in the first oz book, in spite of the fact that he frankly acknowledged himself "a humbug." the children had heard how he mounted into the sky in a balloon and they were all waiting for him to come down again. so what could i do but tell "what happened to the wizard afterward"? you will find him in these pages, just the same humbug wizard as before. there was one thing the children demanded which i found it impossible to do in this present book: they bade me introduce toto, dorothy's little black dog, who has many friends among my readers. but you will see, when you begin to read the story, that toto was in kansas while dorothy was in california, and so she had to start on her adventure without him. in this book dorothy had to take her kitten with her instead of her dog; but in the next oz book, if i am permitted to write one, i intend to tell a good deal about toto's further history. princess ozma, whom i love as much as my readers do, is again introduced in this story, and so are several of our old friends of oz. you will also become acquainted with jim the cab-horse, the nine tiny piglets, and eureka, the kitten. i am sorry the kitten was not as well behaved as she ought to have been; but perhaps she wasn't brought up properly. dorothy found her, you see, and who her parents were nobody knows. i believe, my dears, that i am the proudest story-teller that ever lived. many a time tears of pride and joy have stood in my eyes while i read the tender, loving, appealing letters that come to me in almost every mail from my little readers. to have pleased you, to have interested you, to have won your friendship, and perhaps your love, through my stories, is to my mind as great an achievement as to become president of the united states. indeed, i would much rather be your story-teller, under these conditions, than to be the president. so you have helped me to fulfill my life's ambition, and i am more grateful to you, my dears, than i can express in words. i try to answer every letter of my young correspondents; yet sometimes there are so many letters that a little time must pass before you get your answer. but be patient, friends, for the answer will surely come, and by writing to me you more than repay me for the pleasant task of preparing these books. besides, i am proud to acknowledge that the books are partly yours, for your suggestions often guide me in telling the stories, and i am sure they would not be half so good without your clever and thoughtful assistance. l. frank baum coronado, 1908. list of chapters chapter page 1 the earthquake 13 2 the glass city 23 3 the arrival of the wizard 41 4 the vegetable kingdom 55 5 dorothy picks the princess 64 6 the mangaboos prove dangerous 77 7 into the black pit and out again 88 8 the valley of voices 95 9 they fight the invisible bears 106 10 the braided man of pyramid mt 120 11 they meet the wooden gargoyles 131 12 a wonderful escape 142 13 the den of the dragonettes 160 14 ozma uses the magic belt 172 15 old friends are reunited 187 16 jim, the cab-horse 203 17 the nine tiny piglets 217 18 the trial of eureka, the kitten 231 19 the wizard performs another trick 240 20 zeb returns to the ranch 251 [illustration] chapter 1. the earthquake the train from 'frisco was very late. it should have arrived at hugson's siding at midnight, but it was already five o'clock and the gray dawn was breaking in the east when the little train slowly rumbled up to the open shed that served for the station-house. as it came to a stop the conductor called out in a loud voice: "hugson's siding!" at once a little girl rose from her seat and walked to the door of the car, carrying a wicker suit-case in one hand and a round bird-cage covered up with newspapers in the other, while a parasol was tucked under her arm. the conductor helped her off the car and then the engineer started his train again, so that it puffed and groaned and moved slowly away up the track. the reason he was so late was because all through the night there were times when the solid earth shook and trembled under him, and the engineer was afraid that at any moment the rails might spread apart and an accident happen to his passengers. so he moved the cars slowly and with caution. the little girl stood still to watch until the train had disappeared around a curve; then she turned to see where she was. the shed at hugson's siding was bare save for an old wooden bench, and did not look very inviting. as she peered through the soft gray light not a house of any sort was visible near the station, nor was any person in sight; but after a while the child discovered a horse and buggy standing near a group of trees a short distance away. she walked toward it and found the horse tied to a tree and standing motionless, with its head hanging down almost to the ground. it was a big horse, tall and bony, with long legs and large knees and feet. she could count his ribs easily where they showed through the skin of his body, and his head was long and seemed altogether too big for him, as if it did not fit. his tail was short and scraggly, and his harness had been broken in many places and fastened together again with cords and bits of wire. the buggy seemed almost new, for it had a shiny top and side curtains. getting around in front, so that she could look inside, the girl saw a boy curled up on the seat, fast asleep. she set down the bird-cage and poked the boy with her parasol. presently he woke up, rose to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes briskly. "hello!" he said, seeing her, "are you dorothy gale?" "yes," she answered, looking gravely at his tousled hair and blinking gray eyes. "have you come to take me to hugson's ranch?" "of course," he answered. "train in?" "i couldn't be here if it wasn't," she said. he laughed at that, and his laugh was merry and frank. jumping out of the buggy he put dorothy's suit-case under the seat and her bird-cage on the floor in front. "canary-birds?" he asked. "oh, no; it's just eureka, my kitten. i thought that was the best way to carry her." the boy nodded. "eureka's a funny name for a cat," he remarked. "i named my kitten that because i found it," she explained. "uncle henry says 'eureka' means 'i have found it.'" "all right; hop in." she climbed into the buggy and he followed her. then the boy picked up the reins, shook them, and said "gid-dap!" the horse did not stir. dorothy thought he just wiggled one of his drooping ears, but that was all. "gid-dap!" called the boy, again. the horse stood still. "perhaps," said dorothy, "if you untied him, he would go." the boy laughed cheerfully and jumped out. "guess i'm half asleep yet," he said, untying the horse. "but jim knows his business all right--don't you, jim?" patting the long nose of the animal. then he got into the buggy again and took the reins, and the horse at once backed away from the tree, turned slowly around, and began to trot down the sandy road which was just visible in the dim light. "thought that train would never come," observed the boy. "i've waited at that station for five hours." "we had a lot of earthquakes," said dorothy. "didn't you feel the ground shake?" "yes; but we're used to such things in california," he replied. "they don't scare us much." [illustration: dorothy poked the boy with her parasol.] "the conductor said it was the worst quake he ever knew." "did he? then it must have happened while i was asleep," he said, thoughtfully. "how is uncle henry?" she enquired, after a pause during which the horse continued to trot with long, regular strides. "he's pretty well. he and uncle hugson have been having a fine visit." "is mr. hugson your uncle?" she asked. "yes. uncle bill hugson married your uncle henry's wife's sister; so we must be second cousins," said the boy, in an amused tone. "i work for uncle bill on his ranch, and he pays me six dollars a month and my board." "isn't that a great deal?" she asked, doubtfully. "why, it's a great deal for uncle hugson, but not for me. i'm a splendid worker. i work as well as i sleep," he added, with a laugh. "what is your name?" asked dorothy, thinking she liked the boy's manner and the cheery tone of his voice. "not a very pretty one," he answered, as if a little ashamed. "my whole name is zebediah; but folks just call me 'zeb.' you've been to australia, haven't you?" "yes; with uncle henry," she answered. "we got to san francisco a week ago, and uncle henry went right on to hugson's ranch for a visit while i stayed a few days in the city with some friends we had met." "how long will you be with us?" he asked. "only a day. tomorrow uncle henry and i must start back for kansas. we've been away for a long time, you know, and so we're anxious to get home again." the boy flicked the big, boney horse with his whip and looked thoughtful. then he started to say something to his little companion, but before he could speak the buggy began to sway dangerously from side to side and the earth seemed to rise up before them. next minute there was a roar and a sharp crash, and at her side dorothy saw the ground open in a wide crack and then come together again. "goodness!" she cried, grasping the iron rail of the seat. "what was that?" "that was an awful big quake," replied zeb, with a white face. "it almost got us that time, dorothy." the horse had stopped short, and stood firm as a rock. zeb shook the reins and urged him to go, but jim was stubborn. then the boy cracked his whip and touched the animal's flanks with it, and after a low moan of protest jim stepped slowly along the road. neither the boy nor the girl spoke again for some minutes. there was a breath of danger in the very air, and every few moments the earth would shake violently. jim's ears were standing erect upon his head and every muscle of his big body was tense as he trotted toward home. he was not going very fast, but on his flanks specks of foam began to appear and at times he would tremble like a leaf. the sky had grown darker again and the wind made queer sobbing sounds as it swept over the valley. suddenly there was a rending, tearing sound, and the earth split into another great crack just beneath the spot where the horse was standing. with a wild neigh of terror the animal fell bodily into the pit, drawing the buggy and its occupants after him. dorothy grabbed fast hold of the buggy top and the boy did the same. the sudden rush into space confused them so that they could not think. blackness engulfed them on every side, and in breathless silence they waited for the fall to end and crush them against jagged rocks or for the earth to close in on them again and bury them forever in its dreadful depths. the horrible sensation of falling, the darkness and the terrifying noises, proved more than dorothy could endure and for a few moments the little girl lost consciousness. zeb, being a boy, did not faint, but he was badly frightened, and clung to the buggy seat with a tight grip, expecting every moment would be his last. [illustration] [illustration] chapter 2. the glass city when dorothy recovered her senses they were still falling, but not so fast. the top of the buggy caught the air like a parachute or an umbrella filled with wind, and held them back so that they floated downward with a gentle motion that was not so very disagreeable to bear. the worst thing was their terror of reaching the bottom of this great crack in the earth, and the natural fear that sudden death was about to overtake them at any moment. crash after crash echoed far above their heads, as the earth came together where it had split, and stones and chunks of clay rattled around them on every side. these they could not see, but they could feel them pelting the buggy top, and jim screamed almost like a human being when a stone overtook him and struck his boney body. they did not really hurt the poor horse, because everything was falling together; only the stones and rubbish fell faster than the horse and buggy, which were held back by the pressure of the air, so that the terrified animal was actually more frightened than he was injured. how long this state of things continued dorothy could not even guess, she was so greatly bewildered. but bye and bye, as she stared ahead into the black chasm with a beating heart, she began to dimly see the form of the horse jim--his head up in the air, his ears erect and his long legs sprawling in every direction as he tumbled through space. also, turning her head, she found that she could see the boy beside her, who had until now remained as still and silent as she herself. dorothy sighed and commenced to breathe easier. she began to realize that death was not in store for her, after all, but that she had merely started upon another adventure, which promised to be just as queer and unusual as were those she had before encountered. with this thought in mind the girl took heart and leaned her head over the side of the buggy to see where the strange light was coming from. far below her she found six great glowing balls suspended in the air. the central and largest one was white, and reminded her of the sun. around it were arranged, like the five points of a star, the other five brilliant balls; one being rose colored, one violet, one yellow, one blue and one orange. this splendid group of colored suns sent rays darting in every direction, and as the horse and buggy--with dorothy and zeb--sank steadily downward and came nearer to the lights, the rays began to take on all the delicate tintings of a rainbow, growing more and more distinct every moment until all the space was brilliantly illuminated. dorothy was too dazed to say much, but she watched one of jim's big ears turn to violet and the other to rose, and wondered that his tail should be yellow and his body striped with blue and orange like the stripes of a zebra. then she looked at zeb, whose face was blue and whose hair was pink, and gave a little laugh that sounded a bit nervous. "isn't it funny?" she said. the boy was startled and his eyes were big. dorothy had a green streak through the center of her face where the blue and yellow lights came together, and her appearance seemed to add to his fright. "i--i don't s-s-see any-thing funny--'bout it!" he stammered. [illustration: horse, buggy and all fell slowly.] just then the buggy tipped slowly over upon its side, the body of the horse tipping also. but they continued to fall, all together, and the boy and girl had no difficulty in remaining upon the seat, just as they were before. then they turned bottom side up, and continued to roll slowly over until they were right side up again. during this time jim struggled frantically, all his legs kicking the air; but on finding himself in his former position the horse said, in a relieved tone of voice: "well, that's better!" dorothy and zeb looked at one another in wonder. "can your horse talk?" she asked. "never knew him to, before," replied the boy. "those were the first words i ever said," called out the horse, who had overheard them, "and i can't explain why i happened to speak then. this is a nice scrape you've got me into, isn't it?" "as for that, we are in the same scrape ourselves," answered dorothy, cheerfully. "but never mind; something will happen pretty soon." "of course," growled the horse; "and then we shall be sorry it happened." zeb gave a shiver. all this was so terrible and unreal that he could not understand it at all, and so had good reason to be afraid. swiftly they drew near to the flaming colored suns, and passed close beside them. the light was then so bright that it dazzled their eyes, and they covered their faces with their hands to escape being blinded. there was no heat in the colored suns, however, and after they had passed below them the top of the buggy shut out many of the piercing rays so that the boy and girl could open their eyes again. "we've got to come to the bottom some time," remarked zeb, with a deep sigh. "we can't keep falling forever, you know." "of course not," said dorothy. "we are somewhere in the middle of the earth, and the chances are we'll reach the other side of it before long. but it's a big hollow, isn't it?" "awful big!" answered the boy. "we're coming to something now," announced the horse. at this they both put their heads over the side of the buggy and looked down. yes; there was land below them; and not so very far away, either. but they were floating very, very slowly--so slowly that it could no longer be called a fall--and the children had ample time to take heart and look about them. they saw a landscape with mountains and plains, lakes and rivers, very like those upon the earth's surface; but all the scene was splendidly colored by the variegated lights from the six suns. here and there were groups of houses that seemed made of clear glass, because they sparkled so brightly. "i'm sure we are in no danger," said dorothy, in a sober voice. "we are falling so slowly that we can't be dashed to pieces when we land, and this country that we are coming to seems quite pretty." "we'll never get home again, though!" declared zeb, with a groan. "oh, i'm not so sure of that," replied the girl. "but don't let us worry over such things, zeb; we can't help ourselves just now, you know, and i've always been told it's foolish to borrow trouble." the boy became silent, having no reply to so sensible a speech, and soon both were fully occupied in staring at the strange scenes spread out below them. they seemed to be falling right into the middle of a big city which had many tall buildings with glass domes and sharp-pointed spires. these spires were like great spear-points, and if they tumbled upon one of them they were likely to suffer serious injury. jim the horse had seen these spires, also, and his ears stood straight up with fear, while dorothy and zeb held their breaths in suspense. but no; they floated gently down upon a broad, flat roof, and came to a stop at last. when jim felt something firm under his feet the poor beast's legs trembled so much that he could hardly stand; but zeb at once leaped out of the buggy to the roof, and he was so awkward and hasty that he kicked over dorothy's birdcage, which rolled out upon the roof so that the bottom came off. at once a pink kitten crept out of the upset cage, sat down upon the glass roof, and yawned and blinked its round eyes. "oh," said dorothy. "there's eureka." "first time i ever saw a pink cat," said zeb. "eureka isn't pink; she's white. it's this queer light that gives her that color." "where's my milk?" asked the kitten, looking up into dorothy's face. "i'm 'most starved to death." "oh, eureka! can you talk?" "talk! am i talking? good gracious, i believe i am. isn't it funny?" asked the kitten. "it's all wrong," said zeb, gravely. "animals ought not to talk. but even old jim has been saying things since we had our accident." "i can't see that it's wrong," remarked jim, in his gruff tones. "at least, it isn't as wrong as some other things. what's going to become of us now?" "i don't know," answered the boy, looking around him curiously. the houses of the city were all made of glass, so clear and transparent that one could look through the walls as easily as though a window. dorothy saw, underneath the roof on which she stood, several rooms used for rest chambers, and even thought she could make out a number of queer forms huddled into the corners of these rooms. the roof beside them had a great hole smashed through it, and pieces of glass were lying scattered in every direction. a near by steeple had been broken off short and the fragments lay heaped beside it. other buildings were cracked in places or had corners chipped off from them; but they must have been very beautiful before these accidents had happened to mar their perfection. the rainbow tints from the colored suns fell upon the glass city softly and gave to the buildings many delicate, shifting hues which were very pretty to see. but not a sound had broken the stillness since the strangers had arrived, except that of their own voices. they began to wonder if there were no people to inhabit this magnificent city of the inner world. suddenly a man appeared through a hole in the roof next to the one they were on and stepped into plain view. he was not a very large man, but was well formed and had a beautiful face--calm and serene as the face of a fine portrait. his clothing fitted his form snugly and was gorgeously colored in brilliant shades of green, which varied as the sunbeams touched them but was not wholly influenced by the solar rays. the man had taken a step or two across the glass roof before he noticed the presence of the strangers; but then he stopped abruptly. there was no expression of either fear or surprise upon his tranquil face, yet he must have been both astonished and afraid; for after his eyes had rested upon the ungainly form of the horse for a moment he walked rapidly to the furthest edge of the roof, his head turned back over his shoulder to gaze at the strange animal. "look out!" cried dorothy, who noticed that the beautiful man did not look where he was going; "be careful, or you'll fall off!" but he paid no attention to her warning. he reached the edge of the tall roof, stepped one foot out into the air, and walked into space as calmly as if he were on firm ground. the girl, greatly astonished, ran to lean over the edge of the roof, and saw the man walking rapidly through the air toward the ground. soon he reached the street and disappeared through a glass doorway into one of the glass buildings. "how strange!" she exclaimed, drawing a long breath. "yes; but it's lots of fun, if it _is_ strange," remarked the small voice of the kitten, and dorothy turned to find her pet walking in the air a foot or so away from the edge of the roof. "come back, eureka!" she called, in distress, "you'll certainly be killed." "i have nine lives," said the kitten, purring softly as it walked around in a circle and then came back to the roof; "but i can't lose even one of them by falling in this country, because i really couldn't manage to fall if i wanted to." "does the air bear up your weight?" asked the girl. "of course; can't you see?" and again the kitten wandered into the air and back to the edge of the roof. "it's wonderful!" said dorothy. "suppose we let eureka go down to the street and get some one to help us," suggested zeb, who had been even more amazed than dorothy at these strange happenings. "perhaps we can walk on the air ourselves," replied the girl. zeb drew back with a shiver. "i wouldn't dare try," he said. "may be jim will go," continued dorothy, looking at the horse. "and may be he won't!" answered jim. "i've tumbled through the air long enough to make me contented on this roof." "but we didn't tumble to the roof," said the girl; "by the time we reached here we were floating very slowly, and i'm almost sure we could float down to the street without getting hurt. eureka walks on the air all right." "eureka weighs only about half a pound," replied the horse, in a scornful tone, "while i weigh about half a ton." "you don't weigh as much as you ought to, jim," remarked the girl, shaking her head as she looked at the animal. "you're dreadfully skinny." "oh, well; i'm old," said the horse, hanging his head despondently, "and i've had lots of trouble in my day, little one. for a good many years i drew a public cab in chicago, and that's enough to make anyone skinny." "he eats enough to get fat, i'm sure," said the boy, gravely. "do i? can you remember any breakfast that i've had today?" growled jim, as if he resented zeb's speech. "none of us has had breakfast," said the boy; "and in a time of danger like this it's foolish to talk about eating." "nothing is more dangerous than being without food," declared the horse, with a sniff at the rebuke of his young master; "and just at present no one can tell whether there are any oats in this queer country or not. if there are, they are liable to be glass oats!" [illustration: "come on, jim! it's all right."] "oh, no!" exclaimed dorothy. "i can see plenty of nice gardens and fields down below us, at the edge of this city. but i wish we could find a way to get to the ground." "why don't you walk down?" asked eureka. "i'm as hungry as the horse is, and i want my milk." "will you try it, zeb" asked the girl, turning to her companion. zeb hesitated. he was still pale and frightened, for this dreadful adventure had upset him and made him nervous and worried. but he did not wish the little girl to think him a coward, so he advanced slowly to the edge of the roof. dorothy stretched out a hand to him and zeb put one foot out and let it rest in the air a little over the edge of the roof. it seemed firm enough to walk upon, so he took courage and put out the other foot. dorothy kept hold of his hand and followed him, and soon they were both walking through the air, with the kitten frisking beside them. "come on, jim!" called the boy. "it's all right." jim had crept to the edge of the roof to look over, and being a sensible horse and quite experienced, he made up his mind that he could go where the others did. so, with a snort and a neigh and a whisk of his short tail he trotted off the roof into the air and at once began floating downward to the street. his great weight made him fall faster than the children walked, and he passed them on the way down; but when he came to the glass pavement he alighted upon it so softly that he was not even jarred. "well, well!" said dorothy, drawing a long breath, "what a strange country this is." people began to come out of the glass doors to look at the new arrivals, and pretty soon quite a crowd had assembled. there were men and women, but no children at all, and the folks were all beautifully formed and attractively dressed and had wonderfully handsome faces. there was not an ugly person in all the throng, yet dorothy was not especially pleased by the appearance of these people because their features had no more expression than the faces of dolls. they did not smile nor did they frown, or show either fear or surprise or curiosity or friendliness. they simply stared at the strangers, paying most attention to jim and eureka, for they had never before seen either a horse or a cat and the children bore an outward resemblance to themselves. pretty soon a man joined the group who wore a glistening star in the dark hair just over his forehead. he seemed to be a person of authority, for the others pressed back to give him room. after turning his composed eyes first upon the animals and then upon the children he said to zeb, who was a little taller than dorothy: "tell me, intruder, was it you who caused the rain of stones?" for a moment the boy did not know what he meant by this question. then, remembering the stones that had fallen with them and passed them long before they had reached this place, he answered: "no, sir; we didn't cause anything. it was the earthquake." the man with the star stood for a time quietly thinking over this speech. then he asked: "what is an earthquake?" "i don't know," said zeb, who was still confused. but dorothy, seeing his perplexity, answered: "it's a shaking of the earth. in this quake a big crack opened and we fell through--horse and buggy, and all--and the stones got loose and came down with us." the man with the star regarded her with his calm, expressionless eyes. "the rain of stones has done much damage to our city," he said; "and we shall hold you responsible for it unless you can prove your innocence." "how can we do that?" asked the girl. "that i am not prepared to say. it is your affair, not mine. you must go to the house of the sorcerer, who will soon discover the truth." "where is the house of the sorcerer?" the girl enquired. "i will lead you to it. come!" he turned and walked down the street, and after a moment's hesitation dorothy caught eureka in her arms and climbed into the buggy. the boy took his seat beside her and said: "gid-dap, jim." as the horse ambled along, drawing the buggy, the people of the glass city made way for them and formed a procession in their rear. slowly they moved down one street and up another, turning first this way and then that, until they came to an open square in the center of which was a big glass palace having a central dome and four tall spires on each corner. [illustration] chapter 3. the arrival of the wizard the doorway of the glass palace was quite big enough for the horse and buggy to enter, so zeb drove straight through it and the children found themselves in a lofty hall that was very beautiful. the people at once followed and formed a circle around the sides of the spacious room, leaving the horse and buggy and the man with the star to occupy the center of the hall. "come to us, oh, gwig!" called the man, in a loud voice. instantly a cloud of smoke appeared and rolled over the floor; then it slowly spread and ascended into the dome, disclosing a strange personage seated upon a glass throne just before jim's nose. he was formed just as were the other inhabitants of this land and his clothing only differed from theirs in being bright yellow. but he had no hair at all, and all over his bald head and face and upon the backs of his hands grew sharp thorns like those found on the branches of rose-bushes. there was even a thorn upon the tip of his nose and he looked so funny that dorothy laughed when she saw him. the sorcerer, hearing the laugh, looked toward the little girl with cold, cruel eyes, and his glance made her grow sober in an instant. "why have you dared to intrude your unwelcome persons into the secluded land of the mangaboos?" he asked, sternly. "'cause we couldn't help it," said dorothy. "why did you wickedly and viciously send the rain of stones to crack and break our houses?" he continued. "we didn't," declared the girl. "prove it!" cried the sorcerer. "we don't have to prove it," answered dorothy, indignantly. "if you had any sense at all you'd known it was the earthquake." "we only know that yesterday came a rain of stones upon us, which did much damage and injured some of our people. today came another rain of stones, and soon after it you appeared among us." "by the way," said the man with the star, looking steadily at the sorcerer, "you told us yesterday that there would not be a second rain of stones. yet one has just occurred that was even worse than the first. what is your sorcery good for if it cannot tell us the truth?" "my sorcery does tell the truth!" declared the thorn-covered man. "i said there would be but one rain of stones. this second one was a rain of people-and-horse-and-buggy. and some stones came with them." "will there be any more rains?" asked the man with the star. "no, my prince." "neither stones nor people?" "no, my prince." "are you sure?" "quite sure, my prince. my sorcery tells me so." just then a man came running into the hall and addressed the prince after making a low bow. "more wonders in the air, my lord," said he. immediately the prince and all of his people flocked out of the hall into the street, that they might see what was about to happen. dorothy and zeb jumped out of the buggy and ran after them, but the sorcerer remained calmly in his throne. far up in the air was an object that looked like a balloon. it was not so high as the glowing star of the six colored suns, but was descending slowly through the air--so slowly that at first it scarcely seemed to move. the throng stood still and waited. it was all they could do, for to go away and leave that strange sight was impossible; nor could they hurry its fall in any way. the earth children were not noticed, being so near the average size of the mangaboos, and the horse had remained in the house of the sorcerer, with eureka curled up asleep on the seat of the buggy. gradually the balloon grew bigger, which was proof that it was settling down upon the land of the mangaboos. dorothy was surprised to find how patient the people were, for her own little heart was beating rapidly with excitement. a balloon meant to her some other arrival from the surface of the earth, and she hoped it would be some one able to assist her and zeb out of their difficulties. in an hour the balloon had come near enough for her to see a basket suspended below it; in two hours she could see a head looking over the side of the basket; in three hours the big balloon settled slowly into the great square in which they stood and came to rest on the glass pavement. then a little man jumped out of the basket, took off his tall hat, and bowed very gracefully to the crowd of mangaboos around him. he was quite an old little man, and his head was long and entirely bald. "why," cried dorothy, in amazement, "it's oz!" the little man looked toward her and seemed as much surprised as she was. but he smiled and bowed as he answered: "yes, my dear; i am oz, the great and terrible. eh? and you are little dorothy, from kansas. i remember you very well." "who did you say it was?" whispered zeb to the girl. "it's the wonderful wizard of oz. haven't you heard of him?" just then the man with the star came and stood before the wizard. "sir," said he, "why are you here, in the land of the mangaboos?" "didn't know what land it was, my son," returned the other, with a pleasant smile; "and, to be honest, i didn't mean to visit you when i started out. i live on top of the earth, your honor, which is far better than living inside it; but yesterday i went up in a balloon, and when i came down i fell into a big crack in the earth, caused by an earthquake. i had let so much gas out of my balloon that i could not rise again, and in a few minutes the earth closed over my head. so i continued to descend until i reached this place, and if you will show me a way to get out of it, i'll go with pleasure. sorry to have troubled you; but it couldn't be helped." the prince had listened with attention. said he: "this child, who is from the crust of the earth, like yourself, called you a wizard. is not a wizard something like a sorcerer?" "it's better," replied oz, promptly. "one wizard is worth three sorcerers." "ah, you shall prove that," said the prince. "we mangaboos have, at the present time, one of the most wonderful sorcerers that ever was picked from a bush; but he sometimes makes mistakes. do you ever make mistakes?" "never!" declared the wizard, boldly. "oh, oz!" said dorothy; "you made a lot of mistakes when you were in the marvelous land of oz." "nonsense!" said the little man, turning red--although just then a ray of violet sunlight was on his round face. "come with me," said the prince to him. "i wish you to meet our sorcerer." the wizard did not like this invitation, but he could not refuse to accept it. so he followed the prince into the great domed hall, and dorothy and zeb came after them, while the throng of people trooped in also. there sat the thorny sorcerer in his chair of state, and when the wizard saw him he began to laugh, uttering comical little chuckles. "what an absurd creature!" he exclaimed. "he may look absurd," said the prince, in his quiet voice; "but he is an excellent sorcerer. the only fault i find with him is that he is so often wrong." "i am never wrong," answered the sorcerer. "only a short time ago you told me there would be no more rain of stones or of people," said the prince. "well, what then?" "here is another person descended from the air to prove you were wrong." "one person cannot be called 'people,'" said the sorcerer. "if two should come out of the sky you might with justice say i was wrong; but unless more than this one appears i will hold that i was right." "very clever," said the wizard, nodding his head as if pleased. "i am delighted to find humbugs inside the earth, just the same as on top of it. were you ever with a circus, brother?" "no," said the sorcerer. "you ought to join one," declared the little man seriously. "i belong to bailum & barney's great consolidated shows--three rings in one tent and a menagerie on the side. it's a fine aggregation, i assure you." "what do you do?" asked the sorcerer. "i go up in a balloon, usually, to draw the crowds to the circus. but i've just had the bad luck to come out of the sky, skip the solid earth, and land lower down than i intended. but never mind. it isn't everybody who gets a chance to see your land of the gabazoos." "mangaboos," said the sorcerer, correcting him. "if you are a wizard you ought to be able to call people by their right names." "oh, i'm a wizard; you may be sure of that. just as good a wizard as you are a sorcerer." "that remains to be seen," said the other. "if you are able to prove that you are better," said the prince to the little man, "i will make you the chief wizard of this domain. otherwise--" "what will happen otherwise?" asked the wizard. "i will stop you from living, and forbid you to be planted," returned the prince. "that does not sound especially pleasant," said the little man, looking at the one with the star uneasily. "but never mind. i'll beat old prickly, all right." "my name is gwig," said the sorcerer, turning his heartless, cruel eyes upon his rival. "let me see you equal the sorcery i am about to perform." he waved a thorny hand and at once the tinkling of bells was heard, playing sweet music. yet, look where she would, dorothy could discover no bells at all in the great glass hall. the mangaboo people listened, but showed no great interest. it was one of the things gwig usually did to prove he was a sorcerer. now was the wizard's turn, so he smiled upon the assemblage and asked: "will somebody kindly loan me a hat?" no one did, because the mangaboos did not wear hats, and zeb had lost his, somehow, in his flight through the air. "ahem!" said the wizard, "will somebody please loan me a handkerchief?" but they had no handkerchiefs, either. "very good," remarked the wizard. "i'll use my own hat, if you please. now, good people, observe me carefully. you see, there is nothing up my sleeve and nothing concealed about my person. also, my hat is quite empty." he took off his hat and held it upside down, shaking it briskly. "let me see it," said the sorcerer. he took the hat and examined it carefully, returning it afterward to the wizard. "now," said the little man, "i will create something out of nothing." he placed the hat upon the glass floor, made a pass with his hand, and then removed the hat, displaying a little white piglet no bigger than a mouse, which began to run around here and there and to grunt and squeal in a tiny, shrill voice. the people watched it intently, for they had never seen a pig before, big or little. the wizard reached out, caught the wee creature in his hand, and holding its head between one thumb and finger and its tail between the other thumb and finger he pulled it apart, each of the two parts becoming a whole and separate piglet in an instant. he placed one upon the floor, so that it could run around, and pulled apart the other, making three piglets in all; and then one of these was pulled apart, making four piglets. the wizard continued this surprising performance until nine tiny piglets were running about at his feet, all squealing and grunting in a very comical way. "now," said the wizard of oz, "having created something from nothing, i will make something nothing again." with this he caught up two of the piglets and pushed them together, so that the two were one. then he caught up another piglet and pushed it into the first, where it disappeared. and so, one by one, the nine tiny piglets were pushed together until but a single one of the creatures remained. this the wizard placed underneath his hat and made a mystic sign above it. when he removed his hat the last piglet had disappeared entirely. the little man gave a bow to the silent throng that had watched him, and then the prince said, in his cold, calm voice: "you are indeed a wonderful wizard, and your powers are greater than those of my sorcerer." "he will not be a wonderful wizard long," remarked gwig. "why not?" enquired the wizard. "because i am going to stop your breath," was the reply. "i perceive that you are curiously constructed, and that if you cannot breathe you cannot keep alive." the little man looked troubled. "how long will it take you to stop my breath?" he asked. "about five minutes. i'm going to begin now. watch me carefully." he began making queer signs and passes toward the wizard; but the little man did not watch him long. instead, he drew a leathern case from his pocket and took from it several sharp knives, which he joined together, one after another, until they made a long sword. by the time he had attached a handle to this sword he was having much trouble to breathe, as the charm of the sorcerer was beginning to take effect. so the wizard lost no more time, but leaping forward he raised the sharp sword, whirled it once or twice around his head, and then gave a mighty stroke that cut the body of the sorcerer exactly in two. dorothy screamed and expected to see a terrible sight; but as the two halves of the sorcerer fell apart on the floor she saw that he had no bones or blood inside of him at all, and that the place where he was cut looked much like a sliced turnip or potato. "why, he's vegetable!" cried the wizard, astonished. "of course," said the prince. "we are all vegetable, in this country. are you not vegetable, also?" "no," answered the wizard. "people on top of the earth are all meat. will your sorcerer die?" "certainly, sir. he is really dead now, and will wither very quickly. so we must plant him at once, that other sorcerers may grow upon his bush," continued the prince. "what do you mean by that?" asked the little wizard, greatly puzzled. "if you will accompany me to our public gardens," replied the prince, "i will explain to you much better than i can here the mysteries of our vegetable kingdom." [illustration: the wizard cut the sorcerer exactly in two.] chapter 4. the vegetable kingdom after the wizard had wiped the dampness from his sword and taken it apart and put the pieces into their leathern case again, the man with the star ordered some of his people to carry the two halves of the sorcerer to the public gardens. jim pricked up his ears when he heard they were going to the gardens, and wanted to join the party, thinking he might find something proper to eat; so zeb put down the top of the buggy and invited the wizard to ride with them. the seat was amply wide enough for the little man and the two children, and when jim started to leave the hall the kitten jumped upon his back and sat there quite contentedly. so the procession moved through the streets, the bearers of the sorcerer first, the prince next, then jim drawing the buggy with the strangers inside of it, and last the crowd of vegetable people who had no hearts and could neither smile nor frown. the glass city had several fine streets, for a good many people lived there; but when the procession had passed through these it came upon a broad plain covered with gardens and watered by many pretty brooks that flowed through it. there were paths through these gardens, and over some of the brooks were ornamental glass bridges. dorothy and zeb now got out of the buggy and walked beside the prince, so that they might see and examine the flowers and plants better. "who built these lovely bridges?" asked the little girl. "no one built them," answered the man with the star. "they grow." "that's queer," said she. "did the glass houses in your city grow, too?" "of course," he replied. "but it took a good many years for them to grow as large and fine as they are now. that is why we are so angry when a rain of stones comes to break our towers and crack our roofs." "can't you mend them?" she enquired. "no; but they will grow together again, in time, and we must wait until they do." they first passed through many beautiful gardens of flowers, which grew nearest the city; but dorothy could hardly tell what kind of flowers they were, because the colors were constantly changing under the shifting lights of the six suns. a flower would be pink one second, white the next, then blue or yellow; and it was the same way when they came to the plants, which had broad leaves and grew close to the ground. when they passed over a field of grass jim immediately stretched down his head and began to nibble. "a nice country this is," he grumbled, "where a respectable horse has to eat pink grass!" "it's violet," said the wizard, who was in the buggy. "now it's blue," complained the horse. "as a matter of fact, i'm eating rainbow grass." "how does it taste?" asked the wizard. "not bad at all," said jim. "if they give me plenty of it i'll not complain about its color." by this time the party had reached a freshly plowed field, and the prince said to dorothy: "this is our planting-ground." several mangaboos came forward with glass spades and dug a hole in the ground. then they put the two halves of the sorcerer into it and covered him up. after that other people brought water from a brook and sprinkled the earth. "he will sprout very soon," said the prince, "and grow into a large bush, from which we shall in time be able to pick several very good sorcerers." "do all your people grow on bushes?" asked the boy. "certainly," was the reply. "do not all people grow upon bushes where you came from, on the outside of the earth." "not that i ever heard of." "how strange! but if you will come with me to one of our folk gardens i will show you the way we grow in the land of the mangaboos." it appeared that these odd people, while they were able to walk through the air with ease, usually moved upon the ground in the ordinary way. there were no stairs in their houses, because they did not need them, but on a level surface they generally walked just as we do. the little party of strangers now followed the prince across a few more of the glass bridges and along several paths until they came to a garden enclosed by a high hedge. jim had refused to leave the field of grass, where he was engaged in busily eating; so the wizard got out of the buggy and joined zeb and dorothy, and the kitten followed demurely at their heels. inside the hedge they came upon row after row of large and handsome plants with broad leaves gracefully curving until their points nearly reached the ground. in the center of each plant grew a daintily dressed mangaboo, for the clothing of all these creatures grew upon them and was attached to their bodies. the growing mangaboos were of all sizes, from the blossom that had just turned into a wee baby to the full-grown and almost ripe man or woman. on some of the bushes might be seen a bud, a blossom, a baby, a half-grown person and a ripe one; but even those ready to pluck were motionless and silent, as if devoid of life. this sight explained to dorothy why she had seen no children among the mangaboos, a thing she had until now been unable to account for. "our people do not acquire their real life until they leave their bushes," said the prince. "you will notice they are all attached to the plants by the soles of their feet, and when they are quite ripe they are easily separated from the stems and at once attain the powers of motion and speech. so while they grow they cannot be said to really live, and they must be picked before they can become good citizens." "how long do you live, after you are picked?" asked dorothy. "that depends upon the care we take of ourselves," he replied. "if we keep cool and moist, and meet with no accidents, we often live for five years. i've been picked over six years, but our family is known to be especially long lived." "do you eat?" asked the boy. "eat! no, indeed. we are quite solid inside our bodies, and have no need to eat, any more than does a potato." "but the potatoes sometimes sprout," said zeb. "and sometimes we do," answered the prince; "but that is considered a great misfortune, for then we must be planted at once." "where did you grow?" asked the wizard. "i will show you," was the reply. "step this way, please." he led them within another but smaller circle of hedge, where grew one large and beautiful bush. "this," said he, "is the royal bush of the mangaboos. all of our princes and rulers have grown upon this one bush from time immemorial." they stood before it in silent admiration. on the central stalk stood poised the figure of a girl so exquisitely formed and colored and so lovely in the expression of her delicate features that dorothy thought she had never seen so sweet and adorable a creature in all her life. the maiden's gown was soft as satin and fell about her in ample folds, while dainty lace-like traceries trimmed the bodice and sleeves. her flesh was fine and smooth as polished ivory, and her poise expressed both dignity and grace. "who is this?" asked the wizard, curiously. the prince had been staring hard at the girl on the bush. now he answered, with a touch of uneasiness in his cold tones: "she is the ruler destined to be my successor, for she is a royal princess. when she becomes fully ripe i must abandon the sovereignty of the mangaboos to her." "isn't she ripe now?" asked dorothy. he hesitated. "not quite," said he, finally. "it will be several days before she needs to be picked, or at least that is my judgment. i am in no hurry to resign my office and be planted, you may be sure." "probably not," declared the wizard, nodding. "this is one of the most unpleasant things about our vegetable lives," continued the prince, with a sigh, "that while we are in our full prime we must give way to another, and be covered up in the ground to sprout and grow and give birth to other people." "i'm sure the princess is ready to be picked," asserted dorothy, gazing hard at the beautiful girl on the bush. "she's as perfect as she can be." "never mind," answered the prince, hastily, "she will be all right for a few days longer, and it is best for me to rule until i can dispose of you strangers, who have come to our land uninvited and must be attended to at once." "what are you going to do with us?" asked zeb. "that is a matter i have not quite decided upon," was the reply. "i think i shall keep this wizard until a new sorcerer is ready to pick, for he seems quite skillful and may be of use to us. but the rest of you must be destroyed in some way, and you cannot be planted, because i do not wish horses and cats and meat people growing all over our country." "you needn't worry," said dorothy. "we wouldn't grow under ground, i'm sure." "but why destroy my friends?" asked the little wizard. "why not let them live?" "they do not belong here," returned the prince. "they have no right to be inside the earth at all." "we didn't ask to come down here; we fell," said dorothy. "that is no excuse," declared the prince, coldly. the children looked at each other in perplexity, and the wizard sighed. eureka rubbed her paw on her face and said in her soft, purring voice: "he won't need to destroy _me_, for if i don't get something to eat pretty soon i shall starve to death, and so save him the trouble." "if he planted you, he might grow some cat-tails," suggested the wizard. "oh, eureka! perhaps we can find you some milk-weeds to eat," said the boy. "phoo!" snarled the kitten; "i wouldn't touch the nasty things!" "you don't need milk, eureka," remarked dorothy; "you are big enough now to eat any kind of food." "if i can get it," added eureka. "i'm hungry myself," said zeb. "but i noticed some strawberries growing in one of the gardens, and some melons in another place. these people don't eat such things, so perhaps on our way back they will let us get them." "never mind your hunger," interrupted the prince. "i shall order you destroyed in a few minutes, so you will have no need to ruin our pretty melon vines and berry bushes. follow me, please, to meet your doom." chapter 5. dorothy picks the princess the words of the cold and moist vegetable prince were not very comforting, and as he spoke them he turned away and left the enclosure. the children, feeling sad and despondent, were about to follow him when the wizard touched dorothy softly on her shoulder. "wait!" he whispered. "what for?" asked the girl. "suppose we pick the royal princess," said the wizard. "i'm quite sure she's ripe, and as soon as she comes to life she will be the ruler, and may treat us better than that heartless prince intends to." "all right!" exclaimed dorothy, eagerly. "let's pick her while we have the chance, before the man with the star comes back." so together they leaned over the great bush and each of them seized one hand of the lovely princess. "pull!" cried dorothy, and as they did so the royal lady leaned toward them and the stems snapped and separated from her feet. she was not at all heavy, so the wizard and dorothy managed to lift her gently to the ground. the beautiful creature passed her hands over her eyes an instant, tucked in a stray lock of hair that had become disarranged, and after a look around the garden made those present a gracious bow and said, in a sweet but even toned voice: "i thank you very much." "we salute your royal highness!" cried the wizard, kneeling and kissing her hand. just then the voice of the prince was heard calling upon them to hasten, and a moment later he returned to the enclosure, followed by a number of his people. instantly the princess turned and faced him, and when he saw that she was picked the prince stood still and began to tremble. "sir," said the royal lady, with much dignity, "you have wronged me greatly, and would have wronged me still more had not these strangers come to my rescue. i have been ready for picking all the past week, but because you were selfish and desired to continue your unlawful rule, you left me to stand silent upon my bush." "i did not know that you were ripe," answered the prince, in a low voice. "give me the star of royalty!" she commanded. slowly he took the shining star from his own brow and placed it upon that of the princess. then all the people bowed low to her, and the prince turned and walked away alone. what became of him afterward our friends never knew. the people of mangaboo now formed themselves into a procession and marched toward the glass city to escort their new ruler to her palace and to perform those ceremonies proper to the occasion. but while the people in the procession walked upon the ground the princess walked in the air just above their heads, to show that she was a superior being and more exalted than her subjects. no one now seemed to pay any attention to the strangers, so dorothy and zeb and the wizard let the train pass on and then wandered by themselves into the vegetable gardens. they did not bother to cross the bridges over the brooks, but when they came to a stream they stepped high and walked in the air to the other side. this was a very interesting experience to them, and dorothy said: "i wonder why it is that we can walk so easily in the air." "perhaps," answered the wizard, "it is because we are close to the center of the earth, where the attraction of gravitation is very slight. but i've noticed that many queer things happen in fairy countries." "is this a fairy country?" asked the boy. "of course it is," returned dorothy, promptly. "only a fairy country could have veg'table people; and only in a fairy country could eureka and jim talk as we do." "that's true," said zeb, thoughtfully. in the vegetable gardens they found the strawberries and melons, and several other unknown but delicious fruits, of which they ate heartily. but the kitten bothered them constantly by demanding milk or meat, and called the wizard names because he could not bring her a dish of milk by means of his magical arts. as they sat upon the grass watching jim, who was still busily eating, eureka said: "i don't believe you are a wizard at all!" "no," answered the little man, "you are quite right. in the strict sense of the word i am not a wizard, but only a humbug." "the wizard of oz has always been a humbug," agreed dorothy. "i've known him for a long time." "if that is so," said the boy, "how could he do that wonderful trick with the nine tiny piglets?" "don't know," said dorothy, "but it must have been humbug." "very true," declared the wizard, nodding at her. "it was necessary to deceive that ugly sorcerer and the prince, as well as their stupid people; but i don't mind telling you, who are my friends, that the thing was only a trick." "but i saw the little pigs with my own eyes!" exclaimed zeb. "so did i," purred the kitten. "to be sure," answered the wizard. "you saw them because they were there. they are in my inside pocket now. but the pulling of them apart and pushing them together again was only a sleight-of-hand trick." "let's see the pigs," said eureka, eagerly. the little man felt carefully in his pocket and pulled out the tiny piglets, setting them upon the grass one by one, where they ran around and nibbled the tender blades. "they're hungry, too," he said. "oh, what cunning things!" cried dorothy, catching up one and petting it. "be careful!" said the piglet, with a squeal, "you're squeezing me!" "dear me!" murmured the wizard, looking at his pets in astonishment. "they can actually talk!" "may i eat one of them?" asked the kitten, in a pleading voice. "i'm awfully hungry." "why, eureka," said dorothy, reproachfully, "what a cruel question! it would be dreadful to eat these dear little things." "i should say so!" grunted another of the piglets, looking uneasily at the kitten; "cats are cruel things." "i'm not cruel," replied the kitten, yawning. "i'm just hungry." "you cannot eat my piglets, even if you are starving," declared the little man, in a stern voice. "they are the only things i have to prove i'm a wizard." "how did they happen to be so little?" asked dorothy. "i never saw such small pigs before." "they are from the island of teenty-weent," said the wizard, "where everything is small because it's a small island. a sailor brought them to los angeles and i gave him nine tickets to the circus for them." "but what am i going to eat?" wailed the kitten, sitting in front of dorothy and looking pleadingly into her face. "there are no cows here to give milk; or any mice, or even grasshoppers. and if i can't eat the piglets you may as well plant me at once and raise catsup." "i have an idea," said the wizard, "that there are fishes in these brooks. do you like fish?" "fish!" cried the kitten. "do i like fish? why, they're better than piglets--or even milk!" "then i'll try to catch you some," said he. "but won't they be veg'table, like everything else here?" asked the kitten. "i think not. fishes are not animals, and they are as cold and moist as the vegetables themselves. there is no reason, that i can see, why they may not exist in the waters of this strange country." then the wizard bent a pin for a hook and took a long piece of string from his pocket for a fish-line. the only bait he could find was a bright red blossom from a flower; but he knew fishes are easy to fool if anything bright attracts their attention, so he decided to try the blossom. having thrown the end of his line in the water of a nearby brook he soon felt a sharp tug that told him a fish had bitten and was caught on the bent pin; so the little man drew in the string and, sure enough, the fish came with it and was landed safely on the shore, where it began to flop around in great excitement. [illustration: in the garden of the mangaboos.] the fish was fat and round, and its scales glistened like beautifully cut jewels set close together; but there was no time to examine it closely, for eureka made a jump and caught it between her claws, and in a few moments it had entirely disappeared. "oh, eureka!" cried dorothy, "did you eat the bones?" "if it had any bones, i ate them," replied the kitten, composedly, as it washed its face after the meal. "but i don't think that fish had any bones, because i didn't feel them scratch my throat." "you were very greedy," said the girl. "i was very hungry," replied the kitten. the little pigs had stood huddled in a group, watching this scene with frightened eyes. "cats are dreadful creatures!" said one of them. "i'm glad we are not fishes!" said another. "don't worry," dorothy murmured, soothingly, "i'll not let the kitten hurt you." then she happened to remember that in a corner of her suit-case were one or two crackers that were left over from her luncheon on the train, and she went to the buggy and brought them. eureka stuck up her nose at such food, but the tiny piglets squealed delightedly at the sight of the crackers and ate them up in a jiffy. "now let us go back to the city," suggested the wizard. "that is, if jim has had enough of the pink grass." the cab-horse, who was browsing near, lifted his head with a sigh. "i've tried to eat a lot while i had the chance," said he, "for it's likely to be a long while between meals in this strange country. but i'm ready to go, now, at any time you wish." so, after the wizard had put the piglets back into his inside pocket, where they cuddled up and went to sleep, the three climbed into the buggy and jim started back to the town. "where shall we stay?" asked the girl. "i think i shall take possession of the house of the sorcerer," replied the wizard; "for the prince said in the presence of his people that he would keep me until they picked another sorcerer, and the new princess won't know but that we belong there." they agreed to this plan, and when they reached the great square jim drew the buggy into the big door of the domed hall. "it doesn't look very homelike," said dorothy, gazing around at the bare room. "but it's a place to stay, anyhow." "what are those holes up there?" enquired the boy, pointing to some openings that appeared near the top of the dome. "they look like doorways," said dorothy; "only there are no stairs to get to them." "you forget that stairs are unnecessary," observed the wizard. "let us walk up, and see where the doors lead to." with this he began walking in the air toward the high openings, and dorothy and zeb followed him. it was the same sort of climb one experiences when walking up a hill, and they were nearly out of breath when they came to the row of openings, which they perceived to be doorways leading into halls in the upper part of the house. following these halls they discovered many small rooms opening from them, and some were furnished with glass benches, tables and chairs. but there were no beds at all. "i wonder if these people never sleep," said the girl. "why, there seems to be no night at all in this country," zeb replied. "those colored suns are exactly in the same place they were when we came, and if there is no sunset there can be no night." "very true," agreed the wizard. "but it is a long time since i have had any sleep, and i'm tired. so i think i shall lie down upon one of these hard glass benches and take a nap." "i will, too," said dorothy, and chose a little room at the end of the hall. zeb walked down again to unharness jim, who, when he found himself free, rolled over a few times and then settled down to sleep, with eureka nestling comfortably beside his big, boney body. then the boy returned to one of the upper rooms, and in spite of the hardness of the glass bench was soon deep in slumberland. [illustration] chapter 6. the mangaboos prove dangerous when the wizard awoke the six colored suns were shining down upon the land of the mangaboos just as they had done ever since his arrival. the little man, having had a good sleep, felt rested and refreshed, and looking through the glass partition of the room he saw zeb sitting up on his bench and yawning. so the wizard went in to him. "zeb," said he, "my balloon is of no further use in this strange country, so i may as well leave it on the square where it fell. but in the basket-car are some things i would like to keep with me. i wish you would go and fetch my satchel, two lanterns, and a can of kerosene oil that is under the seat. there is nothing else that i care about." so the boy went willingly upon the errand, and by the time he had returned dorothy was awake. then the three held a counsel to decide what they should do next, but could think of no way to better their condition. "i don't like these veg'table people," said the little girl. "they're cold and flabby, like cabbages, in spite of their prettiness." "i agree with you. it is because there is no warm blood in them," remarked the wizard. "and they have no hearts; so they can't love anyone--not even themselves," declared the boy. "the princess is lovely to look at," continued dorothy, thoughtfully; "but i don't care much for her, after all. if there was any other place to go, i'd like to go there." "but _is_ there any other place?" asked the wizard. "i don't know," she answered. just then they heard the big voice of jim the cab-horse calling to them, and going to the doorway leading to the dome they found the princess and a throng of her people had entered the house of the sorcerer. so they went down to greet the beautiful vegetable lady, who said to them: "i have been talking with my advisors about you meat people, and we have decided that you do not belong in the land of the mangaboos and must not remain here." "how can we go away?" asked dorothy. "oh, you cannot go away, of course; so you must be destroyed," was the answer. "in what way?" enquired the wizard. "we shall throw you three people into the garden of the twining vines," said the princess, "and they will soon crush you and devour your bodies to make themselves grow bigger. the animals you have with you we will drive to the mountains and put into the black pit. then our country will be rid of all its unwelcome visitors." "but you are in need of a sorcerer," said the wizard, "and not one of those growing is yet ripe enough to pick. i am greater than any thorn-covered sorcerer that ever grew in your garden. why destroy me?" "it is true we need a sorcerer," acknowledged the princess, "but i am informed that one of our own will be ready to pick in a few days, to take the place of gwig, whom you cut in two before it was time for him to be planted. let us see your arts, and the sorceries you are able to perform. then i will decide whether to destroy you with the others or not." at this the wizard made a bow to the people and repeated his trick of producing the nine tiny piglets and making them disappear again. he did it very cleverly, indeed, and the princess looked at the strange piglets as if she were as truly astonished as any vegetable person could be. but afterward she said: "i have heard of this wonderful magic. but it accomplishes nothing of value. what else can you do?" the wizard tried to think. then he jointed together the blades of his sword and balanced it very skillfully upon the end of his nose. but even that did not satisfy the princess. just then his eye fell upon the lanterns and the can of kerosene oil which zeb had brought from the car of his balloon, and he got a clever idea from those commonplace things. "your highness," said he, "i will now proceed to prove my magic by creating two suns that you have never seen before; also i will exhibit a destroyer much more dreadful than your clinging vines." so he placed dorothy upon one side of him and the boy upon the other and set a lantern upon each of their heads. "don't laugh," he whispered to them, "or you will spoil the effect of my magic." [illustration: "now, princess," exclaimed the wizard.] then, with much dignity and a look of vast importance upon his wrinkled face, the wizard got out his match-box and lighted the two lanterns. the glare they made was very small when compared with the radiance of the six great colored suns; but still they gleamed steadily and clearly. the mangaboos were much impressed because they had never before seen any light that did not come directly from their suns. next the wizard poured a pool of oil from the can upon the glass floor, where it covered quite a broad surface. when he lighted the oil a hundred tongues of flame shot up, and the effect was really imposing. "now, princess," exclaimed the wizard, "those of your advisors who wished to throw us into the garden of clinging vines must step within this circle of light. if they advised you well, and were in the right, they will not be injured in any way. but if any advised you wrongly, the light will wither him." the advisors of the princess did not like this test; but she commanded them to step into the flame and one by one they did so, and were scorched so badly that the air was soon filled with an odor like that of baked potatoes. some of the mangaboos fell down and had to be dragged from the fire, and all were so withered that it would be necessary to plant them at once. "sir," said the princess to the wizard, "you are greater than any sorcerer we have ever known. as it is evident that my people have advised me wrongly, i will not cast you three people into the dreadful garden of the clinging vines; but your animals must be driven into the black pit in the mountain, for my subjects cannot bear to have them around." the wizard was so pleased to have saved the two children and himself that he said nothing against this decree; but when the princess had gone both jim and eureka protested they did not want to go to the black pit, and dorothy promised she would do all that she could to save them from such a fate. for two or three days after this--if we call days the periods between sleep, there being no night to divide the hours into days--our friends were not disturbed in any way. they were even permitted to occupy the house of the sorcerer in peace, as if it had been their own, and to wander in the gardens in search of food. once they came near to the enclosed garden of the clinging vines, and walking high into the air looked down upon it with much interest. they saw a mass of tough green vines all matted together and writhing and twisting around like a nest of great snakes. everything the vines touched they crushed, and our adventurers were indeed thankful to have escaped being cast among them. whenever the wizard went to sleep he would take the nine tiny piglets from his pocket and let them run around on the floor of his room to amuse themselves and get some exercise; and one time they found his glass door ajar and wandered into the hall and then into the bottom part of the great dome, walking through the air as easily as eureka could. they knew the kitten, by this time, so they scampered over to where she lay beside jim and commenced to frisk and play with her. the cab-horse, who never slept long at a time, sat upon his haunches and watched the tiny piglets and the kitten with much approval. "don't be rough!" he would call out, if eureka knocked over one of the round, fat piglets with her paw; but the pigs never minded, and enjoyed the sport very greatly. suddenly they looked up to find the room filled with the silent, solemn-eyed mangaboos. each of the vegetable folks bore a branch covered with sharp thorns, which was thrust defiantly toward the horse, the kitten and the piglets. "here--stop this foolishness!" jim roared, angrily; but after being pricked once or twice he got upon his four legs and kept out of the way of the thorns. the mangaboos surrounded them in solid ranks, but left an opening to the doorway of the hall; so the animals slowly retreated until they were driven from the room and out upon the street. here were more of the vegetable people with thorns, and silently they urged the now frightened creatures down the street. jim had to be careful not to step upon the tiny piglets, who scampered under his feet grunting and squealing, while eureka, snarling and biting at the thorns pushed toward her, also tried to protect the pretty little things from injury. slowly but steadily the heartless mangaboos drove them on, until they had passed through the city and the gardens and come to the broad plains leading to the mountain. "what does all this mean, anyhow?" asked the horse, jumping to escape a thorn. "why, they are driving us toward the black pit, into which they threatened to cast us," replied the kitten. "if i were as big as you are, jim, i'd fight these miserable turnip-roots!" "what would you do?" enquired jim. "i'd kick out with those long legs and iron-shod hoofs." "all right," said the horse; "i'll do it." an instant later he suddenly backed toward the crowd of mangaboos and kicked out his hind legs as hard as he could. a dozen of them smashed together and tumbled to the ground, and seeing his success jim kicked again and again, charging into the vegetable crowd, knocking them in all directions and sending the others scattering to escape his iron heels. eureka helped him by flying into the faces of the enemy and scratching and biting furiously, and the kitten ruined so many vegetable complexions that the mangaboos feared her as much as they did the horse. but the foes were too many to be repulsed for long. they tired jim and eureka out, and although the field of battle was thickly covered with mashed and disabled mangaboos, our animal friends had to give up at last and allow themselves to be driven to the mountain. [illustration] chapter 7. into the black pit and out again when they came to the mountain it proved to be a rugged, towering chunk of deep green glass, and looked dismal and forbidding in the extreme. half way up the steep was a yawning cave, black as night beyond the point where the rainbow rays of the colored suns reached into it. the mangaboos drove the horse and the kitten and the piglets into this dark hole and then, having pushed the buggy in after them--for it seemed some of them had dragged it all the way from the domed hall--they began to pile big glass rocks within the entrance, so that the prisoners could not get out again. "this is dreadful!" groaned jim. "it will be about the end of our adventures, i guess." "if the wizard was here," said one of the piglets, sobbing bitterly, "he would not see us suffer so." "we ought to have called him and dorothy when we were first attacked," added eureka. "but never mind; be brave, my friends, and i will go and tell our masters where you are, and get them to come to your rescue." the mouth of the hole was nearly filled up now, but the kitten gave a leap through the remaining opening and at once scampered up into the air. the mangaboos saw her escape, and several of them caught up their thorns and gave chase, mounting through the air after her. eureka, however, was lighter than the mangaboos, and while they could mount only about a hundred feet above the earth the kitten found she could go nearly two hundred feet. so she ran along over their heads until she had left them far behind and below and had come to the city and the house of the sorcerer. there she entered in at dorothy's window in the dome and aroused her from her sleep. as soon as the little girl knew what had happened she awakened the wizard and zeb, and at once preparations were made to go to the rescue of jim and the piglets. the wizard carried his satchel, which was quite heavy, and zeb carried the two lanterns and the oil can. dorothy's wicker suit-case was still under the seat of the buggy, and by good fortune the boy had also placed the harness in the buggy when he had taken it off from jim to let the horse lie down and rest. so there was nothing for the girl to carry but the kitten, which she held close to her bosom and tried to comfort, for its little heart was still beating rapidly. some of the mangaboos discovered them as soon as they left the house of the sorcerer; but when they started toward the mountain the vegetable people allowed them to proceed without interference, yet followed in a crowd behind them so that they could not go back again. before long they neared the black pit, where a busy swarm of mangaboos, headed by their princess, was engaged in piling up glass rocks before the entrance. "stop, i command you!" cried the wizard, in an angry tone, and at once began pulling down the rocks to liberate jim and the piglets. instead of opposing him in this they stood back in silence until he had made a good-sized hole in the barrier, when by order of the princess they all sprang forward and thrust out their sharp thorns. [illustration: through the black pit.] dorothy hopped inside the opening to escape being pricked, and zeb and the wizard, after enduring a few stabs from the thorns, were glad to follow her. at once the mangaboos began piling up the rocks of glass again, and as the little man realized that they were all about to be entombed in the mountain he said to the children: "my dears, what shall we do? jump out and fight?" "what's the use?" replied dorothy. "i'd as soon die here as live much longer among those cruel and heartless people." "that's the way i feel about it," remarked zeb, rubbing his wounds. "i've had enough of the mangaboos." "all right," said the wizard; "i'm with you, whatever you decide. but we can't live long in this cavern, that's certain." noticing that the light was growing dim he picked up his nine piglets, patted each one lovingly on its fat little head, and placed them carefully in his inside pocket. zeb struck a match and lighted one of the lanterns. the rays of the colored suns were now shut out from them forever, for the last chinks had been filled up in the wall that separated their prison from the land of the mangaboos. "how big is this hole?" asked dorothy. "i'll explore it and see," replied the boy. so he carried the lantern back for quite a distance, while dorothy and the wizard followed at his side. the cavern did not come to an end, as they had expected it would, but slanted upward through the great glass mountain, running in a direction that promised to lead them to the side opposite the mangaboo country. "it isn't a bad road," observed the wizard, "and if we followed it it might lead us to some place that is more comfortable than this black pocket we are now in. i suppose the vegetable folk were always afraid to enter this cavern because it is dark; but we have our lanterns to light the way, so i propose that we start out and discover where this tunnel in the mountain leads to." the others agreed readily to this sensible suggestion, and at once the boy began to harness jim to the buggy. when all was in readiness the three took their seats in the buggy and jim started cautiously along the way, zeb driving while the wizard and dorothy each held a lighted lantern so the horse could see where to go. sometimes the tunnel was so narrow that the wheels of the buggy grazed the sides; then it would broaden out as wide as a street; but the floor was usually smooth, and for a long time they travelled on without any accident. jim stopped sometimes to rest, for the climb was rather steep and tiresome. "we must be nearly as high as the six colored suns, by this time," said dorothy. "i didn't know this mountain was so tall." "we are certainly a good distance away from the land of the mangaboos," added zeb; "for we have slanted away from it ever since we started." but they kept steadily moving, and just as jim was about tired out with his long journey the way suddenly grew lighter, and zeb put out the lanterns to save the oil. to their joy they found it was a white light that now greeted them, for all were weary of the colored rainbow lights which, after a time, had made their eyes ache with their constantly shifting rays. the sides of the tunnel showed before them like the inside of a long spy-glass, and the floor became more level. jim hastened his lagging steps at this assurance of a quick relief from the dark passage, and in a few moments more they had emerged from the mountain and found themselves face to face with a new and charming country. [illustration] chapter 8. the valley of voices by journeying through the glass mountain they had reached a delightful valley that was shaped like the hollow of a great cup, with another rugged mountain showing on the other side of it, and soft and pretty green hills at the ends. it was all laid out into lovely lawns and gardens, with pebble paths leading through them and groves of beautiful and stately trees dotting the landscape here and there. there were orchards, too, bearing luscious fruits that are all unknown in our world. alluring brooks of crystal water flowed sparkling between their flower-strewn banks, while scattered over the valley were dozens of the quaintest and most picturesque cottages our travelers had ever beheld. none of them were in clusters, such as villages or towns, but each had ample grounds of its own, with orchards and gardens surrounding it. as the new arrivals gazed upon this exquisite scene they were enraptured by its beauties and the fragrance that permeated the soft air, which they breathed so gratefully after the confined atmosphere of the tunnel. several minutes were consumed in silent admiration before they noticed two very singular and unusual facts about this valley. one was that it was lighted from some unseen source; for no sun or moon was in the arched blue sky, although every object was flooded with a clear and perfect light. the second and even more singular fact was the absence of any inhabitant of this splendid place. from their elevated position they could overlook the entire valley, but not a single moving object could they see. all appeared mysteriously deserted. the mountain on this side was not glass, but made of a stone similar to granite. with some difficulty and danger jim drew the buggy over the loose rocks until he reached the green lawns below, where the paths and orchards and gardens began. the nearest cottage was still some distance away. "isn't it fine?" cried dorothy, in a joyous voice, as she sprang out of the buggy and let eureka run frolicking over the velvety grass. "yes, indeed!" answered zeb. "we were lucky to get away from those dreadful vegetable people." "it wouldn't be so bad," remarked the wizard, gazing around him, "if we were obliged to live here always. we couldn't find a prettier place, i'm sure." he took the piglets from his pocket and let them run on the grass, and jim tasted a mouthful of the green blades and declared he was very contented in his new surroundings. "we can't walk in the air here, though," called eureka, who had tried it and failed; but the others were satisfied to walk on the ground, and the wizard said they must be nearer the surface of the earth than they had been in the mangaboo country, for everything was more homelike and natural. "but where are the people?" asked dorothy. the little man shook his bald head. "can't imagine, my dear," he replied. they heard the sudden twittering of a bird, but could not find the creature anywhere. slowly they walked along the path toward the nearest cottage, the piglets racing and gambolling beside them and jim pausing at every step for another mouthful of grass. presently they came to a low plant which had broad, spreading leaves, in the center of which grew a single fruit about as large as a peach. the fruit was so daintily colored and so fragrant, and looked so appetizing and delicious that dorothy stopped and exclaimed: "what is it, do you s'pose?" the piglets had smelled the fruit quickly, and before the girl could reach out her hand to pluck it every one of the nine tiny ones had rushed in and commenced to devour it with great eagerness. "it's good, anyway," said zeb, "or those little rascals wouldn't have gobbled it up so greedily." "where are they?" asked dorothy, in astonishment. they all looked around, but the piglets had disappeared. "dear me!" cried the wizard; "they must have run away. but i didn't see them go; did you?" "no!" replied the boy and the girl, together. "here,--piggy, piggy, piggy!" called their master, anxiously. several squeals and grunts were instantly heard at his feet, but the wizard could not discover a single piglet. "where are you?" he asked. "why, right beside you," spoke a tiny voice. "can't you see us?" [illustration: "are there really people in this room?"] "no," answered the little man, in a puzzled tone. "we can see you," said another of the piglets. the wizard stooped down and put out his hand, and at once felt the small fat body of one of his pets. he picked it up, but could not see what he held. "it is very strange," said he, soberly. "the piglets have become invisible, in some curious way." "i'll bet it's because they ate that peach!" cried the kitten. "it wasn't a peach, eureka," said dorothy. "i only hope it wasn't poison." "it was fine, dorothy," called one of the piglets. "we'll eat all we can find of them," said another. "but _we_ mus'n't eat them," the wizard warned the children, "or we too may become invisible, and lose each other. if we come across another of the strange fruit we must avoid it." calling the piglets to him he picked them all up, one by one, and put them away in his pocket; for although he could not see them he could feel them, and when he had buttoned his coat he knew they were safe for the present. the travellers now resumed their walk toward the cottage, which they presently reached. it was a pretty place, with vines growing thickly over the broad front porch. the door stood open and a table was set in the front room, with four chairs drawn up to it. on the table were plates, knives and forks, and dishes of bread, meat and fruits. the meat was smoking hot and the knives and forks were performing strange antics and jumping here and there in quite a puzzling way. but not a single person appeared to be in the room. "how funny!" exclaimed dorothy, who with zeb and the wizard now stood in the doorway. a peal of merry laughter answered her, and the knives and forks fell to the plates with a clatter. one of the chairs pushed back from the table, and this was so astonishing and mysterious that dorothy was almost tempted to run away in fright. "here are strangers, mama!" cried the shrill and childish voice of some unseen person. "so i see, my dear," answered another voice, soft and womanly. "what do you want?" demanded a third voice, in a stern, gruff accent. "well, well!" said the wizard; "are there really people in this room?" "of course," replied the man's voice. "and--pardon me for the foolish question--but, are you all invisible?" "surely," the woman answered, repeating her low, rippling laughter. "are you surprised that you are unable to see the people of voe?" "why, yes," stammered the wizard. "all the people i have ever met before were very plain to see." "where do you come from, then?" asked the woman, in a curious tone. "we belong upon the face of the earth," explained the wizard, "but recently, during an earthquake, we fell down a crack and landed in the country of the mangaboos." "dreadful creatures!" exclaimed the woman's voice. "i've heard of them." "they walled us up in a mountain," continued the wizard; "but we found there was a tunnel through to this side, so we came here. it is a beautiful place. what do you call it?" "it is the valley of voe." "thank you. we have seen no people since we arrived, so we came to this house to enquire our way." "are you hungry?" asked the woman's voice. "i could eat something," said dorothy. "so could i," added zeb. "but we do not wish to intrude, i assure you," the wizard hastened to say. "that's all right," returned the man's voice, more pleasantly than before. "you are welcome to what we have." as he spoke the voice came so near to zeb that he jumped back in alarm. two childish voices laughed merrily at this action, and dorothy was sure they were in no danger among such light-hearted folks, even if those folks couldn't be seen. "what curious animal is that which is eating the grass on my lawn?" enquired the man's voice. "that's jim," said the girl. "he's a horse." "what is he good for?" was the next question. "he draws the buggy you see fastened to him, and we ride in the buggy instead of walking," she explained. "can he fight?" asked the man's voice. "no! he can kick pretty hard with his heels, and bite a little; but jim can't 'zactly fight," she replied. "then the bears will get him," said one of the children's voices. "bears!" exclaimed dorothy. "are these bears here?" "that is the one evil of our country," answered the invisible man. "many large and fierce bears roam in the valley of voe, and when they can catch any of us they eat us up; but as they cannot see us, we seldom get caught." "are the bears invis'ble, too?" asked the girl. "yes; for they eat of the dama-fruit, as we all do, and that keeps them from being seen by any eye, whether human or animal." "does the dama-fruit grow on a low bush, and look something like a peach?" asked the wizard. "yes," was the reply. "if it makes you invis'ble, why do you eat it?" dorothy enquired. "for two reasons, my dear," the woman's voice answered. "the dama-fruit is the most delicious thing that grows, and when it makes us invisible the bears cannot find us to eat us up. but now, good wanderers, your luncheon is on the table, so please sit down and eat as much as you like." [illustration] chapter 9. they fight the invisible bears the strangers took their seats at the table willingly enough, for they were all hungry and the platters were now heaped with good things to eat. in front of each place was a plate bearing one of the delicious dama-fruit, and the perfume that rose from these was so enticing and sweet that they were sorely tempted to eat of them and become invisible. but dorothy satisfied her hunger with other things, and her companions did likewise, resisting the temptation. "why do you not eat the damas?" asked the woman's voice. "we don't want to get invis'ble," answered the girl. "but if you remain visible the bears will see you and devour you," said a girlish young voice, that belonged to one of the children. "we who live here much prefer to be invisible; for we can still hug and kiss one another, and are quite safe from the bears." "and we do not have to be so particular about our dress," remarked the man. "and mama can't tell whether my face is dirty or not!" added the other childish voice, gleefully. "but i make you wash it, every time i think of it," said the mother; "for it stands to reason your face is dirty, ianu, whether i can see it or not." dorothy laughed and stretched out her hands. "come here, please--ianu and your sister--and let me feel of you," she requested. they came to her willingly, and dorothy passed her hands over their faces and forms and decided one was a girl of about her own age and the other a boy somewhat smaller. the girl's hair was soft and fluffy and her skin as smooth as satin. when dorothy gently touched her nose and ears and lips they seemed to be well and delicately formed. "if i could see you i am sure you would be beautiful," she declared. the girl laughed, and her mother said: "we are not vain in the valley of voe, because we can not display our beauty, and good actions and pleasant ways are what make us lovely to our companions. yet we can see and appreciate the beauties of nature, the dainty flowers and trees, the green fields and the clear blue of the sky." "how about the birds and beasts and fishes?" asked zeb. "the birds we cannot see, because they love to eat of the damas as much as we do; yet we hear their sweet songs and enjoy them. neither can we see the cruel bears, for they also eat the fruit. but the fishes that swim in our brooks we can see, and often we catch them to eat." "it occurs to me you have a great deal to make you happy, even while invisible," remarked the wizard. "nevertheless, we prefer to remain visible while we are in your valley." just then eureka came in, for she had been until now wandering outside with jim; and when the kitten saw the table set with food she cried out: "now you must feed me, dorothy, for i'm half starved." the children were inclined to be frightened by the sight of the small animal, which reminded them of the bears; but dorothy reassured them by explaining that eureka was a pet and could do no harm even if she wished to. then, as the others had by this time moved away from the table, the kitten sprang upon the chair and put her paws upon the cloth to see what there was to eat. to her surprise an unseen hand clutched her and held her suspended in the air. eureka was frantic with terror, and tried to scratch and bite, so the next moment she was dropped to the floor. "did you see that, dorothy?" she gasped. "yes, dear," her mistress replied; "there are people living in this house, although we cannot see them. and you must have better manners, eureka, or something worse will happen to you." she placed a plate of food upon the floor and the kitten ate greedily. "give me that nice-smelling fruit i saw on the table," she begged, when she had cleaned the plate. "those are damas," said dorothy, "and you must never even taste them, eureka, or you'll get invis'ble, and then we can't see you at all." the kitten gazed wistfully at the forbidden fruit. "does it hurt to be invis'ble?" she asked. "i don't know," dorothy answered; "but it would hurt me dre'fully to lose you." "very well, i won't touch it," decided the kitten; "but you must keep it away from me, for the smell is very tempting." "can you tell us, sir or ma'am," said the wizard, addressing the air because he did not quite know where the unseen people stood, "if there is any way we can get out of your beautiful valley, and on top of the earth again." "oh, one can leave the valley easily enough," answered the man's voice; "but to do so you must enter a far less pleasant country. as for reaching the top of the earth, i have never heard that it is possible to do that, and if you succeeded in getting there you would probably fall off." "oh, no," said dorothy, "we've been there, and we know." "the valley of voe is certainly a charming place," resumed the wizard; "but we cannot be contented in any other land than our own, for long. even if we should come to unpleasant places on our way it is necessary, in order to reach the earth's surface, to keep moving on toward it." "in that case," said the man, "it will be best for you to cross our valley and mount the spiral staircase inside the pyramid mountain. the top of that mountain is lost in the clouds, and when you reach it you will be in the awful land of naught, where the gargoyles live." "what are gargoyles?" asked zeb. "i do not know, young sir. our greatest champion, overman-anu, once climbed the spiral stairway and fought nine days with the gargoyles before he could escape them and come back; but he could never be induced to describe the dreadful creatures, and soon afterward a bear caught him and ate him up." the wanderers were rather discouraged by this gloomy report, but dorothy said with a sigh: "if the only way to get home is to meet the gurgles, then we've got to meet 'em. they can't be worse than the wicked witch or the nome king." "but you must remember you had the scarecrow and the tin woodman to help you conquer those enemies," suggested the wizard. "just now, my dear, there is not a single warrior in your company." "oh, i guess zeb could fight if he had to. couldn't you, zeb?" asked the little girl. "perhaps; if i had to," answered zeb, doubtfully. "and you have the jointed sword that you chopped the veg'table sorcerer in two with," the girl said to the little man. "true," he replied; "and in my satchel are other useful things to fight with." "what the gargoyles most dread is a noise," said the man's voice. "our champion told me that when he shouted his battle-cry the creatures shuddered and drew back, hesitating to continue the combat. but they were in great numbers, and the champion could not shout much because he had to save his breath for fighting." "very good," said the wizard; "we can all yell better than we can fight, so we ought to defeat the gargoyles." "but tell me," said dorothy, "how did such a brave champion happen to let the bears eat him? and if he was invis'ble, and the bears invis'ble, who knows that they really ate him up?" "the champion had killed eleven bears in his time," returned the unseen man; "and we know this is true because when any creature is dead the invisible charm of the dama-fruit ceases to be active, and the slain one can be plainly seen by all eyes. when the champion killed a bear everyone could see it; and when the bears killed the champion we all saw several pieces of him scattered about, which of course disappeared again when the bears devoured them." they now bade farewell to the kind but unseen people of the cottage, and after the man had called their attention to a high, pyramid-shaped mountain on the opposite side of the valley, and told them how to travel in order to reach it, they again started upon their journey. they followed the course of a broad stream and passed several more pretty cottages; but of course they saw no one, nor did any one speak to them. fruits and flowers grew plentifully all about, and there were many of the delicious damas that the people of voe were so fond of. about noon they stopped to allow jim to rest in the shade of a pretty orchard, and while they plucked and ate some of the cherries and plums that grew there a soft voice suddenly said to them: "there are bears near by. be careful." the wizard got out his sword at once, and zeb grabbed the horse-whip. dorothy climbed into the buggy, although jim had been unharnessed from it and was grazing some distance away. the owner of the unseen voice laughed lightly and said: "you cannot escape the bears that way." "how _can_ we 'scape?" asked dorothy, nervously, for an unseen danger is always the hardest to face. "you must take to the river," was the reply. "the bears will not venture upon the water." "but we would be drowned!" exclaimed the girl. "oh, there is no need of that," said the voice, which from its gentle tones seemed to belong to a young girl. "you are strangers in the valley of voe, and do not seem to know our ways; so i will try to save you." the next moment a broad-leaved plant was jerked from the ground where it grew and held suspended in the air before the wizard. [illustration: escaping the invisible bears.] "sir," said the voice, "you must rub these leaves upon the soles of all your feet, and then you will be able to walk upon the water without sinking below the surface. it is a secret the bears do not know, and we people of voe usually walk upon the water when we travel, and so escape our enemies." "thank you!" cried the wizard, joyfully, and at once rubbed a leaf upon the soles of dorothy's shoes and then upon his own. the girl took a leaf and rubbed it upon the kitten's paws, and the rest of the plant was handed to zeb, who, after applying it to his own feet, carefully rubbed it upon all four of jim's hoofs and then upon the tires of the buggy-wheels. he had nearly finished this last task when a low growling was suddenly heard and the horse began to jump around and kick viciously with his heels. "quick! to the water, or you are lost!" cried their unseen friend, and without hesitation the wizard drew the buggy down the bank and out upon the broad river, for dorothy was still seated in it with eureka in her arms. they did not sink at all, owing to the virtues of the strange plant they had used, and when the buggy was in the middle of the stream the wizard returned to the bank to assist zeb and jim. the horse was plunging madly about, and two or three deep gashes appeared upon its flanks, from which the blood flowed freely. "run for the river!" shouted the wizard, and jim quickly freed himself from his unseen tormenters by a few vicious kicks and then obeyed. as soon as he trotted out upon the surface of the river he found himself safe from pursuit, and zeb was already running across the water toward dorothy. as the little wizard turned to follow them he felt a hot breath against his cheek and heard a low, fierce growl. at once he began stabbing at the air with his sword, and he knew that he had struck some substance because when he drew back the blade it was dripping with blood. the third time that he thrust out the weapon there was a loud roar and a fall, and suddenly at his feet appeared the form of a great red bear, which was nearly as big as the horse and much stronger and fiercer. the beast was quite dead from the sword thrusts, and after a glance at its terrible claws and sharp teeth the little man turned in a panic and rushed out upon the water, for other menacing growls told him more bears were near. on the river, however, the adventurers seemed to be perfectly safe. dorothy and the buggy had floated slowly down stream with the current of the water, and the others made haste to join her. the wizard opened his satchel and got out some sticking-plaster with which he mended the cuts jim had received from the claws of the bears. "i think we'd better stick to the river, after this," said dorothy. "if our unknown friend hadn't warned us, and told us what to do, we would all be dead by this time." "that is true," agreed the wizard, "and as the river seems to be flowing in the direction of the pyramid mountain it will be the easiest way for us to travel." zeb hitched jim to the buggy again, and the horse trotted along and drew them rapidly over the smooth water. the kitten was at first dreadfully afraid of getting wet, but dorothy let her down and soon eureka was frisking along beside the buggy without being scared a bit. once a little fish swam too near the surface, and the kitten grabbed it in her mouth and ate it up as quick as a wink; but dorothy cautioned her to be careful what she ate in this valley of enchantments, and no more fishes were careless enough to swim within reach. after a journey of several hours they came to a point where the river curved, and they found they must cross a mile or so of the valley before they came to the pyramid mountain. there were few houses in this part, and few orchards or flowers; so our friends feared they might encounter more of the savage bears, which they had learned to dread with all their hearts. "you'll have to make a dash, jim," said the wizard, "and run as fast as you can go." "all right," answered the horse; "i'll do my best. but you must remember i'm old, and my dashing days are past and gone." all three got into the buggy and zeb picked up the reins, though jim needed no guidance of any sort. the horse was still smarting from the sharp claws of the invisible bears, and as soon as he was on land and headed toward the mountain the thought that more of those fearsome creatures might be near acted as a spur and sent him galloping along in a way that made dorothy catch her breath. then zeb, in a spirit of mischief, uttered a growl like that of the bears, and jim pricked up his ears and fairly flew. his boney legs moved so fast they could scarcely be seen, and the wizard clung fast to the seat and yelled "whoa!" at the top of his voice. "i--i'm 'fraid he's--he's running away!" gasped dorothy. "i _know_ he is," said zeb; "but no bear can catch him if he keeps up that gait--and the harness or the buggy don't break." jim did not make a mile a minute; but almost before they were aware of it he drew up at the foot of the mountain, so suddenly that the wizard and zeb both sailed over the dashboard and landed in the soft grass--where they rolled over several times before they stopped. dorothy nearly went with them, but she was holding fast to the iron rail of the seat, and that saved her. she squeezed the kitten, though, until it screeched; and then the old cab-horse made several curious sounds that led the little girl to suspect he was laughing at them all. [illustration] chapter 10. the braided man of pyramid mountain the mountain before them was shaped like a cone and was so tall that its point was lost in the clouds. directly facing the place where jim had stopped was an arched opening leading to a broad stairway. the stairs were cut in the rock inside the mountain, and they were broad and not very steep, because they circled around like a cork-screw, and at the arched opening where the flight began the circle was quite big. at the foot of the stairs was a sign reading: warning. these steps lead to the land of the gargoyles. danger! keep out. "i wonder how jim is ever going to draw the buggy up so many stairs," said dorothy, gravely. "no trouble at all," declared the horse, with a contemptuous neigh. "still, i don't care to drag any passengers. you'll all have to walk." "suppose the stairs get steeper?" suggested zeb, doubtfully. "then you'll have to boost the buggy-wheels, that's all," answered jim. "we'll try it, anyway," said the wizard. "it's the only way to get out of the valley of voe." so they began to ascend the stairs, dorothy and the wizard first, jim next, drawing the buggy, and then zeb to watch that nothing happened to the harness. the light was dim, and soon they mounted into total darkness, so that the wizard was obliged to get out his lanterns to light the way. but this enabled them to proceed steadily until they came to a landing where there was a rift in the side of the mountain that let in both light and air. looking through this opening they could see the valley of voe lying far below them, the cottages seeming like toy houses from that distance. after resting a few moments they resumed their climb, and still the stairs were broad and low enough for jim to draw the buggy easily after him. the old horse panted a little, and had to stop often to get his breath. at such times they were all glad to wait for him, for continually climbing up stairs is sure to make one's legs ache. they wound about, always going upward, for some time. the lights from the lanterns dimly showed the way, but it was a gloomy journey, and they were pleased when a broad streak of light ahead assured them they were coming to a second landing. here one side of the mountain had a great hole in it, like the mouth of a cavern, and the stairs stopped at the near edge of the floor and commenced ascending again at the opposite edge. the opening in the mountain was on the side opposite to the valley of voe, and our travellers looked out upon a strange scene. below them was a vast space, at the bottom of which was a black sea with rolling billows, through which little tongues of flame constantly shot up. just above them, and almost on a level with their platform, were banks of rolling clouds which constantly shifted position and changed color. the blues and greys were very beautiful, and dorothy noticed that on the cloud banks sat or reclined fleecy, shadowy forms of beautiful beings who must have been the cloud fairies. mortals who stand upon the earth and look up at the sky cannot often distinguish these forms, but our friends were now so near to the clouds that they observed the dainty fairies very clearly. "are they real?" asked zeb, in an awed voice. "of course," replied dorothy, softly. "they are the cloud fairies." "they seem like open-work," remarked the boy, gazing intently. "if i should squeeze one, there wouldn't be anything left of it." in the open space between the clouds and the black, bubbling sea far beneath, could be seen an occasional strange bird winging its way swiftly through the air. these birds were of enormous size, and reminded zeb of the rocs he had read about in the arabian nights. they had fierce eyes and sharp talons and beaks, and the children hoped none of them would venture into the cavern. "well, i declare!" suddenly exclaimed the little wizard. "what in the world is this?" they turned around and found a man standing on the floor in the center of the cave, who bowed very politely when he saw he had attracted their attention. he was a very old man, bent nearly double; but the queerest thing about him was his white hair and beard. these were so long that they reached to his feet, and both the hair and the beard were carefully plaited into many braids, and the end of each braid fastened with a bow of colored ribbon. "where did you come from?" asked dorothy, wonderingly. "no place at all," answered the man with the braids; "that is, not recently. once i lived on top the earth, but for many years i have had my factory in this spot--half way up pyramid mountain." "are we only half way up?" enquired the boy, in a discouraged tone. "i believe so, my lad," replied the braided man. "but as i have never been in either direction, down or up, since i arrived, i cannot be positive whether it is exactly half way or not." "have you a factory in this place?" asked the wizard, who had been examining the strange personage carefully. "to be sure," said the other. "i am a great inventor, you must know, and i manufacture my products in this lonely spot." "what are your products?" enquired the wizard. "well, i make assorted flutters for flags and bunting, and a superior grade of rustles for ladies' silk gowns." "i thought so," said the wizard, with a sigh. "may we examine some of these articles?" [illustration: the cloud fairies.] [illustration: the braided man.] "yes, indeed; come into my shop, please," and the braided man turned and led the way into a smaller cave, where he evidently lived. here, on a broad shelf, were several card-board boxes of various sizes, each tied with cotton cord. "this," said the man, taking up a box and handling it gently, "contains twelve dozen rustles--enough to last any lady a year. will you buy it, my dear?" he asked, addressing dorothy. "my gown isn't silk," she said, smiling. "never mind. when you open the box the rustles will escape, whether you are wearing a silk dress or not," said the man, seriously. then he picked up another box. "in this," he continued, "are many assorted flutters. they are invaluable to make flags flutter on a still day, when there is no wind. you, sir," turning to the wizard, "ought to have this assortment. once you have tried my goods i am sure you will never be without them." "i have no money with me," said the wizard, evasively. "i do not want money," returned the braided man, "for i could not spend it in this deserted place if i had it. but i would like very much a blue hair-ribbon. you will notice my braids are tied with yellow, pink, brown, red, green, white and black; but i have no blue ribbons." "i'll get you one!" cried dorothy, who was sorry for the poor man; so she ran back to the buggy and took from her suit-case a pretty blue ribbon. it did her good to see how the braided man's eyes sparkled when he received this treasure. "you have made me very, very happy, my dear!" he exclaimed; and then he insisted on the wizard taking the box of flutters and the little girl accepting the box of rustles. "you may need them, some time," he said, "and there is really no use in my manufacturing these things unless somebody uses them." "why did you leave the surface of the earth?" enquired the wizard. "i could not help it. it is a sad story, but if you will try to restrain your tears i will tell you about it. on earth i was a manufacturer of imported holes for american swiss cheese, and i will acknowledge that i supplied a superior article, which was in great demand. also i made pores for porous plasters and high-grade holes for doughnuts and buttons. finally i invented a new adjustable post-hole, which i thought would make my fortune. i manufactured a large quantity of these post-holes, and having no room in which to store them i set them all end to end and put the top one in the ground. that made an extraordinary long hole, as you may imagine, and reached far down into the earth; and, as i leaned over it to try to see to the bottom, i lost my balance and tumbled in. unfortunately, the hole led directly into the vast space you see outside this mountain; but i managed to catch a point of rock that projected from this cavern, and so saved myself from tumbling headlong into the black waves beneath, where the tongues of flame that dart out would certainly have consumed me. here, then, i made my home; and although it is a lonely place i amuse myself making rustles and flutters, and so get along very nicely." when the braided man had completed this strange tale dorothy nearly laughed, because it was all so absurd; but the wizard tapped his forehead significantly, to indicate that he thought the poor man was crazy. so they politely bade him good day, and went back to the outer cavern to resume their journey. [illustration] chapter 11. they meet the wooden gargoyles another breathless climb brought our adventurers to a third landing where there was a rift in the mountain. on peering out all they could see was rolling banks of clouds, so thick that they obscured all else. but the travellers were obliged to rest, and while they were sitting on the rocky floor the wizard felt in his pocket and brought out the nine tiny piglets. to his delight they were now plainly visible, which proved that they had passed beyond the influence of the magical valley of voe. "why, we can see each other again!" cried one, joyfully. "yes," sighed eureka; "and i also can see you again, and the sight makes me dreadfully hungry. please, mr. wizard, may i eat just one of the fat little piglets? you'd never miss _one_ of them, i'm sure!" "what a horrid, savage beast!" exclaimed a piglet; "and after we've been such good friends, too, and played with one another!" "when i'm not hungry, i love to play with you all," said the kitten, demurely; "but when my stomach is empty it seems that nothing would fill it so nicely as a fat piglet." "and we trusted you so!" said another of the nine, reproachfully. "and thought you were respectable!" said another. "it seems we were mistaken," declared a third, looking at the kitten timorously, "no one with such murderous desires should belong to our party, i'm sure." "you see, eureka," remarked dorothy, reprovingly, "you are making yourself disliked. there are certain things proper for a kitten to eat; but i never heard of a kitten eating a pig, under _any_ cir'stances." "did you ever see such little pigs before?" asked the kitten. "they are no bigger than mice, and i'm sure mice are proper for me to eat." "it isn't the bigness, dear; its the variety," replied the girl. "these are mr. wizard's pets, just as you are my pet, and it wouldn't be any more proper for you to eat them than it would be for jim to eat you." "and that's just what i shall do if you don't let those little balls of pork alone," said jim, glaring at the kitten with his round, big eyes. "if you injure any one of them i'll chew you up instantly." the kitten looked at the horse thoughtfully, as if trying to decide whether he meant it or not. "in that case," she said, "i'll leave them alone. you haven't many teeth left, jim, but the few you have are sharp enough to make me shudder. so the piglets will be perfectly safe, hereafter, as far as i am concerned." "that is right, eureka," remarked the wizard, earnestly. "let us all be a happy family and love one another." eureka yawned and stretched herself. "i've always loved the piglets," she said; "but they don't love me." "no one can love a person he's afraid of," asserted dorothy. "if you behave, and don't scare the little pigs, i'm sure they'll grow very fond of you." the wizard now put the nine tiny ones back into his pocket and the journey was resumed. "we must be pretty near the top, now," said the boy, as they climbed wearily up the dark, winding stairway. "the country of the gurgles can't be far from the top of the earth," remarked dorothy. "it isn't very nice down here. i'd like to get home again, i'm sure." no one replied to this, because they found they needed all their breath for the climb. the stairs had become narrower and zeb and the wizard often had to help jim pull the buggy from one step to another, or keep it from jamming against the rocky walls. at last, however, a dim light appeared ahead of them, which grew clearer and stronger as they advanced. "thank goodness we're nearly there!" panted the little wizard. jim, who was in advance, saw the last stair before him and stuck his head above the rocky sides of the stairway. then he halted, ducked down and began to back up, so that he nearly fell with the buggy onto the others. "let's go down again!" he said, in his hoarse voice. "nonsense!" snapped the tired wizard. "what's the matter with you, old man?" "everything," grumbled the horse. "i've taken a look at this place, and it's no fit country for real creatures to go to. everything's dead, up there--no flesh or blood or growing thing anywhere." "never mind; we can't turn back," said dorothy; "and we don't intend to stay there, anyhow." "it's dangerous," growled jim, in a stubborn tone. "see here, my good steed," broke in the wizard, "little dorothy and i have been in many queer countries in our travels, and always escaped without harm. we've even been to the marvelous land of oz--haven't we, dorothy?--so we don't much care what the country of the gargoyles is like. go ahead, jim, and whatever happens we'll make the best of it." "all right," answered the horse; "this is your excursion, and not mine; so if you get into trouble don't blame me." with this speech he bent forward and dragged the buggy up the remaining steps. the others followed and soon they were all standing upon a broad platform and gazing at the most curious and startling sight their eyes had ever beheld. "the country of the gargoyles is all wooden!" exclaimed zeb; and so it was. the ground was sawdust and the pebbles scattered around were hard knots from trees, worn smooth in course of time. there were odd wooden houses, with carved wooden flowers in the front yards. the tree-trunks were of coarse wood, but the leaves of the trees were shavings. the patches of grass were splinters of wood, and where neither grass nor sawdust showed was a solid wooden flooring. wooden birds fluttered among the trees and wooden cows were browsing upon the wooden grass; but the most amazing things of all were the wooden people--the creatures known as gargoyles. these were very numerous, for the palace was thickly inhabited, and a large group of the queer people clustered near, gazing sharply upon the strangers who had emerged from the long spiral stairway. the gargoyles were very small of stature, being less than three feet in height. their bodies were round, their legs short and thick and their arms extraordinarily long and stout. their heads were too big for their bodies and their faces were decidedly ugly to look upon. some had long, curved noses and chins, small eyes and wide, grinning mouths. others had flat noses, protruding eyes, and ears that were shaped like those of an elephant. there were many types, indeed, scarcely two being alike; but all were equally disagreeable in appearance. the tops of their heads had no hair, but were carved into a variety of fantastic shapes, some having a row of points or balls around the top, other designs resembling flowers or vegetables, and still others having squares that looked like waffles cut criss-cross on their heads. they all wore short wooden wings which were fastened to their wooden bodies by means of wooden hinges with wooden screws, and with these wings they flew swiftly and noiselessly here and there, their legs being of little use to them. this noiseless motion was one of the most peculiar things about the gargoyles. they made no sounds at all, either in flying or trying to speak, and they conversed mainly by means of quick signals made with their wooden fingers or lips. neither was there any sound to be heard anywhere throughout the wooden country. the birds did not sing, nor did the cows moo; yet there was more than ordinary activity everywhere. the group of these queer creatures which was discovered clustered near the stairs at first remained staring and motionless, glaring with evil eyes at the intruders who had so suddenly appeared in their land. in turn the wizard and the children, the horse and the kitten, examined the gargoyles with the same silent attention. "there's going to be trouble, i'm sure," remarked the horse. "unhitch those tugs, zeb, and set me free from the buggy, so i can fight comfortably." "jim's right," sighed the wizard. "there's going to be trouble, and my sword isn't stout enough to cut up those wooden bodies--so i shall have to get out my revolvers." he got his satchel from the buggy and, opening it, took out two deadly looking revolvers that made the children shrink back in alarm just to look at. "what harm can the gurgles do?" asked dorothy. "they have no weapons to hurt us with." "each of their arms is a wooden club," answered the little man, "and i'm sure the creatures mean mischief, by the looks of their eyes. even these revolvers can merely succeed in damaging a few of their wooden bodies, and after that we will be at their mercy." "but why fight at all, in that case?" asked the girl. "so i may die with a clear conscience," returned the wizard, gravely. "it's every man's duty to do the best he knows how; and i'm going to do it." "wish i had an axe," said zeb, who by now had unhitched the horse. "if we had known we were coming we might have brought along several other useful things," responded the wizard. "but we dropped into this adventure rather unexpectedly." the gargoyles had backed away a distance when they heard the sound of talking, for although our friends had spoken in low tones their words seemed loud in the silence surrounding them. but as soon as the conversation ceased the grinning, ugly creatures arose in a flock and flew swiftly toward the strangers, their long arms stretched out before them like the bowsprits of a fleet of sail-boats. the horse had especially attracted their notice, because it was the biggest and strangest creature they had ever seen; so it became the center of their first attack. but jim was ready for them, and when he saw them coming he turned his heels toward them and began kicking out as hard as he could. crack! crash! bang! went his iron-shod hoofs against the wooden bodies of the gargoyles, and they were battered right and left with such force that they scattered like straws in the wind. but the noise and clatter seemed as dreadful to them as jim's heels, for all who were able swiftly turned and flew away to a great distance. the others picked themselves up from the ground one by one and quickly rejoined their fellows, so for a moment the horse thought he had won the fight with ease. but the wizard was not so confident. "those wooden things are impossible to hurt," he said, "and all the damage jim has done to them is to knock a few splinters from their noses and ears. that cannot make them look any uglier, i'm sure, and it is my opinion they will soon renew the attack." "what made them fly away?" asked dorothy. "the noise, of course. don't you remember how the champion escaped them by shouting his battle-cry?" "suppose we escape down the stairs, too," suggested the boy. "we have time, just now, and i'd rather face the invis'ble bears than those wooden imps." "no," returned dorothy, stoutly, "it won't do to go back, for then we would never get home. let's fight it out." "that is what i advise," said the wizard. "they haven't defeated us yet, and jim is worth a whole army." but the gargoyles were clever enough not to attack the horse the next time. they advanced in a great swarm, having been joined by many more of their kind, and they flew straight over jim's head to where the others were standing. the wizard raised one of his revolvers and fired into the throng of his enemies, and the shot resounded like a clap of thunder in that silent place. some of the wooden beings fell flat upon the ground, where they quivered and trembled in every limb; but most of them managed to wheel and escape again to a distance. zeb ran and picked up one of the gargoyles that lay nearest to him. the top of its head was carved into a crown and the wizard's bullet had struck it exactly in the left eye, which was a hard wooden knot. half of the bullet stuck in the wood and half stuck out, so it had been the jar and the sudden noise that had knocked the creature down, more than the fact that it was really hurt. before this crowned gargoyle had recovered himself zeb had wound a strap several times around its body, confining its wings and arms so that it could not move. then, having tied the wooden creature securely, the boy buckled the strap and tossed his prisoner into the buggy. by that time the others had all retired. [illustration] chapter 12. a wonderful escape for a while the enemy hesitated to renew the attack. then a few of them advanced until another shot from the wizard's revolver made them retreat. "that's fine," said zeb. "we've got 'em on the run now, sure enough." "but only for a time," replied the wizard, shaking his head gloomily. "these revolvers are good for six shots each, but when those are gone we shall be helpless." the gargoyles seemed to realize this, for they sent a few of their band time after time to attack the strangers and draw the fire from the little man's revolvers. in this way none of them was shocked by the dreadful report more than once, for the main band kept far away and each time a new company was sent into the battle. when the wizard had fired all of his twelve bullets he had caused no damage to the enemy except to stun a few by the noise, and so he was no nearer to victory than in the beginning of the fray. [illustration: the wizard fired into the throng.] "what shall we do now?" asked dorothy, anxiously. "let's yell--all together," said zeb. "and fight at the same time," added the wizard. "we will get near jim, so that he can help us, and each one must take some weapon and do the best he can. i'll use my sword, although it isn't much account in this affair. dorothy must take her parasol and open it suddenly when the wooden folks attack her. i haven't anything for you, zeb." "i'll use the king," said the boy, and pulled his prisoner out of the buggy. the bound gargoyle's arms extended far out beyond its head, so by grasping its wrists zeb found the king made a very good club. the boy was strong for one of his years, having always worked upon a farm; so he was likely to prove more dangerous to the enemy than the wizard. when the next company of gargoyles advanced, our adventurers began yelling as if they had gone mad. even the kitten gave a dreadfully shrill scream and at the same time jim the cab-horse neighed loudly. this daunted the enemy for a time, but the defenders were soon out of breath. perceiving this, as well as the fact that there were no more of the awful "bangs" to come from the revolvers, the gargoyles advanced in a swarm as thick as bees, so that the air was filled with them. dorothy squatted upon the ground and put up her parasol, which nearly covered her and proved a great protection. the wizard's sword-blade snapped into a dozen pieces at the first blow he struck against the wooden people. zeb pounded away with the gargoyle he was using as a club until he had knocked down dozens of foes; but at the last they clustered so thickly about him that he no longer had room in which to swing his arms. the horse performed some wonderful kicking and even eureka assisted when she leaped bodily upon the gargoyles and scratched and bit at them like a wild-cat. but all this bravery amounted to nothing at all. the wooden things wound their long arms around zeb and the wizard and held them fast. dorothy was captured in the same way, and numbers of the gargoyles clung to jim's legs, so weighting him down that the poor beast was helpless. eureka made a desperate dash to escape and scampered along the ground like a streak; but a grinning gargoyle flew after her and grabbed her before she had gone very far. all of them expected nothing less than instant death; but to their surprise the wooden creatures flew into the air with them and bore them far away, over miles and miles of wooden country, until they came to a wooden city. the houses of this city had many corners, being square and six-sided and eight-sided. they were tower-like in shape and the best of them seemed old and weather-worn; yet all were strong and substantial. to one of these houses which had neither doors nor windows, but only one broad opening far up underneath the roof, the prisoners were brought by their captors. the gargoyles roughly pushed them into the opening, where there was a platform, and then flew away and left them. as they had no wings the strangers could not fly away, and if they jumped down from such a height they would surely be killed. the creatures had sense enough to reason that way, and the only mistake they made was in supposing the earth people were unable to overcome such ordinary difficulties. jim was brought with the others, although it took a good many gargoyles to carry the big beast through the air and land him on the high platform, and the buggy was thrust in after him because it belonged to the party and the wooden folks had no idea what it was used for or whether it was alive or not. when eureka's captor had thrown the kitten after the others the last gargoyle silently disappeared, leaving our friends to breathe freely once more. "what an awful fight!" said dorothy, catching her breath in little gasps. "oh, i don't know," purred eureka, smoothing her ruffled fur with her paw; "we didn't manage to hurt anybody, and nobody managed to hurt us." "thank goodness we are together again, even if we are prisoners," sighed the little girl. "i wonder why they didn't kill us on the spot," remarked zeb, who had lost his king in the struggle. "they are probably keeping us for some ceremony," the wizard answered, reflectively; "but there is no doubt they intend to kill us as dead as possible in a short time." "as dead as poss'ble would be pretty dead, wouldn't it?" asked dorothy. "yes, my dear. but we have no need to worry about that just now. let us examine our prison and see what it is like." the space underneath the roof, where they stood, permitted them to see on all sides of the tall building, and they looked with much curiosity at the city spread out beneath them. everything visible was made of wood, and the scene seemed stiff and extremely unnatural. from their platform a stair descended into the house, and the children and the wizard explored it after lighting a lantern to show them the way. several stories of empty rooms rewarded their search, but nothing more; so after a time they came back to the platform again. had there been any doors or windows in the lower rooms, or had not the boards of the house been so thick and stout, escape would have been easy; but to remain down below was like being in a cellar or the hold of a ship, and they did not like the darkness or the damp smell. in this country, as in all others they had visited underneath the earth's surface, there was no night, a constant and strong light coming from some unknown source. looking out, they could see into some of the houses near them, where there were open windows in abundance, and were able to mark the forms of the wooden gargoyles moving about in their dwellings. "this seems to be their time of rest," observed the wizard. "all people need rest, even if they are made of wood, and as there is no night here they select a certain time of the day in which to sleep or doze." "i feel sleepy myself," remarked zeb, yawning. "why, where's eureka?" cried dorothy, suddenly. they all looked around, but the kitten was no place to be seen. "she's gone out for a walk," said jim, gruffly. "where? on the roof?" asked the girl. "no; she just dug her claws into the wood and climbed down the sides of this house to the ground." "she couldn't climb _down_, jim," said dorothy. "to climb means to go up." "who said so?" demanded the horse. "my school-teacher said so; and she knows a lot, jim." "to 'climb down' is sometimes used as a figure of speech," remarked the wizard. "well, this was a figure of a cat," said jim, "and she _went_ down, anyhow, whether she climbed or crept." "dear me! how careless eureka is," exclaimed the girl, much distressed. "the gurgles will get her, sure!" "ha, ha!" chuckled the old cab-horse; "they're not 'gurgles,' little maid; they're gargoyles." "never mind; they'll get eureka, whatever they're called." "no they won't," said the voice of the kitten, and eureka herself crawled over the edge of the platform and sat down quietly upon the floor. "wherever have you been, eureka?" asked dorothy, sternly. "watching the wooden folks. they're too funny for anything, dorothy. just now they are all going to bed, and--what do you think?--they unhook the hinges of their wings and put them in a corner until they wake up again." "what, the hinges?" "no; the wings." "that," said zeb, "explains why this house is used by them for a prison. if any of the gargoyles act badly, and have to be put in jail, they are brought here and their wings unhooked and taken away from them until they promise to be good." the wizard had listened intently to what eureka had said. "i wish we had some of those loose wings," he said. "could we fly with them?" asked dorothy. "i think so. if the gargoyles can unhook the wings then the power to fly lies in the wings themselves, and not in the wooden bodies of the people who wear them. so, if we had the wings, we could probably fly as well as they do--at least while we are in their country and under the spell of its magic." "but how would it help us to be able to fly?" questioned the girl. "come here," said the little man, and took her to one of the corners of the building. "do you see that big rock standing on the hillside yonder?" he continued, pointing with his finger. "yes; it's a good way off, but i can see it," she replied. "well, inside that rock, which reaches up into the clouds, is an archway very much like the one we entered when we climbed the spiral stairway from the valley of voe. i'll get my spy-glass, and then you can see it more plainly." he fetched a small but powerful telescope, which had been in his satchel, and by its aid the little girl clearly saw the opening. "where does it lead to?" she asked. "that i cannot tell," said the wizard; "but we cannot now be far below the earth's surface, and that entrance may lead to another stairway that will bring us on top of our world again, where we belong. so, if we had the wings, and could escape the gargoyles, we might fly to that rock and be saved." "i'll get you the wings," said zeb, who had thoughtfully listened to all this. "that is, if the kitten will show me where they are." "but how can you get down?" enquired the girl, wonderingly. for answer zeb began to unfasten jim's harness, strap by strap, and to buckle one piece to another until he had made a long leather strip that would reach to the ground. [illustration: the fight with the gargoyles.] "i can climb down that, all right," he said. "no you can't," remarked jim, with a twinkle in his round eyes. "you may _go_ down, but you can only _climb_ up." "well, i'll climb up when i get back, then," said the boy, with a laugh. "now, eureka, you'll have to show me the way to those wings." "you must be very quiet," warned the kitten; "for if you make the least noise the gargoyles will wake up. they can hear a pin drop." "i'm not going to drop a pin," said zeb. he had fastened one end of the strap to a wheel of the buggy, and now he let the line dangle over the side of the house. "be careful," cautioned dorothy, earnestly. "i will," said the boy, and let himself slide over the edge. the girl and the wizard leaned over and watched zeb work his way carefully downward, hand over hand, until he stood upon the ground below. eureka clung with her claws to the wooden side of the house and let herself down easily. then together they crept away to enter the low doorway of a neighboring dwelling. the watchers waited in breathless suspense until the boy again appeared, his arms now full of the wooden wings. when he came to where the strap was hanging he tied the wings all in a bunch to the end of the line, and the wizard drew them up. then the line was let down again for zeb to climb up by. eureka quickly followed him, and soon they were all standing together upon the platform, with eight of the much prized wooden wings beside them. the boy was no longer sleepy, but full of energy and excitement. he put the harness together again and hitched jim to the buggy. then, with the wizard's help, he tried to fasten some of the wings to the old cab-horse. this was no easy task, because half of each one of the hinges of the wings was missing, it being still fastened to the body of the gargoyle who had used it. however, the wizard went once more to his satchel--which seemed to contain a surprising variety of odds and ends--and brought out a spool of strong wire, by means of which they managed to fasten four of the wings to jim's harness, two near his head and two near his tail. they were a bit wiggley, but secure enough if only the harness held together. the other four wings were then fastened to the buggy, two on each side, for the buggy must bear the weight of the children and the wizard as it flew through the air. [illustration: jim fluttered and floundered through the air.] these preparations had not consumed a great deal of time, but the sleeping gargoyles were beginning to wake up and move around, and soon some of them would be hunting for their missing wings. so the prisoners resolved to leave their prison at once. they mounted into the buggy, dorothy holding eureka safe in her lap. the girl sat in the middle of the seat, with zeb and the wizard on each side of her. when all was ready the boy shook the reins and said: "fly away, jim!" "which wings must i flop first?" asked the cab-horse, undecidedly. "flop them all together," suggested the wizard. "some of them are crooked," objected the horse. "never mind; we will steer with the wings on the buggy," said zeb. "just you light out and make for that rock, jim; and don't waste any time about it, either." so the horse gave a groan, flopped its four wings all together, and flew away from the platform. dorothy was a little anxious about the success of their trip, for the way jim arched his long neck and spread out his bony legs as he fluttered and floundered through the air was enough to make anybody nervous. he groaned, too, as if frightened, and the wings creaked dreadfully because the wizard had forgotten to oil them; but they kept fairly good time with the wings of the buggy, so that they made excellent progress from the start. the only thing that anyone could complain of with justice was the fact that they wobbled first up and then down, as if the road were rocky instead of being as smooth as the air could make it. the main point, however, was that they flew, and flew swiftly, if a bit unevenly, toward the rock for which they had headed. some of the gargoyles saw them, presently, and lost no time in collecting a band to pursue the escaping prisoners; so that when dorothy happened to look back she saw them coming in a great cloud that almost darkened the sky. [illustration] chapter 13. the den of the dragonettes our friends had a good start and were able to maintain it, for with their eight wings they could go just as fast as could the gargoyles. all the way to the great rock the wooden people followed them, and when jim finally alighted at the mouth of the cavern the pursuers were still some distance away. "but, i'm afraid they'll catch us yet," said dorothy, greatly excited. "no; we must stop them," declared the wizard. "quick zeb, help me pull off these wooden wings!" they tore off the wings, for which they had no further use, and the wizard piled them in a heap just outside the entrance to the cavern. then he poured over them all the kerosene oil that was left in his oil-can, and lighting a match set fire to the pile. the flames leaped up at once and the bonfire began to smoke and roar and crackle just as the great army of wooden gargoyles arrived. the creatures drew back at once, being filled with fear and horror; for such a dreadful thing as a fire they had never before known in all the history of their wooden land. inside the archway were several doors, leading to different rooms built into the mountain, and zeb and the wizard lifted these wooden doors from their hinges and tossed them all on the flames. "that will prove a barrier for some time to come," said the little man, smiling pleasantly all over his wrinkled face at the success of their stratagem. "perhaps the flames will set fire to all that miserable wooden country, and if it does the loss will be very small and the gargoyles never will be missed. but come, my children; let us explore the mountain and discover which way we must go in order to escape from this cavern, which is getting to be almost as hot as a bake-oven." to their disappointment there was within this mountain no regular flight of steps by means of which they could mount to the earth's surface. a sort of inclined tunnel led upward for a way, and they found the floor of it both rough and steep. then a sudden turn brought them to a narrow gallery where the buggy could not pass. this delayed and bothered them for a while, because they did not wish to leave the buggy behind them. it carried their baggage and was useful to ride in wherever there were good roads, and since it had accompanied them so far in their travels they felt it their duty to preserve it. so zeb and the wizard set to work and took off the wheels and the top, and then they put the buggy edgewise, so it would take up the smallest space. in this position they managed, with the aid of the patient cab-horse, to drag the vehicle through the narrow part of the passage. it was not a great distance, fortunately, and when the path grew broader they put the buggy together again and proceeded more comfortably. but the road was nothing more than a series of rifts or cracks in the mountain, and it went zig-zag in every direction, slanting first up and then down until they were puzzled as to whether they were any nearer to the top of the earth than when they had started, hours before. "anyhow," said dorothy, "we've 'scaped those awful gurgles, and that's _one_ comfort!" [illustration: "why it's a dragon!"] "probably the gargoyles are still busy trying to put out the fire," returned the wizard. "but even if they succeeded in doing that it would be very difficult for them to fly amongst these rocks; so i am sure we need fear them no longer." once in a while they would come to a deep crack in the floor, which made the way quite dangerous; but there was still enough oil in the lanterns to give them light, and the cracks were not so wide but that they were able to jump over them. sometimes they had to climb over heaps of loose rock, where jim could scarcely drag the buggy. at such times dorothy, zeb and the wizard all pushed behind, and lifted the wheels over the roughest places; so they managed, by dint of hard work, to keep going. but the little party was both weary and discouraged when at last, on turning a sharp corner, the wanderers found themselves in a vast cave arching high over their heads and having a smooth, level floor. the cave was circular in shape, and all around its edge, near to the ground, appeared groups of dull yellow lights, two of them being always side by side. these were motionless at first, but soon began to flicker more brightly and to sway slowly from side to side and then up and down. "what sort of a place is this?" asked the boy, trying to see more clearly through the gloom. "i cannot imagine, i'm sure," answered the wizard, also peering about. "woogh!" snarled eureka, arching her back until her hair stood straight on end; "it's a den of alligators, or crocodiles, or some other dreadful creatures! don't you see their terrible eyes?" "eureka sees better in the dark than we can," whispered dorothy. "tell us, dear, what do the creatures look like?" she asked, addressing her pet. "i simply can't describe 'em," answered the kitten, shuddering. "their eyes are like pie-plates and their mouths like coal-scuttles. but their bodies don't seem very big." "where are they?" enquired the girl. "they are in little pockets all around the edge of this cavern. oh, dorothy--you can't imagine what horrid things they are! they're uglier than the gargoyles." "tut-tut! be careful how you criticise your neighbors," spoke a rasping voice near by. "as a matter of fact you are rather ugly-looking creatures yourselves, and i'm sure mother has often told us we were the loveliest and prettiest things in all the world." hearing these words our friends turned in the direction of the sound, and the wizard held his lanterns so that their light would flood one of the little pockets in the rock. "why, it's a dragon!" he exclaimed. "no," answered the owner of the big yellow eyes which were blinking at them so steadily; "you are wrong about that. we hope to grow to be dragons some day, but just now we're only dragonettes." "what's that?" asked dorothy, gazing fearfully at the great scaley head, the yawning mouth and the big eyes. "young dragons, of course; but we are not allowed to call ourselves real dragons until we get our full growth," was the reply. "the big dragons are very proud, and don't think children amount to much; but mother says that some day we will all be very powerful and important." "where is your mother?" asked the wizard, anxiously looking around. "she has gone up to the top of the earth to hunt for our dinner. if she has good luck she will bring us an elephant, or a brace of rhinoceri, or perhaps a few dozen people to stay our hunger." "oh; are you hungry?" enquired dorothy, drawing back. "very," said the dragonette, snapping its jaws. "and--and--do you eat people?" "to be sure, when we can get them. but they've been very scarce for a few years and we usually have to be content with elephants or buffaloes," answered the creature, in a regretful tone. "how old are you?" enquired zeb, who stared at the yellow eyes as if fascinated. "quite young, i grieve to say; and all of my brothers and sisters that you see here are practically my own age. if i remember rightly, we were sixty-six years old the day before yesterday." "but that isn't young!" cried dorothy, in amazement. "no?" drawled the dragonette; "it seems to me very babyish." "how old is your mother?" asked the girl. "mother's about two thousand years old; but she carelessly lost track of her age a few centuries ago and skipped several hundreds. she's a little fussy, you know, and afraid of growing old, being a widow and still in her prime." "i should think she would be," agreed dorothy. then, after a moment's thought, she asked: "are we friends or enemies? i mean, will you be good to us, or do you intend to eat us?" "as for that, we dragonettes would love to eat you, my child; but unfortunately mother has tied all our tails around the rocks at the back of our individual caves, so that we can not crawl out to get you. if you choose to come nearer we will make a mouthful of you in a wink; but unless you do you will remain quite safe." there was a regretful accent in the creature's voice, and at the words all the other dragonettes sighed dismally. dorothy felt relieved. presently she asked: "why did your mother tie your tails?" "oh, she is sometimes gone for several weeks on her hunting trips, and if we were not tied we would crawl all over the mountain and fight with each other and get into a lot of mischief. mother usually knows what she is about, but she made a mistake this time; for you are sure to escape us unless you come too near, and you probably won't do that." "no, indeed!" said the little girl. "we don't wish to be eaten by such awful beasts." "permit me to say," returned the dragonette, "that you are rather impolite to call us names, knowing that we cannot resent your insults. we consider ourselves very beautiful in appearance, for mother has told us so, and she knows. and we are of an excellent family and have a pedigree that i challenge any humans to equal, as it extends back about twenty thousand years, to the time of the famous green dragon of atlantis, who lived in a time when humans had not yet been created. can you match that pedigree, little girl?" "well," said dorothy, "i was born on a farm in kansas, and i guess that's being just as 'spectable and haughty as living in a cave with your tail tied to a rock. if it isn't i'll have to stand it, that's all." "tastes differ," murmured the dragonette, slowly drooping its scaley eyelids over its yellow eyes, until they looked like half-moons. being reassured by the fact that the creatures could not crawl out of their rock-pockets, the children and the wizard now took time to examine them more closely. the heads of the dragonettes were as big as barrels and covered with hard, greenish scales that glittered brightly under the light of the lanterns. their front legs, which grew just back of their heads, were also strong and big; but their bodies were smaller around than their heads, and dwindled away in a long line until their tails were slim as a shoe-string. dorothy thought, if it had taken them sixty-six years to grow to this size, that it would be fully a hundred years more before they could hope to call themselves dragons, and that seemed like a good while to wait to grow up. "it occurs to me," said the wizard, "that we ought to get out of this place before the mother dragon comes back." "don't hurry," called one of the dragonettes; "mother will be glad to meet you, i'm sure." "you may be right," replied the wizard, "but we're a little particular about associating with strangers. will you kindly tell us which way your mother went to get on top the earth?" "that is not a fair question to ask us," declared another dragonette. "for, if we told you truly, you might escape us altogether; and if we told you an untruth we would be naughty and deserve to be punished." "then," decided dorothy, "we must find our way out the best we can." they circled all around the cavern, keeping a good distance away from the blinking yellow eyes of the dragonettes, and presently discovered that there were two paths leading from the wall opposite to the place where they had entered. they selected one of these at a venture and hurried along it as fast as they could go, for they had no idea when the mother dragon would be back and were very anxious not to make her acquaintance. [illustration] chapter 14. ozma uses the magic belt for a considerable distance the way led straight upward in a gentle incline, and the wanderers made such good progress that they grew hopeful and eager, thinking they might see sunshine at any minute. but at length they came unexpectedly upon a huge rock that shut off the passage and blocked them from proceeding a single step farther. this rock was separate from the rest of the mountain and was in motion, turning slowly around and around as if upon a pivot. when first they came to it there was a solid wall before them; but presently it revolved until there was exposed a wide, smooth path across it to the other side. this appeared so unexpectedly that they were unprepared to take advantage of it at first, and allowed the rocky wall to swing around again before they had decided to pass over. but they knew now that there was a means of escape and so waited patiently until the path appeared for the second time. the children and the wizard rushed across the moving rock and sprang into the passage beyond, landing safely though a little out of breath. jim the cab-horse came last, and the rocky wall almost caught him; for just as he leaped to the floor of the further passage the wall swung across it and a loose stone that the buggy wheels knocked against fell into the narrow crack where the rock turned, and became wedged there. they heard a crunching, grinding sound, a loud snap, and the turn-table came to a stop with its broadest surface shutting off the path from which they had come. "never mind," said zeb, "we don't want to get back, anyhow." "i'm not so sure of that," returned dorothy. "the mother dragon may come down and catch us here." "it is possible," agreed the wizard, "if this proves to be the path she usually takes. but i have been examining this tunnel, and i do not see any signs of so large a beast having passed through it." "then we're all right," said the girl, "for if the dragon went the other way she can't poss'bly get to us now." "of course not, my dear. but there is another thing to consider. the mother dragon probably knows the road to the earth's surface, and if she went the other way then we have come the wrong way," said the wizard, thoughtfully. "dear me!" cried dorothy. "that would be unlucky, wouldn't it?" "very. unless this passage also leads to the top of the earth," said zeb. "for my part, if we manage to get out of here i'll be glad it isn't the way the dragon goes." "so will i," returned dorothy. "it's enough to have your pedigree flung in your face by those saucy dragonettes. no one knows what the mother might do." they now moved on again, creeping slowly up another steep incline. the lanterns were beginning to grow dim, and the wizard poured the remaining oil from one into the other, so that the one light would last longer. but their journey was almost over, for in a short time they reached a small cave from which there was no further outlet. they did not realize their ill fortune at first, for their hearts were gladdened by the sight of a ray of sunshine coming through a small crack in the roof of the cave, far overhead. that meant that their world--the real world--was not very far away, and that the succession of perilous adventures they had encountered had at last brought them near the earth's surface, which meant home to them. but when the adventurers looked more carefully around them they discovered that they were in a strong prison from which there was no hope of escape. "but we're _almost_ on earth again," cried dorothy, "for there is the sun--the most _beau'ful_ sun that shines!" and she pointed eagerly at the crack in the distant roof. "almost on earth isn't being there," said the kitten, in a discontented tone. "it wouldn't be possible for even me to get up to that crack--or through it if i got there." "it appears that the path ends here," announced the wizard, gloomily. "and there is no way to go back," added zeb, with a low whistle of perplexity. "i was sure it would come to this, in the end," remarked the old cab-horse. "folks don't fall into the middle of the earth and then get back again to tell of their adventures--not in real life. and the whole thing has been unnatural because that cat and i are both able to talk your language, and to understand the words you say." "and so can the nine tiny piglets," added eureka. "don't forget them, for i may have to eat them, after all." "i've heard animals talk before," said dorothy, "and no harm came of it." "were you ever before shut up in a cave, far under the earth, with no way of getting out?" enquired the horse, seriously. "no," answered dorothy. "but don't you lose heart, jim, for i'm sure this isn't the end of our story, by any means." the reference to the piglets reminded the wizard that his pets had not enjoyed much exercise lately, and must be tired of their prison in his pocket. so he sat down upon the floor of the cave, brought the piglets out one by one, and allowed them to run around as much as they pleased. "my dears," he said to them, "i'm afraid i've got you into a lot of trouble, and that you will never again be able to leave this gloomy cave." "what's wrong?" asked a piglet. "we've been in the dark quite a while, and you may as well explain what has happened." the wizard told them of the misfortune that had overtaken the wanderers. "well," said another piglet, "you are a wizard, are you not?" "i am," replied the little man. "then you can do a few wizzes and get us out of this hole," declared the tiny one, with much confidence. "i could if i happened to be a real wizard," returned the master sadly. "but i'm not, my piggy-wees; i'm a humbug wizard." "nonsense!" cried several of the piglets, together. "you can ask dorothy," said the little man, in an injured tone. "it's true enough," returned the girl, earnestly. "our friend oz is merely a humbug wizard, for he once proved it to me. he can do several very wonderful things--if he knows how. but he can't wiz a single thing if he hasn't the tools and machinery to work with." "thank you, my dear, for doing me justice," responded the wizard, gratefully. "to be accused of being a real wizard, when i'm not, is a slander i will not tamely submit to. but i am one of the greatest humbug wizards that ever lived, and you will realize this when we have all starved together and our bones are scattered over the floor of this lonely cave." "i don't believe we'll realize anything, when it comes to that," remarked dorothy, who had been deep in thought. "but i'm not going to scatter my bones just yet, because i need them, and you prob'ly need yours, too." "we are helpless to escape," sighed the wizard. "_we_ may be helpless," answered dorothy, smiling at him, "but there are others who can do more than we can. cheer up, friends. i'm sure ozma will help us." "ozma!" exclaimed the wizard. "who is ozma?" "the girl that rules the marvelous land of oz," was the reply. "she's a friend of mine, for i met her in the land of ev, not long ago, and went to oz with her." "for the second time?" asked the wizard, with great interest. "yes. the first time i went to oz i found you there, ruling the emerald city. after you went up in a balloon, and escaped us, i got back to kansas by means of a pair of magical silver shoes." "i remember those shoes," said the little man, nodding. "they once belonged to the wicked witch. have you them here with you?" "no; i lost them somewhere in the air," explained the child. "but the second time i went to the land of oz i owned the nome king's magic belt, which is much more powerful than were the silver shoes." "where is that magic belt?" enquired the wizard, who had listened with great interest. "ozma has it; for its powers won't work in a common, ordinary country like the united states. anyone in a fairy country like the land of oz can do anything with it; so i left it with my friend the princess ozma, who used it to wish me in australia with uncle henry." "and were you?" asked zeb, astonished at what he heard. "of course; in just a jiffy. and ozma has an enchanted picture hanging in her room that shows her the exact scene where any of her friends may be, at any time she chooses. all she has to do is to say: 'i wonder what so-and-so is doing,' and at once the picture shows where her friend is and what the friend is doing. that's _real_ magic, mr. wizard; isn't it? well, every day at four o'clock ozma has promised to look at me in that picture, and if i am in need of help i am to make her a certain sign and she will put on the nome king's magic belt and wish me to be with her in oz." "do you mean that princess ozma will see this cave in her enchanted picture, and see all of us here, and what we are doing?" demanded zeb. "of course; when it is four o'clock," she replied, with a laugh at his startled expression. "and when you make a sign she will bring you to her in the land of oz?" continued the boy. "that's it, exactly; by means of the magic belt." "then," said the wizard, "you will be saved, little dorothy; and i am very glad of it. the rest of us will die much more cheerfully when we know you have escaped our sad fate." "_i_ won't die cheerfully!" protested the kitten. "there's nothing cheerful about dying that i could ever see, although they say a cat has nine lives, and so must die nine times." "have you ever died yet?" enquired the boy. "no, and i'm not anxious to begin," said eureka. "don't worry, dear," dorothy exclaimed, "i'll hold you in my arms, and take you with me." "take us, too!" cried the nine tiny piglets, all in one breath. "perhaps i can," answered dorothy. "i'll try." "couldn't you manage to hold me in your arms?" asked the cab-horse. dorothy laughed. "i'll do better than that," she promised, "for i can easily save you all, once i am myself in the land of oz." "how?" they asked. "by using the magic belt. all i need do is to wish you with me, and there you'll be--safe in the royal palace!" "good!" cried zeb. "i built that palace, and the emerald city, too," remarked the wizard, in a thoughtful tone, "and i'd like to see them again, for i was very happy among the munchkins and winkies and quadlings and gillikins." "who are they?" asked the boy. "the four nations that inhabit the land of oz," was the reply. "i wonder if they would treat me nicely if i went there again." "of course they would!" declared dorothy. "they are still proud of their former wizard, and often speak of you kindly." "do you happen to know whatever became of the tin woodman and the scarecrow?" he enquired. "they live in oz yet," said the girl, "and are very important people." "and the cowardly lion?" "oh, he lives there too, with his friend the hungry tiger; and billina is there, because she liked the place better than kansas, and wouldn't go with me to australia." "i'm afraid i don't know the hungry tiger and billina," said the wizard, shaking his head. "is billina a girl?" "no; she's a yellow hen, and a great friend of mine. you're sure to like billina, when you know her," asserted dorothy. "your friends sound like a menagerie," remarked zeb, uneasily. "couldn't you wish me in some safer place than oz." "don't worry," replied the girl. "you'll just love the folks in oz, when you get acquainted. what time is it, mr. wizard?" the little man looked at his watch--a big silver one that he carried in his vest pocket. "half-past three," he said. "then we must wait for half an hour," she continued; "but it won't take long, after that, to carry us all to the emerald city." they sat silently thinking for a time. then jim suddenly asked: "are there any horses in oz?" "only one," replied dorothy, "and he's a sawhorse." "a what?" "a sawhorse. princess ozma once brought him to life with a witch-powder, when she was a boy." "was ozma once a boy?" asked zeb, wonderingly. "yes; a wicked witch enchanted her, so she could not rule her kingdom. but she's a girl now, and the sweetest, loveliest girl in all the world." "a sawhorse is a thing they saw boards on," remarked jim, with a sniff. "it is when it's not alive," acknowledged the girl. "but this sawhorse can trot as fast as you can, jim; and he's very wise, too." "pah! i'll race the miserable wooden donkey any day in the week!" cried the cab-horse. dorothy did not reply to that. she felt that jim would know more about the saw-horse later on. the time dragged wearily enough to the eager watchers, but finally the wizard announced that four o'clock had arrived, and dorothy caught up the kitten and began to make the signal that had been agreed upon to the far-away, invisible ozma. "nothing seems to happen," said zeb, doubtfully. "oh, we must give ozma time to put on the magic belt," replied the girl. she had scarcely spoken the words when she suddenly disappeared from the cave, and with her went the kitten. there had been no sound of any kind and no warning. one moment dorothy sat beside them with the kitten in her lap, and a moment later the horse, the piglets, the wizard and the boy were all that remained in the underground prison. [illustration: dorothy made the signal.] "i believe we will soon follow her," announced the wizard, in a tone of great relief; "for i know something about the magic of the fairyland that is called the land of oz. let us be ready, for we may be sent for any minute." he put the piglets safely away in his pocket again and then he and zeb got into the buggy and sat expectantly upon the seat. "will it hurt?" asked the boy, in a voice that trembled a little. "not at all," replied the wizard. "it will all happen as quick as a wink." and that was the way it did happen. the cab-horse gave a nervous start and zeb began to rub his eyes to make sure he was not asleep. for they were in the streets of a beautiful emerald-green city, bathed in a grateful green light that was especially pleasing to their eyes, and surrounded by merry faced people in gorgeous green-and-gold costumes of many extraordinary designs. before them were the jewel-studded gates of a magnificent palace, and now the gates opened slowly as if inviting them to enter the courtyard, where splendid flowers were blooming and pretty fountains shot their silvery sprays into the air. zeb shook the reins to rouse the cab-horse from his stupor of amazement, for the people were beginning to gather around and stare at the strangers. "gid-dap!" cried the boy, and at the word jim slowly trotted into the courtyard and drew the buggy along the jewelled driveway to the great entrance of the royal palace. [illustration] chapter 15. old friends are reunited many servants dressed in handsome uniforms stood ready to welcome the new arrivals, and when the wizard got out of the buggy a pretty girl in a green gown cried out in surprise: "why, it's oz, the wonderful wizard, come back again!" the little man looked at her closely and then took both the maiden's hands in his and shook them cordially. "on my word," he exclaimed, "it's little jellia jamb--as pert and pretty as ever!" "why not, mr. wizard?" asked jellia, bowing low. "but i'm afraid you cannot rule the emerald city, as you used to, because we now have a beautiful princess whom everyone loves dearly." "and the people will not willingly part with her," added a tall soldier in a captain-general's uniform. the wizard turned to look at him. "did you not wear green whiskers at one time?" he asked. "yes," said the soldier; "but i shaved them off long ago, and since then i have risen from a private to be the chief general of the royal armies." "that's nice," said the little man. "but i assure you, my good people, that i do not wish to rule the emerald city," he added, earnestly. "in that case you are very welcome!" cried all the servants, and it pleased the wizard to note the respect with which the royal retainers bowed before him. his fame had not been forgotten in the land of oz, by any means. "where is dorothy?" enquired zeb, anxiously, as he left the buggy and stood beside his friend the little wizard. "she is with the princess ozma, in the private rooms of the palace," replied jellia jamb. "but she has ordered me to make you welcome and to show you to your apartments." the boy looked around him with wondering eyes. such magnificence and wealth as was displayed in this palace was more than he had ever dreamed of, and he could scarcely believe that all the gorgeous glitter was real and not tinsel. "what's to become of me?" asked the horse, uneasily. he had seen considerable of life in the cities in his younger days, and knew that this regal palace was no place for him. it perplexed even jellia jamb, for a time, to know what to do with the animal. the green maiden was much astonished at the sight of so unusual a creature, for horses were unknown in this land; but those who lived in the emerald city were apt to be astonished by queer sights, so after inspecting the cab-horse and noting the mild look in his big eyes the girl decided not to be afraid of him. "there are no stables here," said the wizard, "unless some have been built since i went away." "we have never needed them before," answered jellia; "for the sawhorse lives in a room of the palace, being much smaller and more natural in appearance than this great beast you have brought with you." "do you mean that i'm a freak?" asked jim, angrily. "oh, no," she hastened to say, "there may be many more like you in the place you came from, but in oz any horse but a sawhorse is unusual." this mollified jim a little, and after some thought the green maiden decided to give the cab-horse a room in the palace, such a big building having many rooms that were seldom in use. so zeb unharnessed jim, and several of the servants then led the horse around to the rear, where they selected a nice large apartment that he could have all to himself. then jellia said to the wizard: "your own room--which was back of the great throne room--has been vacant ever since you left us. would you like it again?" "yes, indeed!" returned the little man. "it will seem like being at home again, for i lived in that room for many, many years." he knew the way to it, and a servant followed him, carrying his satchel. zeb was also escorted to a room--so grand and beautiful that he almost feared to sit in the chairs or lie upon the bed, lest he might dim their splendor. in the closets he discovered many fancy costumes of rich velvets and brocades, and one of the attendants told him to dress himself in any of the clothes that pleased him and to be prepared to dine with the princess and dorothy in an hour's time. opening from the chamber was a fine bath-room having a marble tub with perfumed water; so the boy, still dazed by the novelty of his surroundings, indulged in a good bath and then selected a maroon velvet costume with silver buttons to replace his own soiled and much worn clothing. there were silk stockings and soft leather slippers with diamond buckles to accompany his new costume, and when he was fully dressed zeb looked much more dignified and imposing than ever before in his life. he was all ready when an attendant came to escort him to the presence of the princess; he followed bashfully and was ushered into a room more dainty and attractive than it was splendid. here he found dorothy seated beside a young girl so marvelously beautiful that the boy stopped suddenly with a gasp of admiration. but dorothy sprang up and ran to seize her friend's hand, drawing him impulsively toward the lovely princess, who smiled most graciously upon her guest. then the wizard entered, and his presence relieved the boy's embarrassment. the little man was clothed in black velvet, with many sparkling emerald ornaments decorating his breast; but his bald head and wrinkled features made him appear more amusing than impressive. ozma had been quite curious to meet the famous man who had built the emerald city and united the munchkins, gillikins, quadlings and winkies into one people; so when they were all four seated at the dinner table the princess said: "please tell me, mr. wizard, whether you called yourself oz after this great country, or whether you believe my country is called oz after you. it is a matter that i have long wished to enquire about, because you are of a strange race and my own name is ozma. no one, i am sure, is better able to explain this mystery than you." "that is true," answered the little wizard; "therefore it will give me pleasure to explain my connection with your country. in the first place, i must tell you that i was born in omaha, and my father, who was a politician, named me oscar zoroaster phadrig isaac norman henkle emmannuel ambroise diggs, diggs being the last name because he could think of no more to go before it. taken altogether, it was a dreadfully long name to weigh down a poor innocent child, and one of the hardest lessons i ever learned was to remember my own name. when i grew up i just called myself o. z., because the other initials were p-i-n-h-e-a-d; and that spelled 'pinhead,' which was a reflection on my intelligence." "surely no one could blame you for cutting your name short," said ozma, sympathetically. "but didn't you cut it almost too short?" "perhaps so," replied the wizard. "when a young man i ran away from home and joined a circus. i used to call myself a wizard, and do tricks of ventriloquism." "what does that mean?" asked the princess. "throwing my voice into any object i pleased, to make it appear that the object was speaking instead of me. also i began to make balloon ascensions. on my balloon and on all the other articles i used in the circus i painted the two initials: 'o. z.', to show that those things belonged to me. "one day my balloon ran away with me and brought me across the deserts to this beautiful country. when the people saw me come from the sky they naturally thought me some superior creature, and bowed down before me. i told them i was a wizard, and showed them some easy tricks that amazed them; and when they saw the initials painted on the balloon they called me oz." "now i begin to understand," said the princess, smiling. "at that time," continued the wizard, busily eating his soup while talking, "there were four separate countries in this land, each one of the four being ruled by a witch. but the people thought my power was greater than that of the witches; and perhaps the witches thought so too, for they never dared oppose me. i ordered the emerald city to be built just where the four countries cornered together, and when it was completed i announced myself the ruler of the land of oz, which included all the four countries of the munchkins, the gillikins, the winkies and the quadlings. over this land i ruled in peace for many years, until i grew old and longed to see my native city once again. so when dorothy was first blown to this place by a cyclone i arranged to go away with her in a balloon; but the balloon escaped too soon and carried me back alone. after many adventures i reached omaha, only to find that all my old friends were dead or had moved away. so, having nothing else to do, i joined a circus again, and made my balloon ascensions until the earthquake caught me." "that is quite a history," said ozma; "but there is a little more history about the land of oz that you do not seem to understand--perhaps for the reason that no one ever told it you. many years before you came here this land was united under one ruler, as it is now, and the ruler's name was always 'oz', which means in our language 'great and good'; or, if the ruler happened to be a woman, her name was always 'ozma.' but once upon a time four witches leagued together to depose the king and rule the four parts of the kingdom themselves; so when the ruler, my grandfather, was hunting one day, one wicked witch named mombi stole him and carried him away, keeping him a close prisoner. then the witches divided up the kingdom, and ruled the four parts of it until you came here. that was why the people were so glad to see you, and why they thought from your initials that you were their rightful ruler." "but, at that time," said the wizard, thoughtfully, "there were two good witches and two wicked witches ruling in the land." "yes," replied ozma, "because a good witch had conquered mombi in the north and glinda the good had conquered the evil witch in the south. but mombi was still my grandfather's jailor, and afterward my father's jailor. when i was born she transformed me into a boy, hoping that no one would ever recognize me and know that i was the rightful princess of the land of oz. but i escaped from her and am now the ruler of my people." "i am very glad of that," said the wizard, "and hope you will consider me one of your most faithful and devoted subjects." "we owe a great deal to the wonderful wizard," continued the princess, "for it was you who built this splendid emerald city." "your people built it," he answered. "i only bossed the job, as we say in omaha." "but you ruled it wisely and well for many years," said she, "and made the people proud of your magical art. so, as you are now too old to wander abroad and work in a circus, i offer you a home here as long as you live. you shall be the official wizard of my kingdom, and be treated with every respect and consideration." "i accept your kind offer with gratitude, gracious princess," the little man said, in a soft voice, and they could all see that tear-drops were standing in his keen old eyes. it meant a good deal to him to secure a home like this. "he's only a humbug wizard, though," said dorothy, smiling at him. "and that is the safest kind of a wizard to have," replied ozma, promptly. "oz can do some good tricks, humbug or no humbug," announced zeb, who was now feeling more at ease. "he shall amuse us with his tricks tomorrow," said the princess. "i have sent messengers to summon all of dorothy's old friends to meet her and give her welcome, and they ought to arrive very soon, now." indeed, the dinner was no sooner finished than in rushed the scarecrow, to hug dorothy in his padded arms and tell her how glad he was to see her again. the wizard was also most heartily welcomed by the straw man, who was an important personage in the land of oz. "how are your brains?" enquired the little humbug, as he grasped the soft, stuffed hands of his old friend. "working finely," answered the scarecrow. "i'm very certain, oz, that you gave me the best brains in the world, for i can think with them day and night, when all other brains are fast asleep." [illustration: dorothy and ozma.] "how long did you rule the emerald city, after i left here?" was the next question. "quite awhile, until i was conquered by a girl named general jinjur. but ozma soon conquered her, with the help of glinda the good, and after that i went to live with nick chopper, the tin woodman." just then a loud cackling was heard outside; and, when a servant threw open the door with a low bow, a yellow hen strutted in. dorothy sprang forward and caught the fluffy fowl in her arms, uttering at the same time a glad cry. "oh, billina!" she said; "how fat and sleek you've grown." "why shouldn't i?" asked the hen, in a sharp, clear voice. "i live on the fat of the land--don't i, ozma?" "you have everything you wish for," said the princess. around billina's neck was a string of beautiful pearls, and on her legs were bracelets of emeralds. she nestled herself comfortably in dorothy's lap until the kitten gave a snarl of jealous anger and leaped up with a sharp claw fiercely bared to strike billina a blow. but the little girl gave the angry kitten such a severe cuff that it jumped down again without daring to scratch. "how horrid of you, eureka!" cried dorothy. "is that the way to treat my friends?" "you have queer friends, seems to me," replied the kitten, in a surly tone. "seems to me the same way," said billina, scornfully, "if that beastly cat is one of them." "look here!" said dorothy, sternly. "i won't have any quarrelling in the land of oz, i can tell you! everybody lives in peace here, and loves everybody else; and unless you two, billina and eureka, make up and be friends, i'll take my magic belt and wish you both home again, _immejitly_. so, there!" they were both much frightened at the threat, and promised meekly to be good. but it was never noticed that they became very warm friends, for all of that. and now the tin woodman arrived, his body most beautifully nickle-plated, so that it shone splendidly in the brilliant light of the room. the tin woodman loved dorothy most tenderly, and welcomed with joy the return of the little old wizard. "sir," said he to the latter, "i never can thank you enough for the excellent heart you once gave me. it has made me many friends, i assure you, and it beats as kindly and lovingly today as it ever did." "i'm glad to hear that," said the wizard. "i was afraid it would get moldy in that tin body of yours." "not at all," returned nick chopper. "it keeps finely, being preserved in my air-tight chest." zeb was a little shy when first introduced to these queer people; but they were so friendly and sincere that he soon grew to admire them very much, even finding some good qualities in the yellow hen. but he became nervous again when the next visitor was announced. "this," said princess ozma, "is my friend mr. h. m. woggle-bug, t. e., who assisted me one time when i was in great distress, and is now the dean of the royal college of athletic science." "ah," said the wizard; "i'm pleased to meet so distinguished a personage." "h. m.," said the woggle-bug, pompously, "means highly magnified; and t. e. means thoroughly educated. i am, in reality, a very big bug, and doubtless the most intelligent being in all this broad domain." "how well you disguise it," said the wizard. "but i don't doubt your word in the least." "nobody doubts it, sir," replied the woggle-bug, and drawing a book from its pocket the strange insect turned its back on the company and sat down in a corner to read. nobody minded this rudeness, which might have seemed more impolite in one less thoroughly educated; so they straightway forgot him and joined in a merry conversation that kept them well amused until bed-time arrived. [illustration] chapter 16. jim, the cab-horse jim the cab-horse found himself in possession of a large room with a green marble floor and carved marble wainscoting, which was so stately in its appearance that it would have awed anyone else. jim accepted it as a mere detail, and at his command the attendants gave his coat a good rubbing, combed his mane and tail, and washed his hoofs and fetlocks. then they told him dinner would be served directly and he replied that they could not serve it too quickly to suit his convenience. first they brought him a steaming bowl of soup, which the horse eyed in dismay. "take that stuff away!" he commanded. "do you take me for a salamander?" they obeyed at once, and next served a fine large turbot on a silver platter, with drawn gravey poured over it. "fish!" cried jim, with a sniff. "do you take me for a tom-cat? away with it!" the servants were a little discouraged, but soon they brought in a great tray containing two dozen nicely roasted quail on toast. "well, well!" said the horse, now thoroughly provoked. "do you take me for a weasel? how stupid and ignorant you are, in the land of oz, and what dreadful things you feed upon! is there nothing that is decent to eat in this palace?" the trembling servants sent for the royal steward, who came in haste and said: "what would your highness like for dinner?" "highness!" repeated jim, who was unused to such titles. "you are at least six feet high, and that is higher than any other animal in this country," said the steward. "well, my highness would like some oats," declared the horse. "oats? we have no whole oats," the steward replied, with much defference. "but there is any quantity of oatmeal, which we often cook for breakfast. oatmeal is a breakfast dish," added the steward, humbly. "i'll make it a dinner dish," said jim. "fetch it on, but don't cook it, as you value your life." you see, the respect shown the worn-out old cab-horse made him a little arrogant, and he forgot he was a guest, never having been treated otherwise than as a servant since the day he was born, until his arrival in the land of oz. but the royal attendants did not heed the animal's ill temper. they soon mixed a tub of oatmeal with a little water, and jim ate it with much relish. then the servants heaped a lot of rugs upon the floor and the old horse slept on the softest bed he had ever known in his life. in the morning, as soon as it was daylight, he resolved to take a walk and try to find some grass for breakfast; so he ambled calmly through the handsome arch of the doorway, turned the corner of the palace, wherein all seemed asleep, and came face to face with the sawhorse. jim stopped abruptly, being startled and amazed. the sawhorse stopped at the same time and stared at the other with its queer protruding eyes, which were mere knots in the log that formed its body. the legs of the sawhorse were four sticks driven into holes bored in the log; its tail was a small branch that had been left by accident and its mouth a place chopped in one end of the body which projected a little and served as a head. the ends of the wooden legs were shod with plates of solid gold, and the saddle of the princess ozma, which was of red leather set with sparkling diamonds, was strapped to the clumsy body. [illustration: "for goodness sake, what sort of a being are you?"] jim's eyes stuck out as much as those of the sawhorse, and he stared at the creature with his ears erect and his long head drawn back until it rested against his arched neck. in this comical position the two horses circled slowly around each other for a while, each being unable to realize what the singular thing might be which it now beheld for the first time. then jim exclaimed: "for goodness sake, what sort of a being are you?" "i'm a sawhorse," replied the other. "oh; i believe i've heard of you," said the cab-horse; "but you are unlike anything that i expected to see." "i do not doubt it," the sawhorse observed, with a tone of pride. "i am considered quite unusual." "you are, indeed. but a rickety wooden thing like you has no right to be alive." "i couldn't help it," returned the other, rather crestfallen. "ozma sprinkled me with a magic powder, and i just had to live. i know i'm not much account; but i'm the only horse in all the land of oz, so they treat me with great respect." "you, a horse!" "oh, not a real one, of course. there are no real horses here at all. but i'm a splendid imitation of one." jim gave an indignant neigh. "look at me!" he cried. "behold a real horse!" the wooden animal gave a start, and then examined the other intently. "is it possible that you are a real horse?" he murmured. "not only possible, but true," replied jim, who was gratified by the impression he had created. "it is proved by my fine points. for example, look at the long hairs on my tail, with which i can whisk away the flies." "the flies never trouble me," said the saw-horse. "and notice my great strong teeth, with which i nibble the grass." "it is not necessary for me to eat," observed the saw-horse. "also examine my broad chest, which enables me to draw deep, full breaths," said jim, proudly. "i have no need to breathe," returned the other. "no; you miss many pleasures," remarked the cab-horse, pityingly. "you do not know the relief of brushing away a fly that has bitten you, nor the delight of eating delicious food, nor the satisfaction of drawing a long breath of fresh, pure air. you may be an imitation of a horse, but you're a mighty poor one." "oh, i cannot hope ever to be like you," sighed the sawhorse. "but i am glad to meet at last a real horse. you are certainly the most beautiful creature i ever beheld." this praise won jim completely. to be called beautiful was a novelty in his experience. said he: "your chief fault, my friend, is in being made of wood, and that i suppose you cannot help. real horses, like myself, are made of flesh and blood and bones." "i can see the bones all right," replied the sawhorse, "and they are admirable and distinct. also i can see the flesh. but the blood, i suppose, is tucked away inside." "exactly," said jim. "what good is it?" asked the sawhorse. jim did not know, but he would not tell the sawhorse that. "if anything cuts me," he replied, "the blood runs out to show where i am cut. you, poor thing! cannot even bleed when you are hurt." "but i am never hurt," said the sawhorse. "once in a while i get broken up some, but i am easily repaired and put in good order again. and i never feel a break or a splinter in the least." jim was almost tempted to envy the wooden horse for being unable to feel pain; but the creature was so absurdly unnatural that he decided he would not change places with it under any circumstances. "how did you happen to be shod with gold?" he asked. "princess ozma did that," was the reply; "and it saves my legs from wearing out. we've had a good many adventures together, ozma and i, and she likes me." the cab-horse was about to reply when suddenly he gave a start and a neigh of terror and stood trembling like a leaf. for around the corner had come two enormous savage beasts, treading so lightly that they were upon him before he was aware of their presence. jim was in the act of plunging down the path to escape when the sawhorse cried out: "stop, my brother! stop, real horse! these are friends, and will do you no harm." jim hesitated, eyeing the beasts fearfully. one was an enormous lion with clear, intelligent eyes, a tawney mane bushy and well kept, and a body like yellow plush. the other was a great tiger with purple stripes around his lithe body, powerful limbs, and eyes that showed through the half closed lids like coals of fire. the huge forms of these monarchs of the forest and jungle were enough to strike terror to the stoutest heart, and it is no wonder jim was afraid to face them. but the sawhorse introduced the stranger in a calm tone, saying, "this, noble horse, is my friend the cowardly lion, who is the valiant king of the forest, but at the same time a faithful vassal of princess ozma. and this is the hungry tiger, the terror of the jungle, who longs to devour fat babies but is prevented by his conscience from doing so. these royal beasts are both warm friends of little dorothy and have come to the emerald city this morning to welcome her to our fairyland." hearing these words jim resolved to conquer his alarm. he bowed his head with as much dignity as he could muster toward the savage looking beasts, who in return nodded in a friendly way. "is not the real horse a beautiful animal?" asked the sawhorse admiringly. "that is doubtless a matter of taste," returned the lion. "in the forest he would be thought ungainly, because his face is stretched out and his neck is uselessly long. his joints, i notice, are swollen and overgrown, and he lacks flesh and is old in years." "and dreadfully tough," added the hungry tiger, in a sad voice. "my conscience would never permit me to eat so tough a morsel as the real horse." "i'm glad of that," said jim; "for i, also, have a conscience, and it tells me not to crush in your skull with a blow of my powerful hoof." if he thought to frighten the striped beast by such language he was mistaken. the tiger seemed to smile, and winked one eye slowly. "you have a good conscience, friend horse," it said, "and if you attend to its teachings it will do much to protect you from harm. some day i will let you try to crush in my skull, and afterward you will know more about tigers than you do now." "any friend of dorothy," remarked the cowardly lion, "must be our friend, as well. so let us cease this talk of skull crushing and converse upon more pleasant subjects. have you breakfasted, sir horse?" "not yet," replied jim. "but here is plenty of excellent clover, so if you will excuse me i will eat now." "he's a vegetarian," remarked the tiger, as the horse began to munch the clover. "if i could eat grass i would not need a conscience, for nothing could then tempt me to devour babies and lambs." just then dorothy, who had risen early and heard the voices of the animals, ran out to greet her old friends. she hugged both the lion and the tiger with eager delight, but seemed to love the king of beasts a little better than she did his hungry friend, having known him longer. by the time they had indulged in a good talk and dorothy had told them all about the awful earthquake and her recent adventures, the breakfast bell rang from the palace and the little girl went inside to join her human comrades. as she entered the great hall a voice called out, in a rather harsh tone: "what! are _you_ here again?" "yes, i am," she answered, looking all around to see where the voice came from. "what brought you back?" was the next question, and dorothy's eye rested on an antlered head hanging on the wall just over the fireplace, and caught its lips in the act of moving. "good gracious!" she exclaimed. "i thought you were stuffed." "so i am," replied the head. "but once on a time i was part of the gump, which ozma sprinkled with the powder of life. i was then for a time the head of the finest flying machine that was ever known to exist, and we did many wonderful things. afterward the gump was taken apart and i was put back on this wall; but i can still talk when i feel in the mood, which is not often." "it's very strange," said the girl. "what were you when you were first alive?" "that i have forgotten," replied the gump's head, "and i do not think it is of much importance. but here comes ozma; so i'd better hush up, for the princess doesn't like me to chatter since she changed her name from tip to ozma." just then the girlish ruler of oz opened the door and greeted dorothy with a good-morning kiss. the little princess seemed fresh and rosy and in good spirits. "breakfast is served, dear," she said, "and i am hungry. so don't let us keep it waiting a single minute." [illustration] [illustration: jim stood trembling like a leaf.] chapter 17. the nine tiny piglets after breakfast ozma announced that she had ordered a holiday to be observed throughout the emerald city, in honor of her visitors. the people had learned that their old wizard had returned to them and all were anxious to see him again, for he had always been a rare favorite. so first there was to be a grand procession through the streets, after which the little old man was requested to perform some of his wizardries in the great throne room of the palace. in the afternoon there were to be games and races. the procession was very imposing. first came the imperial cornet band of oz, dressed in emerald velvet uniforms with slashes of pea-green satin and buttons of immense cut emeralds. they played the national air called "the oz spangled banner," and behind them were the standard bearers with the royal flag. this flag was divided into four quarters, one being colored sky-blue, another pink, a third lavender and a fourth white. in the center was a large emerald-green star, and all over the four quarters were sewn spangles that glittered beautifully in the sunshine. the colors represented the four countries of oz, and the green star the emerald city. just behind the royal standard-bearers came the princess ozma in her royal chariot, which was of gold encrusted with emeralds and diamonds set in exquisite designs. the chariot was drawn on this occasion by the cowardly lion and the hungry tiger, who were decorated with immense pink and blue bows. in the chariot rode ozma and dorothy, the former in splendid raiment and wearing her royal coronet, while the little kansas girl wore around her waist the magic belt she had once captured from the nome king. following the chariot came the scarecrow mounted on the sawhorse, and the people cheered him almost as loudly as they did their lovely ruler. behind him stalked with regular, jerky steps, the famous machine-man called tik-tok, who had been wound up by dorothy for the occasion. tik-tok moved by clockwork, and was made all of burnished copper. he really belonged to the kansas girl, who had much respect for his thoughts after they had been properly wound and set going; but as the copper man would be useless in any place but a fairy country dorothy had left him in charge of ozma, who saw that he was suitably cared for. there followed another band after this, which was called the royal court band, because the members all lived in the palace. they wore white uniforms with real diamond buttons and played "what is oz without ozma" very sweetly. then came professor woggle-bug, with a group of students from the royal college of scientific athletics. the boys wore long hair and striped sweaters and yelled their college yell every other step they took, to the great satisfaction of the populace, which was glad to have this evidence that their lungs were in good condition. the brilliantly polished tin woodman marched next, at the head of the royal army of oz which consisted of twenty-eight officers, from generals down to captains. there were no privates in the army because all were so courageous and skillful that they had been promoted one by one until there were no privates left. jim and the buggy followed, the old cab-horse being driven by zeb while the wizard stood up on the seat and bowed his bald head right and left in answer to the cheers of the people, who crowded thick about him. taken altogether the procession was a grand success, and when it had returned to the palace the citizens crowded into the great throne room to see the wizard perform his tricks. the first thing the little humbug did was to produce a tiny white piglet from underneath his hat and pretend to pull it apart, making two. this act he repeated until all of the nine tiny piglets were visible, and they were so glad to get out of his pocket that they ran around in a very lively manner. the pretty little creatures would have been a novelty anywhere, so the people were as amazed and delighted at their appearance as even the wizard could have desired. when he had made them all disappear again ozma declared she was sorry they were gone, for she wanted one of them to pet and play with. so the wizard pretended to take one of the piglets out of the hair of the princess (while really he slyly took it from his inside pocket) and ozma smiled joyously as the creature nestled in her arms, and she promised to have an emerald collar made for its fat neck and to keep the little squealer always at hand to amuse her. afterward it was noticed that the wizard always performed his famous trick with eight piglets, but it seemed to please the people just as well as if there had been nine of them. in his little room back of the throne room the wizard had found a lot of things he had left behind him when he went away in the balloon, for no one had occupied the apartment in his absence. there was enough material there to enable him to prepare several new tricks which he had learned from some of the jugglers in the circus, and he had passed part of the night in getting them ready. so he followed the trick of the nine tiny piglets with several other wonderful feats that greatly delighted his audience and the people did not seem to care a bit whether the little man was a humbug wizard or not, so long as he succeeded in amusing them. they applauded all his tricks and at the end of the performance begged him earnestly not to go away again and leave them. "in that case," said the little man, gravely, "i will cancel all of my engagements before the crowned heads of europe and america and devote myself to the people of oz, for i love you all so well that i can deny you nothing." after the people had been dismissed with this promise our friends joined princess ozma at an elaborate luncheon in the palace, where even the tiger and the lion were sumptuously fed and jim the cab-horse ate his oatmeal out of a golden bowl with seven rows of rubies, sapphires and diamonds set around the rim of it. in the afternoon they all went to a great field outside the city gates where the games were to be held. there was a beautiful canopy for ozma and her guests to sit under and watch the people run races and jump and wrestle. you may be sure the folks of oz did their best with such a distinguished company watching them, and finally zeb offered to wrestle with a little munchkin who seemed to be the champion. in appearance he was twice as old as zeb, for he had long pointed whiskers and wore a peaked hat with little bells all around the brim of it, which tinkled gaily as he moved. but although the munchkin was hardly tall enough to come to zeb's shoulder he was so strong and clever that he laid the boy three times on his back with apparent ease. zeb was greatly astonished at his defeat, and when the pretty princess joined her people in laughing at him he proposed a boxing-match with the munchkin, to which the little ozite readily agreed. but the first time that zeb managed to give him a sharp box on the ears the munchkin sat down upon the ground and cried until the tears ran down his whiskers, because he had been hurt. this made zeb laugh, in turn, and the boy felt comforted to find that ozma laughed as merrily at her weeping subject as she had at him. just then the scarecrow proposed a race between the sawhorse and the cab-horse; and although all the others were delighted at the suggestion the sawhorse drew back, saying: "such a race would not be fair." "of course not," added jim, with a touch of scorn; "those little wooden legs of yours are not half as long as my own." "it isn't that," said the sawhorse, modestly; "but i never tire, and you do." "bah!" cried jim, looking with great disdain at the other; "do you imagine for an instant that such a shabby imitation of a horse as you are can run as fast as i?" "i don't know, i'm sure," replied the sawhorse. "that is what we are trying to find out," remarked the scarecrow. "the object of a race is to see who can win it--or at least that is what my excellent brains think." "once, when i was young," said jim, "i was a race horse, and defeated all who dared run against me. i was born in kentucky, you know, where all the best and most aristocratic horses come from." "but you're old, now, jim," suggested zeb. "old! why, i feel like a colt today," replied jim. "i only wish there was a real horse here for me to race with. i'd show the people a fine sight, i can tell you." "then why not race with the sawhorse?" enquired the scarecrow. "he's afraid," said jim. "oh, no," answered the sawhorse. "i merely said it wasn't fair. but if my friend the real horse is willing to undertake the race i am quite ready." so they unharnessed jim and took the saddle off the sawhorse, and the two queerly matched animals were stood side by side for the start. "when i say 'go!'" zeb called to them, "you must dig out and race until you reach those three trees you see over yonder. then circle 'round them and come back again. the first one that passes the place where the princess sits shall be named the winner. are you ready?" "i suppose i ought to give the wooden dummy a good start of me," growled jim. "never mind that," said the sawhorse. "i'll do the best i can." "go!" cried zeb; and at the word the two horses leaped forward and the race was begun. [illustration: the wizard took a piglet from ozma's hair.] jim's big hoofs pounded away at a great rate, and although he did not look very graceful he ran in a way to do credit to his kentucky breeding. but the sawhorse was swifter than the wind. its wooden legs moved so fast that their twinkling could scarcely be seen, and although so much smaller than the cab-horse it covered the ground much faster. before they had reached the trees the sawhorse was far ahead, and the wooden animal returned to the starting place and was being lustily cheered by the ozites before jim came panting up to the canopy where the princess and her friends were seated. [illustration: the hungry tiger teaches jim a lesson.] i am sorry to record the fact that jim was not only ashamed of his defeat but for a moment lost control of his temper. as he looked at the comical face of the sawhorse he imagined that the creature was laughing at him; so in a fit of unreasonable anger he turned around and made a vicious kick that sent his rival tumbling head over heels upon the ground, and broke off one of its legs and its left ear. an instant later the tiger crouched and launched its huge body through the air swift and resistless as a ball from a cannon. the beast struck jim full on his shoulder and sent the astonished cab-horse rolling over and over, amid shouts of delight from the spectators, who had been horrified by the ungracious act he had been guilty of. when jim came to himself and sat upon his haunches he found the cowardly lion crouched on one side of him and the hungry tiger on the other, and their eyes were glowing like balls of fire. "i beg your pardon, i'm sure," said jim, meekly. "i was wrong to kick the sawhorse, and i am sorry i became angry at him. he has won the race, and won it fairly; but what can a horse of flesh do against a tireless beast of wood?" hearing this apology the tiger and the lion stopped lashing their tails and retreated with dignified steps to the side of the princess. "no one must injure one of our friends in our presence," growled the lion; and zeb ran to jim and whispered that unless he controlled his temper in the future he would probably be torn to pieces. then the tin woodman cut a straight and strong limb from a tree with his gleaming axe and made a new leg and a new ear for the sawhorse; and when they had been securely fastened in place princess ozma took the coronet from her own head and placed it upon that of the winner of the race. said she: "my friend, i reward you for your swiftness by proclaiming you prince of horses, whether of wood or of flesh; and hereafter all other horses--in the land of oz, at least--must be considered imitations, and you the real champion of your race." there was more applause at this, and then ozma had the jewelled saddle replaced upon the sawhorse and herself rode the victor back to the city at the head of the grand procession. "i ought to be a fairy," grumbled jim, as he slowly drew the buggy home; "for to be just an ordinary horse in a fairy country is to be of no account whatever. it's no place for us, zeb." "it's lucky we got here, though," said the boy; and jim thought of the dark cave, and agreed with him. [illustration] chapter 18. the trial of eureka the kitten several days of festivity and merry-making followed, for such old friends did not often meet and there was much to be told and talked over between them, and many amusements to be enjoyed in this delightful country. ozma was happy to have dorothy beside her, for girls of her own age with whom it was proper for the princess to associate were very few, and often the youthful ruler of oz was lonely for lack of companionship. it was the third morning after dorothy's arrival, and she was sitting with ozma and their friends in a reception room, talking over old times, when the princess said to her maid: "please go to my boudoir, jellia, and get the white piglet i left on the dressing-table. i want to play with it." jellia at once departed on the errand, and she was gone so long that they had almost forgotten her mission when the green robed maiden returned with a troubled face. "the piglet is not there, your highness," said she. "not there!" exclaimed ozma. "are you sure?" "i have hunted in every part of the room," the maid replied. "was not the door closed?" asked the princess. "yes, your highness; i am sure it was; for when i opened it dorothy's white kitten crept out and ran up the stairs." hearing this, dorothy and the wizard exchanged startled glances, for they remembered how often eureka had longed to eat a piglet. the little girl jumped up at once. "come, ozma," she said, anxiously; "let us go ourselves to search for the piglet." so the two went to the dressing-room of the princess and searched carefully in every corner and among the vases and baskets and ornaments that stood about the pretty boudoir. but not a trace could they find of the tiny creature they sought. dorothy was nearly weeping, by this time, while ozma was angry and indignant. when they returned to the others the princess said: "there is little doubt that my pretty piglet has been eaten by that horrid kitten, and if that is true the offender must be punished." "i don't b'lieve eureka would do such a dreadful thing!" cried dorothy, much distressed. "go and get my kitten, please, jellia, and we'll hear what she has to say about it." the green maiden hastened away, but presently returned and said: "the kitten will not come. she threatened to scratch my eyes out if i touched her." "where is she?" asked dorothy. "under the bed in your own room," was the reply. so dorothy ran to her room and found the kitten under the bed. "come here, eureka!" she said. "i won't," answered the kitten, in a surly voice. "oh, eureka! why are you so bad?" the kitten did not reply. "if you don't come to me, right away," continued dorothy, getting provoked, "i'll take my magic belt and wish you in the country of the gurgles." "why do you want me?" asked eureka, disturbed by this threat. "you must go to princess ozma. she wants to talk to you." "all right," returned the kitten, creeping out. "i'm not afraid of ozma--or anyone else." dorothy carried her in her arms back to where the others sat in grieved and thoughtful silence. "tell me, eureka," said the princess, gently: "did you eat my pretty piglet?" "i won't answer such a foolish question," asserted eureka, with a snarl. "oh, yes you will, dear," dorothy declared. "the piglet is gone, and you ran out of the room when jellia opened the door. so, if you are innocent, eureka, you must tell the princess how you came to be in her room, and what has become of the piglet." "who accuses me?" asked the kitten, defiantly. "no one," answered ozma. "your actions alone accuse you. the fact is that i left my little pet in my dressing-room lying asleep upon the table; and you must hove stolen in without my knowing it. when next the door was opened you ran out and hid yourself--and the piglet was gone." "that's none of my business," growled the kitten. "don't be impudent, eureka," admonished dorothy. "it is you who are impudent," said eureka, "for accusing me of such a crime when you can't prove it except by guessing." ozma was now greatly incensed by the kitten's conduct. she summoned her captain-general, and when the long, lean officer appeared she said: "carry this cat away to prison, and keep her in safe confinement until she is tried by law for the crime of murder." so the captain-general took eureka from the arms of the now weeping dorothy and in spite of the kitten's snarls and scratches carried it away to prison. "what shall we do now?" asked the scarecrow, with a sigh, for such a crime had cast a gloom over all the company. "i will summon the court to meet in the throne room at three o'clock," replied ozma. "i myself will be the judge, and the kitten shall have a fair trial." "what will happen if she is guilty?" asked dorothy. "she must die," answered the princess. "nine times?" enquired the scarecrow. "as many times as is necessary," was the reply. "i will ask the tin woodman to defend the prisoner, because he has such a kind heart i am sure he will do his best to save her. and the woggle-bug shall be the public accuser, because he is so learned that no one can deceive him." "who will be the jury?" asked the tin woodman. [illustration: portrait of the wizard of oz.] "there ought to be several animals on the jury," said ozma, "because animals understand each other better than we people understand them. so the jury shall consist of the cowardly lion, the hungry tiger, jim the cab-horse, the yellow hen, the scarecrow, the wizard, tik-tok the machine man, the sawhorse and zeb of hugson's ranch. that makes the nine which the law requires, and all my people shall be admitted to hear the testimony." they now separated to prepare for the sad ceremony; for whenever an appeal is made to law sorrow is almost certain to follow--even in a fairyland like oz. but it must be stated that the people of that land were generally so well-behaved that there was not a single lawyer amongst them, and it had been years since any ruler had sat in judgment upon an offender of the law. the crime of murder being the most dreadful crime of all, tremendous excitement prevailed in the emerald city when the news of eureka's arrest and trial became known. the wizard, when he returned to his own room, was exceedingly thoughtful. he had no doubt eureka had eaten his piglet, but he realized that a kitten cannot be depended upon at all times to act properly, since its nature is to destroy small animals and even birds for food, and the tame cat that we keep in our houses today is descended from the wild cat of the jungle--a very ferocious creature, indeed. the wizard knew that if dorothy's pet was found guilty and condemned to death the little girl would be made very unhappy; so, although he grieved over the piglet's sad fate as much as any of them, he resolved to save eureka's life. sending for the tin woodman the wizard took him into a corner and whispered: "my friend, it is your duty to defend the white kitten and try to save her, but i fear you will fail because eureka has long wished to eat a piglet, to my certain knowledge, and my opinion is that she has been unable to resist the temptation. yet her disgrace and death would not bring back the piglet, but only serve to make dorothy unhappy. so i intend to prove the kitten's innocence by a trick." he drew from his inside pocket one of the eight tiny piglets that were remaining and continued: "this creature you must hide in some safe place, and if the jury decides that eureka is guilty you may then produce this piglet and claim it is the one that was lost. all the piglets are exactly alike, so no one can dispute your word. this deception will save eureka's life, and then we may all be happy again." "i do not like to deceive my friends," replied the tin woodman; "still, my kind heart urges me to save eureka's life, and i can usually trust my heart to do the right thing. so i will do as you say, friend wizard." after some thought he placed the little pig inside his funnel-shaped hat, and then put the hat upon his head and went back to his room to think over his speech to the jury. chapter 19. the wizard performs another trick at three o'clock the throne room was crowded with citizens, men, women and children being eager to witness the great trial. princess ozma, dressed in her most splendid robes of state, sat in the magnificent emerald throne, with her jewelled sceptre in her hand and her sparkling coronet upon her fair brow. behind her throne stood the twenty-eight officers of her army and many officials of the royal household. at her right sat the queerly assorted jury--animals, animated dummies and people--all gravely prepared to listen to what was said. the kitten had been placed in a large cage just before the throne, where she sat upon her haunches and gazed through the bars at the crowds around her, with seeming unconcern. and now, at a signal from ozma, the woggle-bug arose and addressed the jury. his tone was pompous and he strutted up and down in an absurd attempt to appear dignified. "your royal highness and fellow citizens," he began; "the small cat you see a prisoner before you is accused of the crime of first murdering and then eating our esteemed ruler's fat piglet--or else first eating and then murdering it. in either case a grave crime has been committed which deserves a grave punishment." "do you mean my kitten must be put in a grave?" asked dorothy. "don't interrupt, little girl," said the woggle-bug. "when i get my thoughts arranged in good order i do not like to have anything upset them or throw them into confusion." "if your thoughts were any good they wouldn't become confused," remarked the scarecrow, earnestly. "my thoughts are always----" "is this a trial of thoughts, or of kittens?" demanded the woggle-bug. "it's a trial of one kitten," replied the scarecrow; "but your manner is a trial to us all." "let the public accuser continue," called ozma from her throne, "and i pray you do not interrupt him." "the criminal who now sits before the court licking her paws," resumed the woggle-bug, "has long desired to unlawfully eat the fat piglet, which was no bigger than a mouse. and finally she made a wicked plan to satisfy her depraved appetite for pork. i can see her, in my mind's eye----" "what's that?" asked the scarecrow. "i say i can see her in my mind's eye----" "the mind has no eye," declared the scarecrow. "it's blind." "your highness," cried the woggle-bug, appealing to ozma, "have i a mind's eye, or haven't i?" "if you have, it is invisible," said the princess. "very true," returned the woggle-bug, bowing. "i say i see the criminal, in my mind's eye, creeping stealthily into the room of our ozma and secreting herself, when no one was looking, until the princess had gone away and the door was closed. then the murderer was alone with her helpless victim, the fat piglet, and i see her pounce upon the innocent creature and eat it up----" "are you still seeing with your mind's eye?" enquired the scarecrow. "of course; how else could i see it? and we know the thing is true, because since the time of that interview there is no piglet to be found anywhere." [illustration: eureka in court.] "i suppose, if the cat had been gone, instead of the piglet, your mind's eye would see the piglet eating the cat," suggested the scarecrow. "very likely," acknowledged the woggle-bug. "and now, fellow citizens and creatures of the jury, i assert that so awful a crime deserves death, and in the case of the ferocious criminal before you--who is now washing her face--the death penalty should be inflicted nine times." there was great applause when the speaker sat down. then the princess spoke in a stern voice: "prisoner, what have you to say for yourself? are you guilty, or not guilty?" "why, that's for you to find out," replied eureka. "if you can prove i'm guilty, i'll be willing to die nine times, but a mind's eye is no proof, because the woggle-bug has no mind to see with." "never mind, dear," said dorothy. then the tin woodman arose and said: "respected jury and dearly beloved ozma, i pray you not to judge this feline prisoner unfeelingly. i do not think the innocent kitten can be guilty, and surely it is unkind to accuse a luncheon of being a murder. eureka is the sweet pet of a lovely little girl whom we all admire, and gentleness and innocence are her chief virtues. look at the kitten's intelligent eyes;" (here eureka closed her eyes sleepily) "gaze at her smiling countenance!" (here eureka snarled and showed her teeth) "mark the tender pose of her soft, padded little hands!" (here eureka bared her sharp claws and scratched at the bars of the cage.) "would such a gentle animal be guilty of eating a fellow creature? no; a thousand times, no!" "oh, cut it short," said eureka; "you've talked long enough." "i'm trying to defend you," remonstrated the tin woodman. "then say something sensible," retorted the kitten. "tell them it would be foolish for me to eat the piglet, because i had sense enough to know it would raise a row if i did. but don't try to make out i'm too innocent to eat a fat piglet if i could do it and not be found out. i imagine it would taste mighty good." "perhaps it would, to those who eat," remarked the tin woodman. "i myself, not being built to eat, have no personal experience in such matters. but i remember that our great poet once said: "'to eat is sweet when hunger's seat demands a treat of savory meat.' "take this into consideration, friends of the jury, and you will readily decide that the kitten is wrongfully accused and should be set at liberty." when the tin woodman sat down no one applauded him, for his arguments had not been very convincing and few believed that he had proved eureka's innocence. as for the jury, the members whispered to each other for a few minutes and then they appointed the hungry tiger their spokesman. the huge beast slowly arose and said: "kittens have no consciences, so they eat whatever pleases them. the jury believes the white kitten known as eureka is guilty of having eaten the piglet owned by princess ozma, and recommends that she be put to death in punishment of the crime." the judgment of the jury was received with great applause, although dorothy was sobbing miserably at the fate of her pet. the princess was just about to order eureka's head chopped off with the tin woodman's axe when that brilliant personage once more arose and addressed her. "your highness," said he, "see how easy it is for a jury to be mistaken. the kitten could not have eaten your piglet--for here it is!" he took off his funnel hat and from beneath it produced a tiny white piglet, which he held aloft that all might see it clearly. ozma was delighted and exclaimed, eagerly: "give me my pet, nick chopper!" and all the people cheered and clapped their hands, rejoicing that the prisoner had escaped death and been proved to be innocent. as the princess held the white piglet in her arms and stroked its soft hair she said: "let eureka out of the cage, for she is no longer a prisoner, but our good friend. where did you find my missing pet, nick chopper?" "in a room of the palace," he answered. "justice," remarked the scarecrow, with a sigh, "is a dangerous thing to meddle with. if you hadn't happened to find the piglet, eureka would surely have been executed." "but justice prevailed at the last," said ozma, "for here is my pet, and eureka is once more free." "i refuse to be free," cried the kitten, in a sharp voice, "unless the wizard can do his trick with eight piglets. if he can produce but seven, then this it not the piglet that was lost, but another one." "hush, eureka!" warned the wizard. "don't be foolish," advised the tin woodman, "or you may be sorry for it." "the piglet that belonged to the princess wore an emerald collar," said eureka, loudly enough for all to hear. "so it did!" exclaimed ozma. "this cannot be the one the wizard gave me." "of course not; he had nine of them, altogether," declared eureka; "and i must say it was very stingy of him not to let me eat just a few. but now that this foolish trial is ended, i will tell you what really became of your pet piglet." at this everyone in the throne room suddenly became quiet, and the kitten continued, in a calm, mocking tone of voice: "i will confess that i intended to eat the little pig for my breakfast; so i crept into the room where it was kept while the princess was dressing and hid myself under a chair. when ozma went away she closed the door and left her pet on the table. at once i jumped up and told the piglet not to make a fuss, for he would be inside of me in half a second; but no one can teach one of these creatures to be reasonable. instead of keeping still, so i could eat him comfortably, he trembled so with fear that he fell off the table into a big vase that was standing on the floor. the vase had a very small neck, and spread out at the top like a bowl. at first the piglet stuck in the neck of the vase and i thought i should get him, after all, but he wriggled himself through and fell down into the deep bottom part--and i suppose he's there yet." all were astonished at this confession, and ozma at once sent an officer to her room to fetch the vase. when he returned the princess looked down the narrow neck of the big ornament and discovered her lost piglet, just as eureka had said she would. there was no way to get the creature out without breaking the vase, so the tin woodman smashed it with his axe and set the little prisoner free. then the crowd cheered lustily and dorothy hugged the kitten in her arms and told her how delighted she was to know that she was innocent. "but why didn't you tell us at first?" she asked. "it would have spoiled the fun," replied the kitten, yawning. ozma gave the wizard back the piglet he had so kindly allowed nick chopper to substitute for the lost one, and then she carried her own into the apartments of the palace where she lived. and now, the trial being over, the good citizens of the emerald city scattered to their homes, well content with the day's amusement. chapter 20. zeb returns to the ranch eureka was much surprised to find herself in disgrace; but she was, in spite of the fact that she had not eaten the piglet. for the folks of oz knew the kitten had tried to commit the crime, and that only an accident had prevented her from doing so; therefore even the hungry tiger preferred not to associate with her. eureka was forbidden to wander around the palace and was made to stay in confinement in dorothy's room; so she began to beg her mistress to send her to some other place where she could enjoy herself better. dorothy was herself anxious to get home, so she promised eureka they would not stay in the land of oz much longer. the next evening after the trial the little girl begged ozma to allow her to look in the enchanted picture, and the princess readily consented. she took the child to her room and said: "make your wish, dear, and the picture will show the scene you desire to behold." then dorothy found, with the aid of the enchanted picture, that uncle henry had returned to the farm in kansas, and she also saw that both he and aunt em were dressed in mourning, because they thought their little niece had been killed by the earthquake. "really," said the girl, anxiously, "i must get back as soon as poss'ble to my own folks." zeb also wanted to see his home, and although he did not find anyone mourning for him, the sight of hugson's ranch in the picture made him long to get back there. "this is a fine country, and i like all the people that live in it," he told dorothy. "but the fact is, jim and i don't seem to fit into a fairyland, and the old horse has been begging me to go home again ever since he lost the race. so, if you can find a way to fix it, we'll be much obliged to you." "ozma can do it, easily," replied dorothy. "tomorrow morning i'll go to kansas and you can go to californy." [illustration: "i'm much obliged for all your kindness."] that last evening was so delightful that the boy will never forget it as long as he lives. they were all together (except eureka) in the pretty rooms of the princess, and the wizard did some new tricks, and the scarecrow told stories, and the tin woodman sang a love song in a sonorous, metallic voice, and everybody laughed and had a good time. then dorothy wound up tik-tok and he danced a jig to amuse the company, after which the yellow hen related some of her adventures with the nome king in the land of ev. the princess served delicious refreshments to those who were in the habit of eating, and when dorothy's bed time arrived the company separated after exchanging many friendly sentiments. next morning they all assembled for the final parting, and many of the officials and courtiers came to look upon the impressive ceremonies. dorothy held eureka in her arms and bade her friends a fond good-bye. "you must come again, some time," said the little wizard; and she promised she would if she found it possible to do so. "but uncle henry and aunt em need me to help them," she added, "so i can't ever be very long away from the farm in kansas." ozma wore the magic belt; and, when she had kissed dorothy farewell and had made her wish, the little girl and her kitten disappeared in a twinkling. "where is she?" asked zeb, rather bewildered by the suddenness of it. "greeting her uncle and aunt in kansas, by this time," returned ozma, with a smile. then zeb brought out jim, all harnessed to the buggy, and took his seat. "i'm much obliged for all your kindness," said the boy, "and very grateful to you for saving my life and sending me home again after all the good times i've had. i think this is the loveliest country in the world; but not being fairies jim and i feel we ought to be where we belong--and that's at the ranch. good-bye, everybody!" he gave a start and rubbed his eyes. jim was trotting along the well-known road, shaking his ears and whisking his tail with a contented motion. just ahead of them were the gates of hugson's ranch, and uncle hugson now came out and stood with uplifted arms and wide open mouth, staring in amazement. "goodness gracious! it's zeb--and jim, too!" he exclaimed. "where in the world have you been, my lad?" "why, in the world, uncle," answered zeb, with a laugh. the end [illustration] falling in with fortune or the experiences of a young secretary by horatio alger, jr. author of "out for business," "the young boatman," "sink or swim," "luck or pluck," "paul, the peddler," "only an irish boy," etc. completed by arthur m. winfield author of "the rover boys at school," "the rover boys on the ocean," "the rover boys in the jungle," "the rover boys out west," etc. the mershon company rahway, n. j. new york copyright, 1900, by the mershon company [illustration: "is this your ring, aunt?"] preface. "falling in with fortune" is a complete tale in itself, but forms the second of two companion volumes, the first being entitled, "out for business." in this story are related the adventures of robert frost, who figured in the other volume mentioned. in the first tale we saw how robert was compelled to leave home on account of the harsh actions of his step-father, and what he did while "out for business," as he frequently expressed it. in the present tale our hero, by a curious combination of circumstances, becomes the private secretary to a rich lady, and travels with this lady to england and other places. the lady has a nephew whose character is none of the best, and as this young man had formerly occupied the position now assigned to robert, our hero's place becomes no easy one to fill. yet his natural stoutheartedness helps him to overcome every obstacle and brings his many surprising adventures to a satisfactory ending. the two stories, "out for business" and "falling in with fortune," give to the reader the last tales begun by that famous writer of boys' tales, mr. horatio alger, jr., whose books have sold to the extent of hundreds of thousands of copies, not alone in america, but likewise in england, australia, and elsewhere. the gifted writer was stricken when on the point of finishing the tales, and when he saw that he could not complete them himself, it was to the present writer that he turned, and an outline for a conclusion was drawn up which met with his approval--and this outline had been filled out in order to bring the stories to a finish and make them, as nearly as possible, what mr. alger intended they should be. the success of the first of the companion tales causes the present writer to hope that the second will meet with equal favor. arthur m. winfield. _july_ 1, 1900. contents. chapter i. thrown out of employment ii. the accusation and what followed iii. getting settled iv. the old secretary and the new v. a plot against robert vi. mrs. vernon's money vii. the doctor's visit viii. frederic vernon's perplexity ix. robert reaches london x. matters at home xi. vernon makes another move xii. an unexpected result xiii. vernon's high-handed proceedings xiv. vernon's unwelcome visitor xv. a fight and a fire xvi. robert shows his bravery xvii. a diamond scarfpin xviii. vernon plays the penitent xix. mrs. vernon's bank account xx. the runaway along the cliff xxi. the cablegram from chicago xxii. farmer parsons' story xxiii. aunt and nephew's agreement xxiv. the attack in the stateroom xxv. a friend in need xxvi. in chicago once more xxvii. dick marden's good news xxviii. in which mrs. vernon is missing xxix. doctor rushwood's sanitarium xxx. frederic vernon's demands xxxi. robert decides to act xxxii. the beginning of the end xxxiii. robert's heroism--conclusion falling in with fortune. chapter i. thrown out of employment. "a telegram for you, robert." "a telegram for me?" repeated robert frost, as he took the envelope which his fellow clerk, livingston palmer, handed him. "i wonder where it can be from?" "perhaps it's from your mother. your step-father may be sick again, and she may want you at home." "no, mr. talbot is quite well now; my mother said so in her letter of yesterday. i imagine this is from timberville, michigan." "is your friend, dick marden, still up there attending to that lumber business for his uncle?" "yes." "didn't he want you to stay there with him?" "he did, but i told him i would rather remain in the city. i like working for mr. gray, here in the ticket office, a great deal better than i do lumbering." "i can see that. you are an out and out business boy, robert. i shouldn't be surprised some day to see you have a cut-rate ticket office of your own." "i'd rather be in a bank, or some large wholesale house, livingston. but excuse me while i read the telegram." "certainly. don't mind me." tearing open the envelope, robert frost pulled out the bit of yellow paper, upon which was written the following: "i am called away to california and to canada on business. may remain for three months. will write to you later on. my uncle's case is in a bad mix-up again. "dick marden." robert read the brief communication with much interest. dick marden was much older than the boy, but a warm friendship existed between the pair. "no bad news, i hope," said livingston palmer, after waiting on a customer, who had come in to buy a cut-rate ticket to denver. "dick marden has gone to california. he says the amberton claim to that timber land is in a bad mix-up again." "i see. well, that doesn't concern you, does it?" "not exactly. but i would like to see mr. amberton come out ahead on the deal, for i think he deserves it." "i know you worked hard enough to get that map for him," said livingston palmer, laughing. "have you ever heard anything more of those two rascals who tried to get the map away from you?" "no--and i don't want to hear from them. all i want is to be left alone, to make my own way in the world," concluded robert. robert frost was a lad of sixteen, strongly built, and with a handsome, expressive face. he had been born and brought up in the village of granville, some fifty or sixty miles from chicago, but had left his home several months before to do as he had just said, make his own way in the world. the readers of the companion tale to this, "out for business," already know why robert left home. to new readers i would state that it was on account of his step-father, james talbot, who had married the widow frost mainly for the purpose of getting possession of the fortune which had been left to her,--a fortune which upon her death was to go to her only child, robert. from his first entrance into the handsome and comfortable frost homestead, james talbot had acted very dictatorial toward robert, and the boy, being naturally high-strung, had resented this, and many a bitter quarrel had ensued. at last robert could stand his step-father's manner no longer, and, with his mother's consent, he left home for chicago, to try his fortunes in the great city by the lakes. robert was fortunate in falling in with a rough but kind-hearted miner named dick marden, and the miner, who was well-to-do, obtained for the youth a position in the cut-rate ticket office of one peter gray, an old acquaintance. gray gave robert first five and then seven dollars per week salary, and to this marden added sufficient to make an even twelve dollars, so the boy was enabled to live quite comfortably. dick marden had an uncle living at timberville, michigan, who was old and feeble, and who was having a great deal of trouble about some timber lands which he claimed, but which an englishman and a french canadian were trying to get away from him. there was a map of the lands in the possession of an old lumberman named herman wenrich, and his daughter nettie, who lived in chicago, and this map robert obtained for marden and his uncle, felix amberton, and delivered it to them, although not until he had had several encounters with the people who wished to keep the map from amberton. for his services robert was warmly thanked by both amberton and marden, and the lumberman promised to do the handsome thing by the boy as soon as his titles to the lumber lands were clearly established in law. during the time spent in chicago robert had had considerable trouble with his step-father, who was trying his best to get hold of some of mrs. talbot's money, with the ostensible purpose of going into the real estate business in the great city of the lakes. but a stroke of paralysis had placed mr. talbot on a sick bed, and upon his recovery he had told both his wife and his step-son that he intended to turn over a new leaf. mrs. talbot believed him, but robert was suspicious, for he felt that his step-father's nature was too utterly mean for him to reform entirely. "i hope he does reform, mother," the boy said to his fond parent. "but if i were you i would not expect too much--at least, at the start. i would not trust him with my money." "he has not asked me for money," had been mrs. talbot's reply. "but he wanted that ten thousand dollars to open up with in chicago." "that was before he had the attack of paralysis, robert." "he may want it again, as soon as he is himself once more. take my advice and be careful what you do." and so mother and son parted, not to see each other again for a long while. but robert was right; less than two months later james talbot applied again for the money, stating that he would be very careful of it, so that not a dollar should be lost. he thought himself a keen business man, but thus far he had allowed every dollar that had come into his possession to slip through his fingers. robert felt sorry that dick marden had gone to california, for he had reckoned on seeing his friend upon his return to chicago. "now, i suppose i won't see him for a long while," he thought. robert had settled down at the office, expecting the position to be a permanent one, but on the saturday following the receipt of marden's telegram a surprise awaited him. mr. gray called him into his private office. "robert," he said, "i have bad news for you." "bad news, mr. gray? what is it?" "i am sorry to say it, but i shall have to dispense with your services from to-night." robert flushed, and felt dismayed. this announcement was like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. "are you dissatisfied with me, mr. gray?" he asked. "not at all. your services have been entirely satisfactory." "then why do you send me away?" "i cannot very well help it. i have a nephew from the country who wants a place in the city. his father has written me, asking as a favor that i will give donald a place in my office. he is poor, and i don't see how i can refuse his request." "yes, sir, i see. i am glad you are not discharging me on account of dissatisfaction." "you may be assured of that. i suppose you have some money saved up?" "yes, sir." "and no doubt your friend mr. marden will provide for you?" "mr. marden has gone to california for three months." "but you know his address there?" "no, sir." peter gray looked sober, for he was a man of good feelings. "perhaps i can arrange to keep you," he said. "you know as much about the business as mr. palmer. i can discharge him and keep you." "i would not consent to that, sir. livingston palmer needs his salary, and i wouldn't be willing to deprive him of it. i can get along somehow. when do you wish me to go?" "my nephew arrived at my house this morning. he will be ready to go to work on monday morning." "very well, sir." "of course i will give you a good recommendation--a first class one." "thank you, sir." at six o'clock the broker handed robert his week's wages, and robert went out of the office, out of a place, and with prospects by no means flattering. fortunately for robert he had about twenty dollars in his pocket, so that he was not in any immediate danger of suffering from want. he would have had more, but had bought some necessary articles of wearing apparel, assuming that his position was a permanent one. of course he began to seek for another place immediately. he examined the advertising columns of the daily papers, and inquired for anything he thought would suit him. but it so happened that business was unusually quiet, and he met with refusals everywhere, even where it was apparent that he was regarded favorably. there was one exception, however. he was offered three dollars a week in a small furnishing goods store, but this he felt that he could not afford to accept. as he came back to his boarding place every afternoon, he grew more and more despondent. "is there no place open to me in this big city?" he asked himself. one thing he was resolved upon. he would not go back to his old home. it would be too much of a triumph for his step-father, who had often predicted that robert would fail in his undertaking to support himself. and yet he must do something. he began to watch the newsboys near the sherman house briskly disposing of their merchandise. "i wonder if they make much," he thought. he put the question to one pleasant-looking boy, of whom he bought an evening paper. "i make about sixty or seventy cents a day," was the reply. sixty or seventy cents a day! that meant about four dollars a week. it was scarcely better than the salary offered in the furnishing goods store, and the employment would not be so agreeable. he felt that he should not like to have his step-father or any one who knew him in his native town seeing him selling daily papers in the street, so he decided not to take up that business except as a last resort. one day he went into a large dry goods store to purchase a small article. he made his purchase and started to go out. all at once he heard a cry, proceeding from a lady. "i have lost my purse." "that boy's got it!" said a voice. then much to his bewilderment robert found himself seized by the shoulder, and a pocket-book was drawn out from the side pocket of his sack coat. "send for an officer!" said the floor-walker. "the boy is a thief!" chapter ii. the accusation, and what followed. a person who is entirely innocent is likely to look confused when suddenly charged with theft. it came upon robert so suddenly that he could not at first summon presence of mind enough to deny it. but at last he said indignantly, "i didn't take it. i never stole in my life." "that's a likely story," said the floor-walker. "it got into your pocket itself, i suppose." "i don't know how it got there. i only know i didn't put it there." "why did you come into the store--except to steal?" "i came here to buy a necktie." just then in came an officer who had been summoned. "arrest that boy!" said the floor-walker. "he is a thief." robert started indignantly when the officer put his hand on his shoulder. "that is false!" he said. "come along!" said the officer. "is there no one here who will speak for me?" asked robert, looking about him on the suspicious and distrustful faces that surrounded him. "yes, i will do so," said a voice, and a tall, dignified looking gentleman with white hair pressed forward toward him. all eyes were turned upon the gentleman. "the boy is not a thief!" he said. "then perhaps," said the floor-walker sarcastically, "you can tell who is?" "i can," returned the other calmly. "_there_ is the thief!" he pointed to a flashily attired young man who started to go out--protesting that it was all a mistake. "that won't go down," said the floor-walker. "who are you, sir, that try to screen the boy at the expense of an innocent man?" "i am the rev. dr. blank; i am pretty well known in chicago, i believe." this statement made a sensation. some of those present recognized the clergyman, and even the floorwalker was impressed. "are you sure of this, sir?" he asked. "yes." "did you see the young man steal the pocket-book?" "no, but i saw him put it into the boy's pocket." by this time the policeman's attention had been called to the real thief. "the minister is right, i make no doubt," he said. "i recognize that man. he is a well-known thief." "arrest him then!" said the floor-walker sullenly, for he was really sorry that robert had been proven innocent. the officer released his hold on our hero, and prepared to leave the store in charge of the real thief, who had, of course, emptied the pocket-book before placing it in robert's pocket. "will you be present at the trial?" he asked the clergyman. "yes. there is my address. you can summon me." "how can i thank you, sir?" said robert warmly. "you have saved me from arrest." "thank god for that, my boy. i am glad that word of mine should do you such a service." robert walked out of the store feeling that he had had a very narrow escape. this was a relief, but it was quickly succeeded by anxious thoughts--for he was nearly out of money. his prospects were so uncertain that he blamed himself for incurring the expense of a necktie, though it had only cost him twenty-five cents. robert continued to seek for a position, but he seemed out of luck. once he came near success. it was in a furnishing goods store. the shopkeeper seemed inclined to engage him, but before the decisive word was spoken his wife entered the store. she looked at robert scrutinizingly. "i think i have seen you before," she said sharply. "i don't know, madam. i don't remember you." "but i remember you. it was two days since. i saw you in a store on state street. you were about to be arrested for stealing a wallet." robert blushed. "did you stay till it was discovered that someone else took it?" he asked. "i know you got off somehow." "i got off because i was innocent. i was as innocent as you were." "do you mean to insult me, boy?" asked the lady sharply. "no, madam. i only say that i was innocent. it was shown that a man then in the store took the wallet. he was arrested, and i was released." "very likely he was a confederate of yours." "if he had been he would have said so." "at any rate, circumstances were very suspicious. were you thinking of hiring this boy, william?" "yes, i liked his looks," answered the shopkeeper. "then be guided by me, and don't hire him." "why not? the charge seems to have been false." "at any rate, he has been under suspicion. he can't be trusted." "in that case," said robert proudly, "i withdraw my application. i need the place enough, but if you are afraid to trust me i don't care to come." "i am not afraid to trust you," said the owner of the shop kindly, "but my wife seems to have taken a prejudice against you." "in that case i will go." robert bowed and left the store. his heart was full of disappointment and bitterness, and he resented the cruel want of consideration shown by the woman who had interfered between him and employment. in fact, he had but fifteen cents left in his pocketbook. it was time for dinner, and he felt that he must eat. but where his next meal, outside of his boarding house, was to come from, he could not tell. he was on state street, and must go to another part of the city to find a cheap restaurant. he chanced to be passing the same store where he had almost suffered arrest. "i wish i had never gone in there," he reflected. "it cost me a place." as this thought passed through his mind a lady, richly dressed, passed through the portals of the store and stepped on the sidewalk. her glance rested on the boy. "didn't i see you in this store day before yesterday?" she asked. "what!" thought robert. "does she remember me also?" "i was here, madam," he replied. "you were charged with stealing a wallet?" "yes, madam, but i hope you don't think that i did it." "no; you were exonerated. but even if you had not been, i should know by your face that you were not a thief." robert brightened up. "thank you," he said gratefully. "i appreciate your confidence the more because i have just lost a place because a lady insisted that i might have been a confederate of the thief." "tell me about it. we will walk up the street, and you shall speak as we walk along." robert placed himself at her side, and told the story. "then you need employment?" she asked. "yes, madam. i need it very much. i have only fifteen cents left in my pocket." "do you live in the city?" "i have been here only a short time. i came from the country." "are you well educated? can you write a good hand? are you good at figures?" "i am nearly ready for college, but troubles at home prevented my going." "you shall tell me of them later. would you like to be my private secretary?" "yes, madam. i should feel very fortunate to procure such a position." "can you enter upon your duties at once?" "yes, madam." "then we will take a car, and you can accompany me home." "shall i go after my valise?" "no, you can go after that this evening. if you accompany me now we shall be in time for dinner." rather dazed by the suddenness of his engagement, robert hailed a passing car by direction of his companion, and they took seats. the ride proved to be a long one. they disembarked at prairie avenue, and the lady led the way to a handsome residence. robert went up the front steps with her, and rang the bell. the door was opened by a smart servant girl, who regarded robert with some surprise. "is dinner ready, martha?" asked the lady of the house. "yes, madam. it will be served at once." "take this young gentleman up to the back room on the third floor, so that he may prepare for dinner." "yes, mrs. vernon." "you will find everything necessary for your toilet in the room which i have assigned you. by the way, what is your name?" "robert frost." "a good name. martha will go up in ten minutes to conduct you to the dining room." "if this is a dream," thought robert, as he followed the servant upstairs--"it is a very pleasant one. i hope i shan't wake up till i have had dinner." he was shown into a chamber of fair size, very handsomely furnished. everything was at hand for making his toilet. robert bathed his face and hands and combed his hair. he was quite ready when martha knocked at the door. "dinner is served," she said. "i will show you the way to the dining room." chapter iii. getting settled. robert was well prepared by long abstinence to do justice to the choice viands that were set before him. he had not been brought up in poverty, yet he had not been accustomed to the luxurious table maintained by mrs. vernon. he ate with so much relish that he was almost ashamed. "i have an unusual appetite," he said half apologetically. "probably you do not generally dine so late," said mrs. vernon. "no, madam." "i am glad you enjoy your dinner," said his hostess. when dinner was over she said, "come with me into my study, or perhaps i may say my office, and i will give you an idea of your duties." robert followed her with not a little curiosity, to a somewhat smaller room on the same floor. it contained a large writing desk with numerous drawers, also several chairs and a bookcase. mrs. vernon seated herself at the desk. "probably you wonder what a woman can want of a secretary?" she said inquiringly. "no," answered robert. "i know that there are women of business as well as men." "quite true. i do not need to enter into full explanations. however, i may say that i possess considerable property invested in different ways. my husband died two years since, and i am left to manage it for myself." robert bowed, indicating that he understood. "a part of my property is in real estate, and i have numerous tenants. a part is invested in manufacturing stocks. i believe you said you understood bookkeeping?" "theoretically, i do. i have studied it in school." "take this sheet of paper and write a letter at my dictation." she rose from the desk and signed to robert to take her seat. he did so, and wrote a short letter at her dictation. "now give it to me." she regarded it approvingly. "that will do very well," she said. "i think you will suit me." "am i the first secretary you have employed?" asked robert curiously. "a natural question. no, i still have a secretary, a nephew of mine." robert looked puzzled. "then, with me, you will have two." "no, for i shall discharge my nephew." "is he--a boy?" "no, he is a young man of twenty-five." "do you think i shall suit you any better? i am afraid you will be disappointed in me." "i will tell you why i discharge my nephew. he takes advantage of his relationship to make suggestions and interfere with my plans. besides, he is inclined to be gay, and though his duties are by no means arduous he neglects them, and is so careless that i have found numerous errors in his accounts." "does he know that he is to be superseded?" "no; he will learn it first when he sees you." "i am afraid he will be prejudiced against me." "no doubt he will." "does he depend upon his salary? won't he be put to inconvenience?" "you are very considerate. i answer no, for i shall continue to pay him a liberal salary, but will leave him to obtain employment elsewhere. and this leads me to ask your views in regard to compensation." "i shall be satisfied with whatever you choose to pay me." "then suppose we say a hundred dollars a month, and of course a home. you will continue to occupy the room into which martha conducted you before dinner." "but, mrs. vernon, can i possibly earn as much as that? most boys of my age are contented with five or six dollars a week." "they do not have as responsible duties as you. you will not only be my secretary, but will be entrusted with my bank account. i can afford to pay you liberally, and wish to do so." "then i can only thank you and accept your generous offer." "that is well. by the way, how are you provided with money now?" "i have almost nothing. i have been out of employment for some weeks." mrs. vernon opened a drawer in her desk, and took out a roll of bills. "count those, please," she said. "there are seventy-five dollars." "you can accept them on account, or rather, i won't charge them to you. you may look upon that sum as your outfit. very likely you may need to replenish your wardrobe." "yes, mrs. vernon, i shall, if i am to live in your house." "well spoken. as one of my family, of course i shall want you to be well dressed." "shall i begin my duties now?" "no; you may return to your boarding house and prepare to transfer your trunk here." robert bowed. "we shall have supper at seven. very possibly your predecessor, my nephew, may be here. we will separate till then." she left the room, and robert followed. as he emerged into the street he asked himself whether it were not all a dream. but feeling in his vest pocket he found the roll of bills, and this was a sufficient answer. what a difference a couple of hours had made in his feelings! in the forenoon he had been discouraged, now he was in the highest spirits. on his way he passed the furnishing goods store where he had been refused a position in the morning. he was in need of underclothing, and entered. the proprietor of the shop saw and recognized him. "you have come back again, i see," he said. "it is of no use. i cannot employ you. so far as i am concerned, i should be willing, but, as you know, my wife is prejudiced against you." "i am not looking for a position," said robert quietly. "what, then?" "i wish to buy a few articles." he passed from one article to another, and his bill amounted to over ten dollars. the proprietor of the store, who waited upon him in person, became more and more amazed, and even a little anxious. "can you pay for all these?" he asked. "certainly, or i should not buy them." when the bill was made out it amounted to between fourteen and fifteen dollars. robert passed out two ten-dollar bills. "you seem well provided with money," said the merchant respectfully. "where shall i send these articles?" robert gave the number of mrs. vernon's residence on prairie avenue. "do you live there?" "yes, sir." "i hope you will favor me with your continued patronage. evidently my wife made a very absurd mistake." robert did not buy any more articles. he deferred till the next day purchasing a suit, of which he stood in need. then it occurred to him, as he had plenty of time, that he would call at the cut-rate ticket office where he had been employed. as he entered the office he found livingston palmer alone. "i am glad to see you, robert," said his friend. "i begin to hope that mr. gray will take you back." "how is that?" "his nephew is getting home-sick. besides, he has no business in him. he will never make a good clerk. if you can get along for a week or two you may be taken into the office again." "i am not in the market, livingston." "you don't mean to say you have got a place?" "but i have." "what is it?" "i am private secretary to a lady of property on prairie avenue." "you don't say so! is the pay good?" "a hundred dollars a month." "jumping jehosophat! you are jollying me." "not at all. it's all straight. and that is not all. i have a home in the house, too." livingston palmer regarded his young friend with reverential awe. "it doesn't seem possible," said he. "how did you get it?" "i can hardly tell you. the lady has taken me without recommendations." "well, robert, you were born to good luck. i am afraid you won't notice me now that you are getting up in the world." robert smiled. "i will see you as often as i can," he said. just then mr. gray entered the office. "ah, frost," he said. "i suppose you haven't a place yet?" "i have one," answered robert rather coolly, for he felt that the broker had treated him badly. "indeed!" then after robert's departure palmer told his employer the particulars of his late clerk's good fortune. mr. gray was disposed to be incredulous. on returning to prairie avenue robert found himself just in time for tea. at the table he met a stout, swarthy young man, whom mrs. vernon introduced as her nephew, frederic vernon. "is this a new acquaintance of yours, aunt?" asked frederic vernon. "it is my new secretary," she replied, "robert frost." "that boy!" he said disdainfully, regarding robert with unmistakable animosity. chapter iv. the old secretary and the new. before robert's entrance frederic vernon and his aunt had had a conversation. he had no idea that his aunt contemplated a change in their arrangements. she was a woman of a few words, and had been gradually making up her mind to dismiss her nephew from his post as secretary. when he entered her presence at five o'clock he said apologetically, "i hope you had no important business for me this afternoon, aunt. i was unavoidably detained." "please explain, frederic," she said composedly. "at the palmer house i fell in with an old schoolmate who wished me to dine with him." "and you accepted?" "yes; i am awfully sorry." "your regrets are unavailing. this is not the first, nor the tenth time, that you have neglected your duties without adequate cause." frederic looked at her. she was not in the least excited, but she seemed in earnest. "i see i shall have to turn over a new leaf," he said to himself. "my aunt is taking it seriously." "it will be the last time," he said. "i admit that i have been neglectful. hereafter i will be more attentive." "it will not be necessary," said mrs. vernon. "why not?" he asked, in surprise. "because i shall relieve you from your duties." "what do you mean?" "i shall give you a permanent vacation." "do you discharge me?" asked frederic quickly, his cheek flushing. "yes, if you choose to use that word." "but--how am i to live?" "i will continue your salary--you may hereafter call it an allowance." "but how will you manage about your writing?" "i shall get another secretary--indeed, i have already engaged one." frederic vernon hardly knew how to take this announcement. it was certainly a favorable change for him, as his salary would be continued, and his time would all be at his own disposal. "i am afraid you are angry with me, aunt?" he said. "say dissatisfied." "but----" "the fact is, i have thought it best to employ one who was not related to me. you have taken advantage of the relationship to slight my interests. my new secretary is not likely to do that." "who is he? where did you find him?" "his name is robert frost. as to where i found him, i do not consider it necessary to answer that question." "is he in the house?" "he will be here to tea." frederic vernon remained silent for a short time. he was thinking over the new situation. in some respects it was satisfactory. he was naturally lazy, and though his duties had been light, he had no objection to give up work altogether. "of course, you will please yourself, aunt," he said. "there is one thing more. you had better find another home." "what! leave this house?" "yes; you will be more independent elsewhere. while you were in my service it was best for you to have your home here. i shall make you an extra provision to cover the expense of a room elsewhere." "you are very kind, aunt." "i mean to be. of course, you are at liberty to come here to meals whenever you like. you will be quite independent as regards that." "how long have you been thinking of making a change, aunt?" "for some weeks. i advise you to find some occupation. it will not be well for you to have your time entirely unoccupied." "you are sure this change will not alter your feeling toward me?" he asked anxiously. "i think not." frederic vernon went upstairs to prepare for tea. soon after he came down he met robert, as already mentioned. he was certainly very much surprised at the youthful appearance of the new secretary, and he was not altogether free from jealousy. "have you ever filled the position of secretary before?" he asked abruptly. "no, mr. vernon." "i supposed not. how old are you?" "sixteen." "humph! how long since did you lay aside short pants?" "frederic!" said his aunt, in a tone of displeasure. "i desire you to drop this tone. i expect you to treat your successor with courtesy. you have nothing to complain of." "very well, aunt. i will be guarded by your wishes." on the whole the young man was not sorry to have his duties transferred to another. though he had seldom been occupied more than three hours daily, even those had been irksome to him. "when do you wish me to find a new home, aunt?" he asked. "you can consult your own convenience." "i will look around to-morrow, then. do you wish me to initiate my successor in the duties of his position?" "it will not be necessary. they are simple, and i will give him all the aid he requires." when they rose from the table frederic vernon invited robert to go out with him. "i will take you to some place of amusement," he said. his object was to get better acquainted with his successor, and report unfavorably to his aunt. "thank you," answered robert. "you are very kind, but i am tired, and i should like to arrange my clothing in my chamber. some other time i shall be glad to accept your invitation." "very well," said vernon indifferently, and soon left. "i am glad you did not go out with my nephew," said mrs. vernon. "he keeps late hours, which would be even worse for a boy of your age than for him." "i am afraid he is not pleased with my taking his place." "probably not; though he won't object to being relieved from all care. perhaps i had better tell you something about our relations. he is a son of an older brother of my husband, and should i die without a will, he is my natural heir. i fancy he bears this in mind, and that it prevents his making any exertions in his own behalf. i don't mind confessing that i am a rich woman, and that my property would be well worth inheriting." "still," said robert, "you are likely to live a good many years." "perhaps so, but i am twenty years older than my nephew. he is a young man of fair abilities, and might achieve a creditable success in business if he were not looking forward to my fortune." mrs. vernon seemed quite confidential, considering their brief acquaintance. "at any rate," said robert, smiling, "i hope i am not likely to be spoiled by any such anticipation." "some time you shall tell me of your family. now it may be well to go up to your room and arrange your things." robert went upstairs, and retired early, feeling fatigued. he could not help congratulating himself on the favorable change in his circumstances. in the morning he had been despondent and almost penniless. now he felt almost rich. the next morning after breakfast mrs. vernon said: "be ready to go downtown with me at two o'clock. i will introduce you at my bank, as i shall have occasion to send you there at times to draw and deposit money." "when shall you wish me to write for you, mrs. vernon?" "to-day, just after dinner. it will not always be at the same hour." they set out at the time mentioned. mrs. vernon introduced robert to the teller at what we will call the bank of chicago, and announced that he would act as her messenger and agent. as they left the bank she said: "i shall now leave you to your own devices--only stipulating that you be at home at two o'clock." "it seems i am to have an easy time," thought robert, when left alone. in one of the cross streets leading from clark to state street robert met frederic vernon and a friend. "hallo, frost!" said the former. "have you been out with my aunt?" "yes, sir." "cameron, this is mr. frost, my aunt's private secretary." "i thought you filled that honorable position," said cameron. "so i did, but i have resigned it--that is, the place, but not the salary." "you are in luck. won't your friend come in with us and have a drink?" "thank you for the invitation," said robert, "but i must ask you to excuse me." "oh, you are puritanical," said cameron, with an unpleasant sneer. "perhaps so." robert bowed and passed on. "do you know, vernon," said cameron, "i have seen that kid before, and under peculiar circumstances." "indeed!" "yes; on tuesday i was in the bazaar dry goods store, on state street, when i saw him for the first time." "what were the peculiar circumstances?" "he was charged with stealing a pocket-book." "are you sure of that?" asked vernon eagerly. "yes, i should know him anywhere." "how did he get off?" "some minister spoke in his favor." "i must tell my aunt of this," said vernon gleefully. "i think the young man will get his walking papers." chapter v. a plot against robert. frederic vernon lost no time in acquainting his aunt with his discovery. finding himself alone with her that evening, he said: "i am afraid, aunt, you did not exercise much caution when you selected young frost as your secretary." "explain yourself, frederic." "it is only a few days since he was arrested for theft in a dry goods store." "well?" "surely you don't approve of employing a thief?" "no, but he was innocent." "how do you know? does he say so?" "i was in the store when he was arrested." "and yet you engaged him?" "the arrest was a mistake. the real thief was found and is now serving a sentence." "i didn't suppose you knew of this incident in the life of your secretary." "and you hoped to injure him by mentioning it to me." "i thought you would see that you had made a bad choice." "then you made a mistake. thus far i am quite satisfied with my choice." frederic vernon was mortified by his lack of success, but determined to follow up his attack upon robert, and to get him into trouble if he could. he had still free entrance into the house of his aunt, and occasionally occupied his own room there. one day in passing his aunt's chamber, seeing the door ajar, he entered, and soon discovered on her bureau a valuable ring. "ha!" he exclaimed, as a contemptible thought entered his mind. "i think i can give young frost some trouble." he took the ring, and carrying it into robert's room, put it in a drawer of the bureau. in the evening he took supper in the house. his aunt looked perplexed. "what is the matter, aunt?" he asked. "i miss my diamond ring--the cluster diamond--which was a gift from your uncle." "that is serious. when did you see it last?" "i think i left it on my bureau this morning. of course, it was careless, but i felt that there was no danger of its being lost or taken." "humph! i don't know about that. was it valuable?" "i suppose so. in fact, a jeweler told me once that it was worth five hundred dollars." "it might tempt a thief. aunt, let me make a suggestion." "well?" "i slept here last night. i should like to have you search my chamber to make sure it is not there." "nonsense, frederic! as if i could suspect you." "no, it is not nonsense. what do you say, mr. frost?" "i am perfectly willing to have my room searched, mr. vernon." "i don't suspect either of you," said mrs. vernon. "i will look again in my own room." "aunt, that will be well, but i insist on your searching my room also, and mr. frost is willing to have you search his." reluctantly mrs. vernon followed her nephew upstairs, and first examined her own chamber, but the ring was not found. next she entered frederic's room. he made great ado of opening all the drawers of his bureau, and searching every available place, but again the ring was not found. "you see, the search is unnecessary, frederic," said his aunt. "still i shall feel better for its having been made." "then we will stop here." "if robert does not want his room searched he can say so," said vernon significantly. robert colored, for he felt the insinuation. "i wish you to search my room," he said proudly. frederic vernon conducted the examination. he searched every other place first. finally he opened a small drawer of the bureau, and uttered an exclamation. "what is this?" he asked, as he drew out the ring and held it up. "is this your ring, aunt?" "yes," she answered calmly. "mrs. vernon," said robert, in an agitated tone, "i hope you don't think i had anything to do with taking the ring." "the case is plain," said frederic vernon severely. "you may as well confess, and i will ask my aunt to let you off. of course she cannot retain you in her employ, but i will ask her not to prosecute you." robert looked anxiously yet proudly into the face of his employer. "don't feel anxious, robert," she said, "i haven't the slightest suspicion of you." "then, aunt, how do you account for the ring being found in the room of your secretary?" "because," said mrs. vernon, "it was placed there." "exactly. that is my opinion." "but not by him." "not by him? what do you mean?" "by you. i was in my room this afternoon, and heard steps in his chamber; i knew that it was not robert, for i had sent him out on an errand. presently you came downstairs. it was you who placed the ring where it was found, frederic vernon," she said sternly. "if that is the opinion you have of me, aunt," said vernon, who could not help betraying confusion, "i will bid you good-evening." "you may as well. your attempt to ruin the reputation of your successor by a false charge is contemptible." vernon did not attempt to answer this accusation, but turning on his heel left the room. "thank you for your justice, mrs. vernon," said robert gratefully. "i was afraid you might believe me a thief." "i should not, even if i had not positive knowledge that frederic had entered into a conspiracy against you. he has done himself no good by this base attempt to blacken your reputation. we will let the matter drop and think no more of it." chapter vi. mrs. vernon's money. during the next three months frederic vernon was a rare visitor at the house of his aunt. he took apartments nearer the central part of the city, and lived like a bachelor of large means. the result was, that he overrun the income received from his aunt, though this was a very liberal one. he applied to her to increase his allowance, but she firmly refused. "how is it, frederic," she asked, "that you are spending so much money?" "i don't know, aunt. i only know that the money goes." "you must be a very poor manager." "i have a good many friends--from the best families in chicago." "and i suppose you entertain them frequently?" "it is expected of me." "i give you twice as much as you received when you were my secretary." "then i did not have an establishment of my own." "you ought to live well on three thousand dollars a year." "do you live on that, aunt?" "i keep up a large house." "and i have an extensive suite of rooms." "it is not necessary. what rent do you pay?" "a thousand dollars a year." "then you will need to engage cheaper rooms." "won't you help me out, aunt?" "no," answered mrs. vernon firmly. frederic went away in ill humor. he was never rude to robert now. indeed, he treated him with exaggerated and formal respect, which robert felt only veiled a feeling of dislike. one evening robert sat down for a time in the lobby of a prominent hotel. he did not at first notice that frederic vernon and a tall black-whiskered man of middle age sat near him, conversing in a low tone. at length he heard something that startled him. "is it difficult," asked frederic, "to procure the seclusion of a party who shows plain signs of insanity? i ask you as a physician." "state your case," said his companion. "i have an aunt," answered frederic, "a woman of fifty or more, who is acting in a very eccentric manner." "in what way?" "until a few months since she employed me as her private secretary. without any warning and with no excuse for the action, she discharged me, and engaged in my place a boy of sixteen, whom she had known only a day or two." "where did she meet this boy?" "in a large dry goods store, under peculiar circumstances. he was about to be arrested for theft when she secured his release, and engaged him as her secretary on a liberal salary." "is he still in her employ?" "yes. she has made him her first favorite, and it looks very much as if she intended to make him her heir." "is she a rich woman?" "she is probably worth quarter of a million--perhaps more." "and you are her rightful heir?" "yes. what do you think of that?" "it is very hard on you." "don't you think it is evidence of insanity?" "it looks very much that way." "if you can manage to procure her confinement in an asylum, i will make it worth your while, and can afford to do so. i should in that case, doubtless, have the custody of her property, and----" robert did not hear the balance of the sentence, for the two parties arose and left the hotel, leaving him startled and shocked by the revelations of the wicked conspiracy which so seriously threatened the safety of his benefactress. he lost no time in giving mrs. vernon information of what he had heard. "you are quite sure of what you have told me?" she asked, with deep interest. "certainly, mrs. vernon. why do you ask?" "because it seemed to me incredible that frederic could be guilty of such base ingratitude. why, he is even now in receipt of an income of three thousand dollars a year from me." "it seems very ungrateful." "it is very ungrateful," said the widow in an emphatic tone. "mrs. vernon," said robert, "your nephew mentioned as one evidence of your insanity your employing me as your secretary. if this is going to expose you to danger, perhaps you had better discharge me." "give me your hand, robert," said mrs. vernon impulsively. "it is easy to see that you are a true friend, though in no way related to me." "i hope to prove so." "and you would really be willing that i should discharge you and take back my nephew into his old place?" "yes." "nothing would induce me to do it. that ungrateful young man i will never receive into a confidential and trusted position. what is the appearance of the man you saw with him?" robert described him. "you think he was a physician?" "i judge so." "probably my nephew will bring him here to see me with a view to reporting against my sanity. in that case i shall call upon you to identify him," concluded mrs. vernon. chapter vii. the doctor's visit. two days later frederic vernon called. he found his aunt with robert. the latter was writing to her dictation. "are you well, aunt?" he asked blithely. "yes, frederic. this is an unusual time for you to call. have you any special business with me?" "oh, no, aunt, but i happened to be passing. i have a friend with me. will you allow me to introduce him?" "yes." "then i will go down and bring him up. i left him in the hall." when her nephew left the room mrs. vernon said rapidly, "stay here, robert, when my nephew comes back. if the man with him is the same one you saw at the hotel make me a signal." "yes, mrs. vernon." frederic vernon entered with his companion. "aunt," he said, "let me introduce my friend mr. remington. remington, my aunt, mrs. vernon." mrs. vernon bowed formally, and did not seem to see the outstretched hand of her nephew's companion. she scrutinized him carefully, however. "are you a business man, mr. remington?" she asked. "no, madam," answered remington hesitatingly. "professional then?" "my friend remington is a physician," said frederic. "i should have introduced him as dr. remington." "perhaps you are a patient of his?" "oh, no," laughed frederic. "i don't need any medical services." "nor i," said mrs. vernon quickly. "by the way," said frederic, turning toward robert, "this is mr. frost, my aunt's private secretary." dr. remington surveyed our hero closely. "he is young for so important a position," he said. "yes, he is young, but competent and reliable," answered mrs. vernon. "no doubt, no doubt! probably you have known him for a long time, and felt justified in engaging him, though so young." "certainly i felt justified," said mrs. vernon haughtily. "oh, of course, of course." the conversation continued for a few minutes, mrs. vernon limiting herself for the most part to answering questions asked by her nephew. she treated the stranger with distant coldness. presently frederic vernon arose. "we mustn't stay any longer, remington," he said. "we interrupted my aunt, and must not take up too much of her time." "you are right," said the doctor. "mrs. vernon, i am very glad to have made your acquaintance." mrs. vernon bowed politely, but did not otherwise acknowledge the compliment. "good-by, aunt," said frederic lightly. "i will call again soon." "when you find time," she answered coldly. "good-by, robert," said frederic, in an affable tone. robert bowed. "well, remington," said frederic when they emerged into the street. "what do you say?" "i say that your aunt treated us both with scant courtesy." "she reserves that for young frost, her secretary. he is first favorite, and is working to make himself her heir." "we will put a spoke in his wheel," said the physician. "i shall have no hesitation in giving you a certificate of your aunt's probable insanity." "good! i will see that you are properly compensated." "that sounds very well, frederic, but is too indefinite." "what do you want, then?" "if through my means your aunt is adjudged insane, and you come into her fortune, or get control of her estate, i want ten thousand dollars." "isn't that rather steep?" "you say mrs. vernon is worth at least quarter of a million?" "i judge so." "then what i ask is little enough. you must remember that i must get another doctor to sign with me." "very well, i agree," answered vernon after a pause. "then i will undertake it. be guided by me, and success is sure." when the pair of conspirators had left her presence mrs. vernon remained for a short time silent and thoughtful. robert watched her anxiously. "i hope," he said, "you do not think there is cause for alarm." "i do not know," she answered. "i am not so much alarmed as disgusted. that my own nephew should enter into such a plot is enough to destroy one's confidence in human nature." "if my going away would lessen the danger----" "no; i shall need you more than ever. i am not prepared to say just yet what i shall do, but i shall soon decide. we will stop work for this afternoon. i am going downtown to see my lawyer. i shall not need you till tea-time." she left the room, and robert, availing himself of his leisure, left the house also. he was destined to a surprise. on state street, near the palmer house, an hour later he came face to face with his step-father, now in the city for the first time since his illness. robert had held no communication with the family since obtaining his new position, and james talbot did not know where he was. "robert frost!" he exclaimed in genuine surprise. "mr. talbot," said robert coldly. "are you still living in chicago?" asked his step-father curiously. "yes, sir. is my mother well?" "as well as she can be, considering the waywardness of her son." "what do you mean by that?" demanded robert with spirit. "my only waywardness consists in resenting your interference with my liberty." "i was only exercising my right as your step-father." "my mother's act has made you my step-father, but i don't admit that it gives you the right to order me about." "it is very sad to see you so headstrong," said james talbot, in a mournful tone. "don't trouble yourself about me, mr. talbot. i feel competent to regulate my own affairs." "i suppose you are working in some way?" said talbot inquiringly. "yes, sir." "i heard you had left gray's office. for whom are you working? are you in a store?" "no, sir." "you seem well-dressed. i hope you are doing well?" "yes." "have you any message for your mother?" "tell her i will write to her again soon. i ought to have done so before." "you had better go home with me; i invite you to do so." "i do not care to be under the same roof with you." "it is sad, indeed, to see a boy of your age so refractory." "don't borrow any trouble on my account, mr. talbot. i will go home on one condition." "what is that?" "that you will leave the house." "this is very improper and disrespectful. of course i cannot do that. i shall remain to comfort and care for your mother." "then there is no more to say. good-day, sir." robert bowed slightly, and passed on. "i wish i knew what he was doing, and where he is employed," said talbot to himself. "i would let his employer know how he has behaved to me. i wish he might lose his place and be compelled to sue for pardon." when robert met mrs. vernon at the supper table she said to him, "robert, i have some news for you." "what is it, mrs. vernon?" "we start for new york to-morrow. we sail for liverpool on saturday." chapter viii. frederic vernon's perplexity. there are few boys to whom the prospect of visiting europe would not possess a charm. robert was delighted by mrs. vernon's announcement, and readily agreed to assist her in the necessary preparations. nothing occurred to interfere with their plans. they passed a single day in new york, where mrs. vernon purchased a large letter of credit, and saturday saw their departure on a cunard steamer bound for liverpool. it was on this very day that frederic vernon, again accompanied by his friend, dr. remington, called at the house on prairie avenue. the doctor recommended a second interview, in order that he might more plausibly give a certificate of insanity. no hint of mrs. vernon's projected trip had reached her treacherous nephew. a single servant had been placed in charge by mrs. vernon to care for the house, and guard against the intrusion of burglars. "i suppose my aunt is at home, martha," said frederic blithely. "no, mr. frederic, she has gone away." "you mean she has gone into the city. when will she return?" "i don't know." "why don't you know?" "she has gone on a journey." "indeed!" said remington, much disappointed. "where has she gone?" "she said she might go to california." martha had been instructed to say this, and did not know but it was true. "well, well! that is strange!" ejaculated remington. "what do you think of it, doctor?" "it bears out our theory," responded the doctor briefly. "it is very inconvenient," vernon continued. "when did mrs. vernon start?" he inquired, turning to the girl. "on wednesday morning." remington's countenance fell. "i suppose it will be of no use to remain longer, then," he said, as he descended the steps. "is there no one of whom you can obtain information, vernon?" "my aunt has a man of business who looks after her investments. he will probably know." "let us go there, then." mr. farley's office was on dearborn street. frederic vernon went there at once. mr. farley was a lawyer as well as a man of business, and frederic had to wait half an hour while he was occupied with a client. "well, mr. vernon, what can i do for you?" he asked coldly, for the young man was not a favorite of his. "i just called upon my aunt, and learned that she had departed on a journey." "precisely so." "the servant thought she had gone to california. is that correct?" "did she not write to inform you of her destination?" "no, sir, she was probably too hurried. of course you know where she is." "even if i did know i should not be at liberty to tell you. if your aunt has not informed you, she probably has her reasons." vernon flushed, and he found it hard to control his anger. "then you refuse to tell me?" "i do not feel called upon to tell. have you any special business with your aunt? if so, i will mention it in any letter i may have occasion to write." "it seems to me this is a very foolish mystery." "it is not for me, or for you, to comment upon or to criticise your aunt's plans," said the lawyer pointedly. "has robert frost, whom she employs as secretary, gone with her?" "possibly. she did not mention him in her last interview with me." "will you write me when you hear from her?" "if she authorizes it." "i will leave you my address." there seemed to be nothing more to say, and vernon left the office baffled and perplexed. he communicated what he had heard to dr. remington, whom he had not thought it advisable to take with him to mr. farley's office. "what do you make of it, remington?" he inquired. "i don't know. do you think mrs. vernon got any inkling of your scheme to have her adjudged insane?" "how could she?" "true. we have been very careful not to discuss the matter within the hearing of anyone." "what can we do?" "we must wait. you must find out where your aunt is before you can take any steps." "suppose she has gone to california?" "we can follow her." there was, however, one serious impediment in the way of going to california. vernon used up his allowance as fast as he received it, and was even a little in debt. again, california was a large place, and though probably his aunt might be in san francisco, it was by no means certain. the money, however, was the chief consideration. "how are you fixed financially, remington?" asked vernon. "why do you ask?" "if you could lend me five hundred dollars we might start to-morrow." "where do you think i could raise five hundred dollars?" asked remington coolly. "i thought you might have it--in a savings bank." "i wish i had, but even then i should consider it safer there than in your hands." "i hope you don't doubt my honesty," said vernon quickly. "well, i haven't the money, so there is no occasion to say more on the subject." vernon looked despondent. "what do you advise me to do?" he asked. "when does your next allowance come due?" "on the first of next month." "three weeks hence?" "yes." "then you will have to wait till that time, unless you find some obliging friend who has more money than i." "it's very vexatious." "it may be for our advantage. remember, it is not at all certain that your aunt is in california. you may get some light on the subject within a short time. next week suppose you call in prairie avenue again. the servant may have heard something." "true," responded vernon, somewhat encouraged. in a few days he called again, but martha had heard nothing. "it is hardly time yet," said remington. "next week you may have better luck. if your aunt is in california there would be time for her to get settled and write to you." the next week vernon ascended the steps of his aunt's house with a degree of confidence. "i think i shall get some information this time," he said. "have you had a letter from my aunt yet?" he asked. "no, mr. frederic." his countenance fell. "but i have received a note from mr. farley." "what did he say?" asked vernon eagerly. "he said that he had had a telegram from my mistress and she was well." "did he say where she was?" "no, sir." "and you have no idea?" "no, mr. frederic. i expect she is in california, as i told you." "but why should she telegraph from california?" this question was asked of his companion. "i give it up," said remington. "you might call on farley again." "i will." the visit, however, yielded no satisfaction. the lawyer admitted that he had received a telegram. he positively refused to account for its being a telegram, and not a letter. "but," said vernon, "do you feel justified in keeping me ignorant of the whereabouts of my near relative?" "yes, since she has not thought it necessary to inform you." "by the way, mr. farley," asked vernon, after a pause, "can you kindly advance me a part of my next month's allowance?" "it will all be payable within a week." "true, but i have occasion for a little money. fifty dollars will do." "you must excuse me, mr. vernon." as frederic vernon's available funds were reduced to twenty-five cents, this refusal was embarrassing. however, he succeeded in borrowing fifty dollars during the day from a broker who knew his circumstances, at five per cent. a month, giving the broker an order on mr. farley dated a week later. the same evening found him in the billiard room of the palmer house, playing a game of billiards with remington. remington took up a copy of the new york _herald_, and glanced over the columns in a desultory way. something caught his eye, and he exclaimed in an excited tone, "vernon, the mystery is solved. your aunt is at the charing cross hotel in london." "you don't mean it?" ejaculated vernon. "see for yourself. mrs. ralph vernon, chicago; robert frost, chicago." frederic vernon gazed at his friend in stupefaction. "i can't believe it," he muttered feebly. chapter ix. robert reaches london. the ocean trip was more enjoyed by robert than by mrs. vernon. for three days the lady was quite seasick, while her young secretary was not at all affected. he was indefatigable in his attentions to the invalid, and gained a stronger hold upon her affections. "i don't know what i should do without you, robert," she said on the third day. "you seem to me almost like a son." "i am glad to hear you say this, mrs. vernon," returned robert, adding with a smile, "if you had said i seemed to you almost like a nephew, i should not have been so well pleased." "i should like to forget that i have a nephew," said mrs. vernon, with momentary bitterness. "i shall never forget his treachery and ingratitude." robert did not follow up the subject. frederic vernon's ingratitude to his aunt and benefactress seemed to him thoroughly base, but he did not care to prejudice mrs. vernon against him. "i wish you were my nephew," continued mrs. vernon thoughtfully. "i cannot help contrasting your treatment of me to his." "i have reason to be grateful to you," said robert. "i was very badly situated when you took me in." "i feel repaid for all i have done for you, robert," said mrs. vernon. "but now go on deck and enjoy the bright sunshine and the glorious breeze." "i wish you could go with me." "so do i. i think i shall be able to accompany you to-morrow." mrs. vernon felt so much better the next day that she was able to spend a part of the time on deck, and from that time a portion of every day was devoted to out-of-door exercise. she was able to walk on deck supported by robert, who was never so occupied with the new friends he made among the passengers as to make him neglectful of his benefactress. mrs. vernon, too, made some acquaintances. "how devoted your son is to you, mrs. vernon," said mrs. hathaway, an elderly widow from the city of new york. "i wish i had a son, but alas! i am childless." "so am i," said mrs. vernon quietly. mrs. hathaway looked surprised. "is he not your son, then?" "he is not related to me in any way." "i am surprised to hear it. what then is the secret of your companionship?" "he is my private secretary." "and he so young! is he competent to serve you in that capacity?" "entirely so. he is thoroughly well educated and entirely reliable." "if you ever feel disposed to part with him, transfer him to me." mrs. vernon smiled. "have you no near relatives, then?" "no, i once had a son, who died about the age of your young secretary. i should be glad if you would transfer him to me. i am rich, and i would see that he was well provided for." "i don't think i could spare him. i too am rich, and i can provide for him." "if you change your mind my offer holds good." later in the day when they were together mrs. vernon said, "robert, i don't know but i ought to increase your salary." "you pay me more now than anyone else would." "i am not sure of that. i have had an application to transfer you to another party." "any person on this steamer?" "yes; mrs. hathaway." "does she need a private secretary?" "probably not, but she says you are about the age of a son she lost. i think she wants you to supply his place. she is rich, and might do more for you than i am doing." "i am quite satisfied with my present position. i do not want to leave you." mrs. vernon looked gratified. "i do not want to lose you," she said, "but i thought it only fair to speak of mrs. hathaway's offer." "i am very much obliged to her, but i prefer to remain with you." mrs. vernon looked pleased. "i should be willing to transfer my nephew frederic to mrs. hathaway," she said, "but i doubt if the arrangement would prove satisfactory to her." the voyage was a brief one, their steamer being one of the swiftest of the cunard liners, and a week had scarcely passed when they reached the pier at liverpool. a short stay in liverpool, and they took the train for london, where they took rooms at the charing cross hotel. robert was excited and pleased with what he saw of the great metropolis. he had his forenoon to himself. mrs. vernon had visited london fifteen years before, and had seen the principal objects of interest in the city. she rose late, and did not require robert's presence till one o'clock. "go about freely," she said. "you will want to see the tower, and westminster abbey, and the houses of parliament. i don't care to see them a second time." "but i don't feel quite right in leaving you." "don't feel any solicitude for me. i am three times your age, and our tastes and interests naturally differ. when i need you, i shall signify it, but it will seldom be till afternoon." in the afternoon they often took a carriage and drove in the parks or out into the country. so between the drives and his own explorations robert was in a fair way of becoming well acquainted with the great metropolitan district. one afternoon, about a week after their arrival, mrs. vernon said with a smile: "to-morrow morning i shall require your presence." "certainly, mrs. vernon." "we will go out at eleven o'clock. it is on business of your own." "business of my own?" repeated robert, wondering what it would be. "i will be ready." at eleven o'clock robert ordered a hansom cab, and the driver awaited directions. "do you know the office of baring brothers, bankers?" asked mrs. vernon. "yes, madam." "take us there." it was on the firm of baring brothers that mrs. vernon had a letter of credit, and robert concluded that she was intending to draw some money from them. he did not connect her errand with himself. arrived at the banking house, robert remained in an outer room, while mrs. vernon was closeted with a member of the firm. after twenty minutes robert was called in. "robert," said mrs. vernon, "you will append your signature here." "then this is the young gentleman for whom you have established a credit with us?" said the banker. "yes, sir." "he is very young." "sixteen years old." "do you wish him to have a guardian?" "no. he is to have absolute control of the funds in your charge." when they emerged from the banking house mrs. vernon said: "robert, i will explain what probably mystifies you. i have placed to your credit with baring brothers the sum of four hundred pounds. it is at your own control." robert looked inexpressibly astonished. he knew that four hundred pounds represented about two thousand dollars in american money. "what have i done to deserve such liberality?" he asked gratefully. "you have become the friend that my nephew ought to have been. i am rich, as you are probably aware, and shall be unable to carry my money with me when i die. i might, of course, make a will, and leave you the sum i have now given, but the will would probably be contested by my nephew if he should survive me, and i have determined to prevent that by giving you the money in my lifetime. how far frederic vernon will be my heir i cannot as yet tell. it will depend to a considerable extent upon his conduct. whatever happens, i shall have the satisfaction of feeling that i have shown my appreciation of your loyalty and fidelity." "i don't know what to say, mrs. vernon. i hope you will believe that i am grateful," answered robert warmly. "i am sure of it. i have every confidence in you, robert." to robert the events of the morning seemed like a wonderful dream. three months before he had been wandering about the streets of chicago a poor boy in search of employment. now he was worth two thousand dollars, in receipt of a large income, and able to lay by fifty dollars a month. but above all, he was made independent of his step-father, whose attempts to control him were more than ever futile. this led him to think that he ought to apprise his mother of his present whereabouts and his health. he did not think it advisable to mention the large gift he had just received, or the amount of the salary he was receiving, though he had no doubt it would change the feelings of mr. talbot toward him. his step-father worshiped success, and if he knew that robert was so well provided for he would do all that lay in his power to ingratiate himself with him. after writing the letter to his mother, he wrote as follows to his fellow-clerk, livingston palmer, whom he had not informed of his european journey. "dear friend palmer," he wrote, "you will be surprised to hear that i am in london, and shall probably spend several months on this side of the water. i am still acting as private secretary to mrs. vernon, who continues to be kind and liberal. from time to time i will write to you. i inclose a ten-dollar bill as a present, and shall be glad to have you spend it in any way that is agreeable to yourself. "yours sincerely, "robert frost." chapter x. matters at home. james talbot was thoroughly put out by the way in which robert had treated him when the two had met on the street in chicago. "that boy hasn't the least respect for me," was what he told himself bitterly. "i am afraid he will end up by making me a lot of trouble." before his sickness he had felt certain that he would get at least ten thousand dollars of the frost fortune in his hands,--to be invested, so he had told mrs. talbot, in the real estate business in chicago. what he was really going to do with the cash, the man had not yet decided. certain it is, however, that neither mrs. talbot nor robert would have ever seen a dollar of it again. when james talbot arrived home he was so out of humor that even his wife noticed it. "you are not well again," she said. "i met that boy of yours," he growled. "you met robert!" she exclaimed. "where?" "on the street, in chicago." "how was he looking?" "oh, he was well enough, madam. but let me tell you, that boy is going to the dogs." "oh, i trust not, james." "i say he is." "did you two quarrel?" "he quarreled; i did not. i invited him to come back home, and what do you think he said?" "i cannot say." "said he wouldn't come back unless i got out. said that to me, his legal step-father," stormed talbot. "i am very sorry you and robert cannot get along," sighed the lady meekly. "it's the boy's fault. he is a--a terror. he will end up in prison, mark my words." "i do not think so," answered mrs. talbot, and to avoid a scene she quitted the room. james talbot was growing desperate, since the little money he had had of his own was nearly all spent. by hook or by crook he felt that he must get something out of his wife. a few days later he concocted a scheme to further his own interests. coming home from the post-office, he rushed into his wife's presence with a face full of smiles. "sarah, i have struck a bonanza!" he cried, waving a folded legal-looking document over his head. "a bonanza?" she queried, looking up from her sewing in wonder. "yes, a bonanza. i have the chance to make half a million dollars." "in what way?" "by investing in a dock property in chicago, on the river. my friend, millet, put me on to the deal. the property is to be sold at private sale, and millet and i are going to buy it in--that is, if we can raise the necessary cash." "is it so valuable?" "we can get the property for twenty-five thousand dollars. it is right next to the docks of the dearborn iron manufacturing company. they wanted this land, but the owner quarreled with them and wouldn't let them have it. now we can gather it in for about half its value, and it won't be a year before the iron people will offer us a fat sum for it." "but if the iron people want it, why don't they get a private party to buy it in for them?" returned mrs. talbot. "oh, you women don't understand these things," answered james talbot loftily. "millet has the bargain clinched--if only we can raise the money." "and how much will he raise?" "twelve thousand dollars. he wants me to put in the other thirteen thousand. my dear, you will lend me that amount, won't you? it would be a crime to let such a chance slip by." "don't you know that thirteen is an unlucky number?" said the lady slowly. "surely, sarah, you are not as superstitious as all that. if you are, i'll get millet to put up even with me--twelve thousand and five hundred each. but i would rather have the balance of the say in the matter." "i am not superstitious, james, but--but----" "but what? the money will be perfectly safe." "i--i think i had better have a lawyer look into the deal first. there may be some flaw in the title to the property." "no, that is all right--millet had it examined. there is no time to spare, as the deal must be closed by noon to-morrow, or our option comes to an end." "it is very sudden." "and that is how fortunes are made, my love. the man of business watches his chances, and then seizes them before anybody else can get ahead of him." mrs. talbot was doubtful, and tried to argue. but her husband seemed so positive that he at last won her over, and got her to make out a check for the thirteen thousand dollars. "but be careful, james," she pleaded. "remember, i do not consider this money really mine. at my death it must go to robert." "i shall be careful, sarah, my love," he said. "do not worry." but to himself he thought: "that boy, always that boy! it will be a long day before he sets eyes on a cent of this money!" he could hardly control his delight, but he did his best to calm his feelings before his wife. the next day he was off for chicago, stating that he would not be back again for several days. secretly, mrs. talbot was much worried over what she had done. "i hope the investment proves a good one," she thought. "i would not wish to see the money lost. it must all go to robert when i am gone." she never considered that the frost fortune was her own, for hers was, as we know, only a life interest. two days later came a letter from robert--not the one mailed from london, but one he had penned in new york before taking the trip on the ocean liner. mrs. talbot was greatly interested in all her son had to say. she was glad he was enjoying good health, and pleased to know that he would write again on reaching the other side of the atlantic. on the same day that she received robert's letter a visitor called upon her. it was william frankwell, her lawyer, and a man who had at one time transacted all of mr. frost's legal business for him. "you will excuse me for calling, mrs. talbot," said the lawyer, after the usual greeting. "but i thought it might be for your interest to drop in." "i am glad to see you, mr. frankwell," she responded. "i was thinking of sending for you." "indeed. was it about that check?" "what do you know of the check?" she cried. "i heard of it at the bank, and i thought----" the lawyer paused. "that it was rather unusual for me to put out a check of that size?" "exactly." "mr. talbot is going to use it in buying a dock property in chicago." and she gave the lawyer what particulars she possessed regarding the transaction. "if things are as you say, they are all right," said the lawyer. "mr. frankwell, i wish you to look into the matter, and--and----" "and see if everything is as represented," he finished. "yes. i am ashamed to own it, but my husband is--well, is not exactly what i took him to be," she faltered. "i understand, perfectly, mrs. talbot," answered william frankwell gravely. "i will do my best for you." "i should not wish him to know that i am having an investigation made." "he shall not know it--i give you my word on that." and so they parted, and the lawyer set one of his clerks to watching james talbot, to learn just what the man's underhanded work meant. chapter xi. vernon makes another move. frederic vernon was much put out to think that his aunt had gone to england instead of to california. "what do you think of this?" he asked of dr. remington. "i think your aunt wanted to put you off the track," replied the physician. "that she had no idea of going to california, even at first?" "that's it." "do you think she suspects what we intend to do?" "perhaps," was the dry reply. "insane people are quite crafty, you know." "oh, she must be insane, remington." "well, i am willing to give a certificate to that effect, and i can get another doctor to back me up." "but we can't touch her in england, can we?" "i think not. you must try some means of getting her back to the united states." "that is easy enough to say, but not so easy to do," returned frederic vernon gloomily. "make it necessary for her to return." "how can i?" "do you know how her capital is invested?" "in various investments,--banks, stocks, and bonds, besides some real estate." "why not write to her, saying that some of her money is in danger of being lost, and that she must return at once in order to take the necessary steps to save it?" "by jove, but that's a good idea!" ejaculated frederic vernon. "remington, you have a long head on you. i'll write the letter at once." "you must be very careful how you word it, otherwise she may smell a mouse, as the saying is." "yes, i'll look her interests up first and find out how they stand. i had a list which i kept after giving up being her secretary." "then you ought to be able to compose a first-rate letter." "but how will i send it? i am not supposed to know where she is." "tell her you saw the notice in the newspaper." "to be sure--i didn't think of that." on returning to his bachelor apartments frederic vernon looked over the papers he had kept, which should have been turned over to robert, and found that his aunt owned thirty thousand dollars' worth of stock of the great lakes lumber company, whose principal place of business was in chicago. this stock had once dropped, but was now worth a little above par value. "this will do," he murmured to himself, and sitting down to his desk, penned the following letter: "my dearest aunt: "i was very much surprised to learn about a week ago that you had left chicago for parts unknown. i suppose you are off on a little trip, and do not want to be worried about business or anything else. i thought you were in california, and was much surprised to see, by the new york _herald_, that you are in london. "i called at your home to tell you about the great lakes lumber company. quite by accident i overheard a talk between the president of the concern and some stockholders, and learned that they intend to freeze out some of the other stockholders, including yourself. i heard the president say, 'we'll get that woman out, even if we don't get anybody else out.' "under such conditions, i would advise you to return to chicago at once, and then i will tell you all of the details, so that you can proceed against the company without delay and save yourself. "i am in the best of health, and about to accept a fine business opening with one of the leading railroads. i trust you are also well, and that your ocean trip does you a world of good. "devotedly your nephew, "frederic vernon." "there, what do you think of that?" asked vernon of remington, when the two met on the following morning. "it's pretty strong," was the physician's answer. "if the president of that company got hold of the letter he could make you sweat for it." "but he shan't get hold of it. as soon as my aunt comes back, i'll confiscate the letter,--and i'll look to you to do the rest." "i am ready to do all i can. if we work the deal properly, we'll have her in a private asylum inside of forty-eight hours after she returns." the letter was duly addressed to mrs. vernon, in care of the charing cross hotel, london, and frederic carried it down to the post-office so that it might start on its long journey without delay. "i suppose i'll have to wait at least two weeks now," said vernon dolefully. "it's a long time, but it cannot be helped." he was waiting patiently for the time to come when he might draw his allowance from mr. farley. promptly on the day it was due he called at the lawyer's office. he expected seven hundred and fifty dollars--a quarter of his yearly allowance of three thousand dollars, but instead, mr. farley offered him a hundred and fifty dollars. "why, what does this mean?" demanded the young man, who could scarcely believe the evidence of his eyesight. "you ought to know better than i, mr. vernon," replied the lawyer quietly. "don't i get my usual allowance?" "no; mrs. vernon has instructed me to give you a hundred and fifty dollars monthly after this." "why, that is only eighteen hundred a year!" "you are right, sir." "but i was getting three thousand." for answer to this mr. farley merely shrugged his shoulders. "it is an outrage!" went on the young man. "if you don't want to take the money you don't have to," said the lawyer coldly. he was utterly disgusted with frederic vernon's manner. "i'll have to take it," groaned vernon. "but how i am to live on a hundred and fifty a month i don't know." "at your age i would have been glad to have had half that amount per month, mr. vernon." "you were not in society as i am, mr. farley." "you are right there--and i am glad of it." "i don't think my aunt has any right to cut me down in this fashion." "is she called upon to allow you anything?" the shot told, and frederic vernon's face grew red. "i am her nearest relative." "i know that." "blood ought to count for something." "i agree with you." "i have always done my best to further my aunt's interests." "you were her secretary for awhile, i believe." "i was, until she took in an upstart of a boy in my place." "young frost seems to be a nice young man." "he is a snake in the grass. he has prejudiced my aunt against me." "i know nothing about that." "then you cannot possibly let me have more money?" asked vernon, as he arose to go. "no; i cannot. will you sign for the check or not?" "i will sign," was the desperate answer, and, having done so, the young man took the check and hurried off with it. "matters have come to a pretty pass," he hissed between his set teeth when on the street once more. "who knows but what she'll soon cut me off altogether. i hope she comes home as soon as she gets my letter, and that we get her into a private asylum without any trouble." chapter xii. an unexpected result. "two letters for you, mrs. vernon," said robert, as he came to the lady one fine day after a drive in the park. "thank you, robert," she replied, and gazed at the writing on the envelopes. "i declare one is from my nephew frederic!" "why, i thought he didn't know where you were," replied the youth. "i wasn't aware that he did know. i told nobody but mr. farley." "then perhaps the lawyer told him," suggested our hero. "no, mr. farley is too discreet for that. the second letter is from him." without delay mrs. vernon opened frederic's communication and read it. robert saw by her face that she was greatly perplexed. "this is too bad!" she murmured. "no bad news, i hope, madam?" said robert. "it is bad news. read the letter for yourself," and mrs. vernon passed it over. while robert read vernon's letter, the lady perused the communication from her lawyer. it was on several matters of business, but one passage will certainly interest the reader. "i have followed your directions and had your nephew watched," wrote mr. farley. "he is very thick with dr. remington, and the pair seem to have some plot between them. will write again in a few days." "well, robert, what do you think of frederic's letter?" asked mrs. vernon, as she put her lawyer's epistle away. "do you want me to speak frankly?" replied our hero. "certainly." "then let me say that i think it is merely a ruse to get you to come home." "do you really think so?" "i do. your nephew knows he can do nothing while you are out of his reach." "i have thought of that--in fact, that is why i came to england. if i go back, what do you suppose he will do?" "hire that dr. remington to put you into an asylum, and then try to get control of your money." "then you do not advise me to go back?" "no, indeed; at least, not until you have proved to your own satisfaction that what he writes is true." "i might get mr. farley to investigate." "then that is just what i was going to suggest. as he is authorized to transact all business for you, he can probably do as much as if you yourself were on the ground." "yes, i know, but----" mrs. vernon paused and flushed up. "you hate to expose your family affairs, even to mr. farley," interposed robert. "that is too bad, certainly, but i don't see how it can be helped. sooner or later the truth must come out." "i am willing to let mr. farley know all--in fact, he knows a good deal already. but the world at large----" "then tell mr. farley to investigate in private. one thing is sure, i wouldn't go back if i were you." "i don't know but what you are right, robert. but, oh, it is terrible to think one's relative is so treacherous," concluded mrs. vernon, and she could scarcely keep from weeping. robert did his best to cheer her up, and then she sat down and dictated a long letter to mr. farley, asking him to investigate the charge against the great lakes lumber company without delay. this letter robert posted before going to bed. although rather strong appearing, mrs. vernon was in reality quite a delicate woman, and worrying over her nephew's doings soon told on her. she grew pale, and hardly ate at all when she came to the table. robert was quick to notice the change. "london air doesn't seem to agree with you," he remarked one morning. "don't you think a change might be of benefit?" "i was considering the question of leaving the city," replied the lady. "perhaps it would be as well for us to take quarters in some pretty town up the thames. i would like to find some place where the driving and boating are both good." "i am sure it will be an easy matter to obtain what we want if we hunt around a little," said robert. a few days later they left london and removed to windsor, where the royal palaces are located. here they remained two days, and then settled down at a pretty town which i shall call chishing, located on a small bluff overlooking the thames at a point where the river was both wide and beautiful. their new boarding place was a pretty two-and-a-half story affair, with a long, low parlor, and an equally long and low dining hall. it was kept by mrs. barlow, a stout, good-natured english woman, who did all in her power to make her visitors comfortable. they had two rooms, which, while they did not connect, were still side by side, and both overlooked the river, and a pretty rose garden besides. "i know i shall like it here," said mrs. vernon, as she sat by the window of her apartment, drinking in the scene one day at sunset. "robert, what do you think?" "i will like it, too, for awhile." "i suppose you are thinking of home." "i must admit i am. to tell the truth, i am afraid my mother is not very happy." "i fear you are right." mrs. vernon sighed. "with your mother, it is her husband, while with me, it is my nephew. ah, if only everything in this world would go right for once!" "well, we have to take things as they come, and make the best of them," replied our hero. the next day there was a letter for him from his mother. in this mrs. talbot mentioned his communications, and told how she had come to let her husband have the thirteen thousand dollars. she concluded by stating that she was afraid she had made a big mistake. "i am certain she has made a big mistake," said robert to himself. "mr. talbot will never give the money back, and i know it. i think she is doing enough by supporting him. i don't believe he has done a stroke of work since he was sick." robert soon felt at home, and on the third day went down to the river to take a row, a pastime of which he had been fond while at home. as he passed to the dock where boats could be hired, he ran plump into a red-headed boy named sammy gump. sammy was strong and heavy set, and had been the bully of chishing for several years. "hullo, yankee, where are you going?" he demanded, as he pushed robert roughly. "i am going to attend to my own business," replied our hero quietly. "have you any objection?" "dreadful fine clothes you have got; oh, dear!" smirked sammy. "we are dressed for the ball, we are!" "let me pass," demanded robert, and tried to go around the bully, who suddenly pushed him, and tried to trip him in the dust of the road. but for once sammy gump had reckoned without his host, for although he sent robert staggering several yards, our hero did not fall. gump expected robert to beat a retreat, and was taken aback when the boy came forward with clenched fists. "what do you mean by treating me like that?" demanded robert. "oh, go along with you!" howled the bully. "if you don't like it, do the other thing." "you are mighty impudent about it." "am i?" sneered sammy. "say, yankee, how do you like that?" and he slapped robert on the cheek. if our hero was surprised that instant, the bully was more surprised the instant after, for hauling back, robert let fly with his fist, and took sammy gump fairly and squarely in the mouth, a direct blow that landed the bully flat on his back and loosened two of his teeth. "wh--what did yo--you do that for?" he spluttered, as after an effort he arose and glared at robert. "to teach you a lesson, you overgrown bully," replied robert. "the next time, i imagine, you will know enough to leave me alone." and then he passed along to the dock to hire the rowboat. sammy gump glared after him in baffled rage. "all right; you just wait," he muttered. "nobody ever struck me yet but what he didn't rue it afterward!" chapter xiii. vernon's high-handed proceedings. frederic vernon found it very hard to cut down his expenses. he had so accustomed himself to luxurious living that to give up any of the good things of life was to him worse than having a tooth pulled. yet it was absolutely necessary that he do something, for his rent was due, and his tailor had threatened to sue him unless at least a part of the bill for clothing was paid. returning from mr. farley's office he found his landlord waiting for him. "good-morning, mr. vernon," said the landlord stiffly. "i called for the quarter's rent for your apartments." "i am very sorry, mr. brown," replied vernon smoothly. "but i will have to ask you to wait until next week. my banker----" "i can't wait any longer, mr. vernon," was the quick rejoinder. "you promised to settle to-day." "yes, but my banker disappointed me, and----" "then you cannot pay?" "no." "then i am ordered by the owner of the building to serve you with a notice to quit," said mr. brown quietly. at this frederic vernon was thunderstruck. he, one of the leading society lights of the city, served with a notice to quit his bachelor apartments! it was preposterous, scandalous! "mr. brown, do you know who i am?" he demanded, drawing himself up to his full height. "certainly. mr. frederic vernon." "exactly, sir, and a member of one of our first families, sir." "i can't help that, sir. the owner of this building expects his money from the first family tenants as well as from the others." "you are--er--a--a----" "no use to quarrel about it, mr. vernon. you must pay, or i will serve the notice." a wordy war followed, but mr. brown was obdurate, and to avoid being set out on the street frederic vernon paid him fifty dollars on account, and promised to settle the balance inside of ten days. then the young man walked into his parlor, threw himself into an easy chair, lit a havana cigar, and gave himself up to his reflections. but not for long, for five minutes later there was a knock on the door and opening it, he found himself confronted by mr. simon moses, his tailor. "ver sorry, inteet, to disturb you, mr. vernon," said the tailor, who was a hebrew, "but i come to see if you vould pe so kind as to bay up dot pill you vos owin' me for der last seex months." "no; i haven't got any money now," growled vernon. "come next week." "dot is oxactly vot you say las' veek, und de veek pefore, mr. vernon. dot pill is long oferdue, and i vos need mine monish." "so do i need my money, but i can't get it, mr. moses. i've got six thousand dollars owing me for a month, and can't get a cent of it." for the moment the hebrew was astonished, then a crafty look came into his eyes. "maype you vill sign ofer von of dem claims to me, hey?" he suggested. "chust enough to cofer mine pill, see?" "no, i can't do that. call in ten days and i will pay up in full." "dot is positive?" "do you doubt the word of a gentleman?" "very vell, i vill call chust ten days from to-day. and if you no bay up den, i will go and see your rich aunt about dot pill." and with this parting shot simon moses left the apartments, banging the door after him. going to the door, vernon locked it. "nobody else shall disturb me," he thought, and sat down to finish his smoke. "so he will go to my aunt, eh? ha! ha! i guess he'll have something of a job to locate her, especially if martha tells him she is in california." the days passed, and vernon waited impatiently for a letter from his aunt. he felt almost certain that she would write, stating she would be back by the first available steamer. when the time was past and no letter came, he began to grow suspicious. "perhaps she didn't get the letter," suggested dr. remington. "she may have left charing cross hotel, you know." "more than likely young frost got the letter and destroyed it," answered vernon. "i should have sent it in care of mr. farley. he may have some secret way of communicating with her." "well, don't worry too much. you may get a letter before the week is out," concluded remington, and there the matter dropped and the two sallied off to waste several hours in drinking and in playing billiards. remington had no visible means of support, but managed to squeeze out a living by sponging from those who were richer than himself. it was true he now got very little out of vernon, but he was living in the hope that the plan against the rich aunt would be carried through, and he would become ten thousand dollars richer by the operation. the mail steamer had brought no letter for vernon, but it had brought a very important communication for mr. farley, and after reading it carefully the lawyer decided to act without delay. he was acquainted with richard anderson, the president of the great lakes lumber company, fairly well, and knew him to be a pillar of the church and in sound financial standing. with proper delicacy the lawyer approached the subject at hand, and richard anderson listened in amazement. "it is absurd to think there is anything wrong with our company, mr. farley," said the gentleman, with spirit. "if mrs. vernon thinks so all she has to do is to put her stocks on the market, and i will buy them up at two per cent. above par value. how did such a silly rumor ever reach her ears?" "i hardly feel justified in stating how the rumor started." "but i must demand it of you, mr. farley. why, such a report, if it spread, might do our company a tremendous harm." "i agree with you on that point." "tell me the truth, and i will see that you do not suffer through it." "i do not want mrs. vernon to suffer." richard anderson thought for a moment, then leaped to his feet. "tell me, did that report come from that fool of a nephew of hers?" he demanded. "what makes you think it might come from him?" "because i heard that he was angry at her for leaving chicago and not letting him know where she had gone to. the young fool let it out at one of the clubs when he was half full of liquor." "well, if you must know, it did come from vernon. but don't let on that i told you," said the lawyer. "the scoundrel! farley, do you know what i think of doing?" "don't have him arrested. it will break mrs. vernon's heart." "i won't. but i'm going to thrash him within an inch of his life, the puppy!" "you can do as you see fit on that score." and mr. farley could not help but smile. "where does he live, with his aunt?" "no, he has bachelor quarters at the longmore." "very well. he shall hear from me before to-morrow night. i'll take some of his baseness out of him." "don't get yourself into trouble," was mr. farley's warning as he arose to go. "oh, i won't murder him, rest easy about that," returned richard anderson grimly. on his way home that night he stopped at a harness store and asked to see the whips. "i want something short, and with a good, stinging lash," he said. "got a bad horse to deal with, eh?" said the salesman. "yes, the worst colt in the city." "all right, sir, here you are. that will fetch him, i'll warrant you." "how much?" "one dollar." "that will do." richard anderson paid the money and had the whip wrapped up. "now, frederic vernon, i'll wager i'll make you face the music to-morrow," he muttered, as he took a car for home. "if i don't lay this on well it will be because i've forgotten how, and i guess a man don't forget these things very easily." chapter xiv. vernon's unwelcome visitor. when another day had passed and no letter came to frederic vernon, the young man began to grow desperate. "i've got to raise money somehow," he said to himself. but the question was a difficult one to settle, since he had already used his friends as much as he dared. he was a late riser, and it was after ten o'clock when he was preparing to go out to a nearby restaurant for breakfast, when there came a hasty knock on his door. he was expecting remington, and unlocked the door without a second thought--to find himself confronted by richard anderson. the face of the capitalist was stern, and in one hand he carried the horsewhip he had recently purchased. "well, vernon, i reckon you did not expect to see me," said the president of the lumber company coldly. "why--er--no, i did not," stammered the young man. "i want to have a little talk with you, young man." "yes, sir," answered vernon, with a shiver. "what--er--what about?" "i want to know why you have been circulating a report calculated to hurt our lumber company." "me?" cried vernon, pretending to be astonished. "yes, you." "i have circulated no report." "it is useless for you to deny it, young man. i have it upon the best authority that the report came from you." "what report?" "that our company was in a bad way financially and liable to go to pieces at any time." as richard anderson finished he closed and locked the door and placed the key in his pocket. "hi! what are you doing that for?" gasped frederic vernon in alarm. "so that nobody can interrupt me while i am teaching you a lesson." "i--i don't understand." "you will understand when i begin to use this horsewhip." vernon grew white and trembled so that he could scarcely stand up. "you won't dare to--to hit me," he faltered. "won't i? you just wait and see. do you know that i could have you arrested for what you have done?" "i deny doing anything." "and i can prove what you have done. if it wasn't for that kind-hearted aunt of yours i would let you go to prison." "did mrs. vernon tell you what i--i mean did she accuse me?" ejaculated the young man, so astonished that he partly forgot himself. "no, she hasn't told me anything that you may have written to her. my information came from an outside party who happened to be my friend. but your slip just now proves what my friend told me. you are a rascal, vernon, but instead of having you locked up, i am, for your aunt's sake, going to take it out of your hide." as richard anderson concluded he threw back his arm, and down came the lash of the horsewhip across vernon's shoulder. "ouow!" yelled the young man. "oh, murder! stop! stop! i'll be cut to pieces!" swish! swish! swish! down came the horsewhip again and again, over vernon's shoulders, his back, around his legs, and one cut took him around the neck and face. the lumber dealer was thoroughly in earnest, and though the young man tried to fight him off it was useless. "i will have you arrested for this!" shrieked vernon, as he danced around with pain. "oh, my neck! oh, my legs! stop! stop!" "i hope this proves a lesson you never forget," returned richard anderson, with a final cut over vernon's quivering back. "and now take my advice, and don't go to law over it, for if you do i shall expose you and make you pay the full penalty of your evil doings." "i'll--i'll kill you when i get the chance!" roared vernon, in a wild rage. "no, you won't touch me. you just behave yourself, and stop being a fool and a spendthrift, and perhaps you'll get along better." with these final words richard anderson unlocked the door again and walked out, taking his whip with him. as soon as the lumber dealer had departed vernon closed the door, and not only locked but bolted it, and then sank into an easy chair, the picture of misery and despair. "oh, the rascal," he groaned, as he nursed his cuts, which smarted like fire. "i won't get over this in a month!" he gazed into a handy looking-glass. "everybody at the club will ask where i got that cut on the neck and cheek. i wish i could kill him, yes, i do!" but his rage, although intense, was useless, and after a while he cooled down a little, and then set to work to bathe his cuts and put something soothing on them. during this time there was a knock on the door, at which vernon instantly became quiet. "hullo, frederic, are you asleep yet?" came in dr. remington's voice. "he mustn't see me in this condition," thought the young man, and continued quiet. there followed another knock and a pause. "guess he's out for breakfast," muttered the doctor, and stalked away. "breakfast," murmured vernon. "i don't feel as if i could eat a mouthful in a week." for the thrashing had made him sick all over. it was nearly noon when he did venture out, and then he got his first meal of the day at a restaurant where he was unknown. he wondered greatly who had informed richard anderson of what was going on. strange to say, he never suspected mr. farley. "it must have been that robert frost," he said, at last. "he has read my letter to aunt, and wants to get me into trouble. i wish he was at the bottom of the ocean!" all day long vernon brooded over the way he had been treated. "if this whole affair comes out and aunt hears of it, she will treat me worse than ever," he reasoned. "i wish i could get to her and have a talk." he felt certain that he would be able to persuade mrs. vernon into treating him more liberally, not suspecting that she had discovered the plot to send her to an insane asylum. at last a bold, bad plan entered his head, and he resolved to act upon it the very next morning. he would draw up a check for himself for six hundred dollars, and sign mrs. vernon's name to it. he was a clever penman, and felt he could imitate her signature closely. he had frequently received large checks from her, and the forgery would never be suspected at the bank. his first move was to get the necessary blank check at the bank. this was easy, as such blanks are always to be found on the desks provided for the use of the public. having obtained several blanks he hurried home and brought out a number of letters mrs. vernon had written. with these as a guide to the style of writing, he filled in one of the blanks and signed her name. then, from his knowledge of her private business, he filled in the number, making it high enough to clear all checks below it. his first effort was a complete success, and so he threw the other blanks away. noon found him again at the bank, and having endorsed the check with his own name he walked to the window and asked to have it cashed. the teller knew him, and passed out the six hundred dollars without comment. when vernon found himself on the sidewalk it must be confessed that the cold perspiration stood out on his forehead. he was a high-handed criminal, and he knew it. for what he had done the law could send him to state's prison for a long term of years. "and now to get away from chicago, and from the united states," he told himself, and took a hack for his bachelor apartment. once in the rooms, he packed his trunk and valise and donned a traveling suit. before night he was on his way to new york, and forty-eight hours later he had secured passage on an ocean liner for england. chapter xv. a fight and a fire. to go rowing on the river thames became a favorite amusement with robert, and many an hour was spent thus, when mrs. vernon did not need him. occasionally the lady would go with our hero, but she was now suffering from rheumatism, and the dampness affected her so that she soon preferred to remain in the cozy boarding house. "but do not remain in on my account, robert," she said one day, on declining his suggestion to go out. "a boy like you needs all the fresh air and exercise he can get." "i hate to go and leave you alone," he replied. "you are with me enough. while you are gone i shall do a little fancy work and read, and perhaps lie down for a nap." secretly mrs. vernon was much worried over the outcome of her letter to mr. farley concerning frederic's communication, but she did not let on to her young secretary. "it will do no good," she thought. "there is already enough trouble as it is." there was a brisk wind blowing when robert made his way to the dock where he usually hired his boat, but otherwise the day promised to be a perfect one. our hero generally obtained his craft from an old tar named jack salter, but on reaching the landing place he was disappointed to find salter nowhere in sight. "he must have gone out to fish," he said to himself. "i wonder if i dare take a boat without asking him? i suppose it will be all right." he was looking the boats over when suddenly several big boys came rushing out of a building nearby and surrounded him. the leader of the crowd was sammy gump, the bully of the village. "hi, there!" bawled sammy. "what are you doing among jack salter's boats?" "i was going to hire one," answered robert quietly, although he did not like the looks of the crowd that surrounded him. "hire one?" sneered sammy. "it's more than likely you were going to take one without hiring it." robert's face flushed and his eyes blazed as he faced the bully. "do you mean to say that i was going to steal one?" he demanded. "never mind what i meant. you leave jack salter's boats alone." "i believe i have as much right here as you." "hear him!" sneered several. "don't the yankee think he's big!" "jack salter isn't going to let you have any more boats," put in bob snipper, who was sammy gump's particular toady. "and why not?" "because we told jack not to," answered sammy gump. "we haven't any boats for such fellows as you." "i think jack salter will let me have all the boats i want if i pay for them," returned robert sharply. "anyway, this is a public dock and a public business, and you have no right to interfere with my affairs." "don't you talk like that, or you'll catch it," growled sammy. "from you?" answered robert quickly. "perhaps you have forgotten our encounter of the other day." "you took an unfair advantage of me then," went on the bully. "i'm going to teach you a lesson for it." he made a signal to his companions and of a sudden all of the english boys hurled themselves upon our hero. robert was not expecting such a combined attack, and before he could save himself he was down on his back, with three of his tormentors on top of him. "now give it to him, fellows!" cried sammy. "pound him as hard as you can!" "not much!" answered robert, as he let out with his foot. the blow landed on the bully's knee and made him howl with pain. but robert could not throw the others off at once, and they hit him half a dozen times. at last he got up with a quick side movement, and hauling off he hit bob snipper such a blow that the toady lost his balance and went backward with a loud splash into the river. "bob's overboard!" was the cry. "he'll be drowned!" "save me! save me!" yelled snipper. "i--i can't swim!" and then throwing up both arms he disappeared from view. "you've killed him!" cried sammy hoarsely. "he had no right to attack me," answered robert. "but he is not dead yet, and i think we can get him ashore if we hurry." he leaped from the dock into the nearest boat. as he cast off he looked at the others, expecting one or more to follow him to the rescue, but nobody volunteered. nearly all were too dazed to act. snipper had gone down, and when he came up it was fully twenty feet from where the boat rode. seizing an oar, robert paddled toward the unfortunate youth. "keep up!" he cried encouragingly. "i will help you in half a minute!" bob snipper saw robert approaching and it gave him a little hope. he had forgotten all about how badly he had treated our hero. he made a clutch at the oar robert extended toward him, and having secured a firm hold was quickly drawn aboard of the rowboat. "now, i guess you are all right," said robert, who was hardly excited at all. "i--i--suppose i am," gasped the bully's toady. "i--i--am much obliged to you for hauling me out of the water." "so you got him out, eh?" remarked sammy, as robert paddled back to the dock. "yes." "it wasn't much to do. i would have gone for him myself if you had given me the chance." "there was no time to waste," was robert's brief reply. "come, you can jump ashore now," he added, to his dripping passenger. "aren't you coming ashore?" said snipper slowly. "no, i am going out on the river. i don't think any of you will stop me from using this boat now." "you can take it so far as i am concerned," answered the bully's toady, with a face full of shame. "i shan't set myself up against you again, i can tell you that!" "yes, go on and take the boat, frost," put in one of the other boys. "you're the right sort, and i'm sorry we attacked you." one of the other boys also spoke up, expressing his regrets at the encounter. but sammy gump remained silent, his face just as sour as before. "i'm awfully thankful he pulled me out," said bob snipper, after robert had left the vicinity of the dock. "if he hadn't i would have been drowned." "that's right, bob," said one of the others. "humph!" muttered sammy. "you are trying to make a regular hero out of him, when he is nothing of the sort." "well, why didn't you come and pull me out?" asked bob. "i was going to--but he got ahead of me." "i can't swim, and it wouldn't have taken me long to drown, i can tell you that." "he did very well," said another lad of the crowd. "after this i am going to be friendly with him." "all right, dick martin, do as you please. i'll never be friendly with him," answered sammy gump, and strode away in as bad a humor as ever. as bob snipper was soaked to the skin, there was nothing for him to do but to either go home and change his clothes, or else go bathing and let his suit dry in the meantime. afraid of a scolding if he went home, the boy concluded to go bathing, and dick martin and one other lad accompanied him, while the others hurried away after sammy gump. "i don't believe the american boy is half a bad sort," said dick martin, as the three moved up the thames to where there was a tiny inlet well screened with trees and bushes. "he had a perfect right to hire a boat if he wanted it and could pay for it." "we made a big mistake to follow sammy into the game," said harry larkly, the third boy. "sammy was mad at him because of a row the two had on the road some time ago." "after this i am going to treat him as a friend," said dick martin. "it's all tom-foolery to give him the cold shoulder just because he's an american. why, i've got half a dozen cousins in america." "so have i," put in bob snipper. "and when my father went to boston last year the folks over there treated him first-rate. we were fools to let sammy lead us around by the nose." "well, we'll know better next time," said harry larkly. "if sammy won't do the right thing by him, why, i'm going to cut sammy, that's all." the swimming place was soon gained, and having placed his garments in the sun to dry, bob snipper went in for a second bath, but this time taking very good care not to go out over his depth. the others soon followed, and went out a considerable distance, for both were good swimmers. "why can't you swim, bob?" asked dick. "i don't know, i'm sure. every time i try my head goes down like a lump of lead." "that's queer." "my brother is the same way--and my father says he could never learn either." "it must run in the family," said harry, with a grin. "like wooden legs among soldiers. i think you can learn if you'll only try and keep cool. you get too excited." the boys remained in the water for nearly an hour. by this time the wind and the sun had about dried bob's garments, and then all began to dress. "hullo, what's that?" cried dick suddenly, as he pointed toward the village. "see the heavy smoke." "it's some place on fire!" burst out bob. "i wonder what place it can be?" all three boys ran toward the river road, putting on the last of their garments on the way. "it's mrs. barlow's boarding house!" ejaculated dick martin. "say, fellows, this wind is going to sweep the house to the ground!" "mrs. barlow's?" repeated harry larkly. "why, that is where that american boy and his lady companion board." "that's so, harry," said bob. "and that is where norah gump, sammy's sister, works, too," he added. "i hope none of those people are in danger of being burnt up." chapter xvi. robert shows his bravery. robert was hardly in a fit mental condition to enjoy his row, and his face was very serious as he drew away from the crowd that had molested him. "i don't see what they want to act so for?" he mused, as he pulled up the broad stream. "i never tried to harm any of them, or interfered with their amusements." crossing to the other side of the thames he started to fish for a while. but the fish were not biting well just then, and after bringing up one small stickleback, a fish very common to england's streams, he drew in his lines and gave it up. close to where the rowboat rode was a grassy bank, filled with moss and several species of ferns, and presently robert jumped ashore to investigate. "those ferns are very pretty," he thought. "i guess i'll dig some up, put them in a flowerpot and place them in one of our windows. i am certain mrs. vernon will be pleased to watch them grow." he was prowling around, and had already dug up half a dozen ferns and some moss to wrap them in, when he discovered the smoke drifting over the village. "that looks pretty close to our boarding house," he said to himself. "can it be possible that it is mrs. barlow's place?" much alarmed, he leaped into his boat and seized the oars. a few strokes took him well out into the stream, and then he made out that it was the boarding house beyond the possibility of a doubt. with desperate energy he began to row for the nearest landing to the house. "if only mrs. vernon is safe," he said to himself, over and over again. he knew only too well how badly she was suffering from rheumatism, and also knew that at this time of day she was probably lying down trying to catch a nap. at last the landing was gained, and our hero leaped from the boat and ran at top speed for the boarding house. by this time the alarm had been given through the village, and the inhabitants were hurrying to the scene of the conflagration from all directions. there was but one fire engine in the place, and this was a very primitive affair, so, with such a strong wind blowing, it was speedily seen that mrs. barlow's resort was doomed. when robert came up he ran plump into the landlady, who was rushing out of the house with a lamp in one hand and a canary bird cage in the other. "mrs. barlow, is mrs. vernon safe?" he asked breathlessly. "mrs. vernon?" repeated mrs. barlow, in a semi-dazed fashion. "sure, mr. frost, i don't know where she is." robert waited to hear no more, but ran into the boarding house and began to mount the stairs, three steps at a time. "mrs. vernon!" he called out. "mrs. vernon, where are you?" getting no reply, he made his way through the upper hallway, which was rapidly filling with smoke. the fire was in the rear of the dwelling and so far the wind had blown it away, but now the wind was shifting and the fire was leaping from cellar to garret. robert, as we know, was naturally brave, and now the thought that the lady who had been so kind to him might be in peril of her life, lent him additional courage. he tried mrs. vernon's door, to find it locked. "mrs. vernon!" he repeated. "mrs. vernon!" "what is it, robert?" came sleepily from inside. "get up, quickly! the house is on fire!" "on fire!" came with a gasp. "oh, robert!" "open the door and i will help you to get downstairs," went on the youth. there was a hasty movement within the apartment and then the key turned in the lock. robert threw the door open, to behold mrs. vernon standing before him, clad in a morning wrapper and her slippers. having just roused up from a sound sleep, she was bewildered and gazed at him questioningly. "come, there is no time to lose," he said, and took hold of her arm. "my jewels and money----" she began, and pointed to the dresser. with one clutch he caught up the jewel case and her money box and placed them under his arm. they hurried into the hallway. the smoke was now so thick that robert could scarcely see the stairs. in her excitement mrs. vernon forgot all about her rheumatism. she clutched the young secretary tightly by the arm. "bend down and the smoke won't blind you so much," said robert. "lean on me if you are afraid of falling." they passed downstairs as rapidly as the lady's condition permitted. in the lower hallway they again met mrs. barlow, along with several others, all carrying out furniture and other household effects. once outside, robert conducted mrs. vernon to a place of safety, and set her down on a garden bench. she was still bewildered, but gradually her excitement left her. the pair had hardly reached the bench when a piercing scream rang out, coming from the garret of the boarding house. at the small dormer window stood a young girl, waving her hands piteously for help. "it is norah gump!" shouted somebody in the crowd. "what is she doing up there?" "she went up for her bag of clothing," answered mrs. barlow. "she used to sleep in the garret." robert recognized the girl as one who had assisted the cook of the boarding house. he had heard her called norah, but had never supposed that she was a sister to the bully of the village. "she will be burnt up!" he cried, in horror. "oh, i trust not!" cried mrs. vernon. "see if you cannot aid her, robert." "i will," he returned, and dropping her jewel casket and her money box in her lap, he made again for the burning building. "no use of trying to go up there," cried one of the firemen. "the stairs is burning already." "then why not get a ladder and put it up to the window?" asked robert. "aint got no ladder," came from another man. "maybe she had better jump." "she'll break her neck if she jumps," said robert. he looked up at the window and then at a tree which grew nearby. one of the branches of the tree was within four feet of the opening. "please save me!" shrieked the girl. "the room is full of smoke already!" "don't jump!" answered robert. he turned to the firemen. "give me a boost up into the tree." "you can't reach the window from there," said one of the men. "i think i can. but hurry, or it will be too late." the firemen did as requested, and up the tree went robert with the agility of a cat. he felt that it was a veritable climb for life. the fire was now coming out of a parlor window, and this sent the smoke and sparks into the tree and up to the window at which the girl was standing. "i can't stay here," moaned the girl, wringing her hands. "i must jump!" and she placed one foot on the window sill. "wait a few seconds longer," urged robert, as he climbed nearer to her. "the fire is coming up through the floor!" with a jump, our hero gained the branch which grew out toward the window. luckily it was a heavy limb, or it would not have sustained his weight. the end had originally pressed on the roof of the house, but this had been sawed off. at last our hero was within four feet of the window sill, and somewhat below the opening. the girl watched him in a frenzy of terror. buckling his feet under the tree limb robert held out his arms. "now, jump and i will catch you," he said. the girl needed no second bidding, for the flames were already licking the floor under her. standing on the window sill she cast herself forth, and our hero caught and steadied her. it was no easy thing to do, and for one brief instant it looked as if both would fall to the ground. but robert kept his hold, and soon they were safe and descending to the ground. a cheer went up. "he's a brave lad!" was the cry. "he deserves a medal!" the women folks standing around said but little, yet all were deeply affected. when norah gump reached the ground her emotions were such that she fainted dead away. restoratives were speedily applied, and while they were being administered sammy gump appeared on the scene, followed by the boys who had helped him in his attack on robert. "is norah dead?" he asked, in a quivering voice. he thought a good deal of his sister. "no, she has only fainted from excitement," answered one of the women standing by. "she'll be all right in a little while. but she would have been burnt up if it hadn't been for that young gent yonder." sammy looked in the direction pointed out, and beheld robert, who had rejoined mrs. vernon. "do you mean to tell me he saved her?" he demanded, in amazement. "yes, he did," put in one of the men, and gave the bully the particulars. these particulars were also corroborated by bob snipper and his chums. "i can't understand it at all," said sammy, a little while later, when he was taking his sister to his mother's house. "he's a good bit better chap than i dreamed he was." chapter xvii. a diamond scarfpin. robert found mrs. vernon resting comfortably on the garden bench. she smiled broadly when he came up. "robert, you are a regular hero," she observed. "nobody could have done a braver deed." "it was not so very much to do," he answered, with a blush. "i simply saw how the girl might be saved, and i set to work to do it." "but it was no easy matter to catch the girl," went on the lady warmly. "you ran a big risk." the firemen were now hard at work, and a steady stream of water was being poured on the conflagration. but the wind had caught the house fairly, and but little could be saved. soon the men directed their efforts toward saving the adjoining property, and fortunately nothing but the boarding house was consumed. as soon as the fire was over mrs. vernon and our hero set about finding another boarding place. this was an easy matter, for mrs. barlow's sister also took boarders. to mrs. cabe, therefore, they went, and procured rooms which were just as desirable as those which they had formerly occupied. "it's too bad we couldn't save your trunks, mrs. vernon," observed robert, after the boarding place question had been settled. "you've got only what you have on." "well, i am no worse off than you, robert," she answered, with a peculiar smile. "oh, it doesn't matter so much for a boy." "i suppose not. still we both need outfits, and i shall see to it that we get them as soon as possible." "there are not many stores in this town--i mean stores of any importance." "we will take a journey to oxford. we can get about all we want there, and it will give you a chance to look at the most celebrated english institutions of learning." "i shall like that." "you ought to have a college education, robert. it would prove very useful to you. not but what i am satisfied with you, however," added the lady hastily. "i would like to go to yale or harvard first-rate." "perhaps we will be able to arrange that later." mrs. vernon paused for a moment. "robert, i feel that i owe you a good deal for saving my life." "you don't owe me anything, mrs. vernon. i did no more than my duty." "i think otherwise. to free myself from pain i took a double dose of my medicine, and i was in an extra heavy sleep when you aroused me. if you had not come i would have slept on until it was too late." and the lady closed her eyes for a moment and shuddered. taking her jewel case from her bureau drawer, mrs. vernon opened it and brought forth a neat but costly diamond scarf-pin. "i am going to make you a present of this, robert," she went on. "it will look very well on the new scarf i am going to purchase you." "oh, mrs. vernon, it is a diamond pin!" "so it is, robert." "it must be worth a good deal of money." "it cost me two hundred dollars at one of the leading chicago jewelers. i don't mind telling you that i got the pin to give to frederic on his birthday. but i have changed my mind about giving him a present." "it's too valuable a gift for me to wear, mrs. vernon." "let me be the judge of that, robert. of course, you will be careful and not lose it." "i'll take the best possible care of it," he answered, and then she gave it to him, and he thanked her heartily. that evening after supper mrs. cabe came to robert and told him that a boy was downstairs and wanted to see him very much. robert went down and found sammy gump, who stood there hat in hand, and with a face full of shame. "excuse me for troubling you, robert frost," said the bully humbly. "but--but i wanted to thank you for saving norah's life, and mother and father want me to thank you, too. they can't come themselves, because father's a stoker on the railway, and mother has got to stay home and take care of norah." "you are welcome to whatever i did, gump," answered robert. "i am glad i was of service." "did you know she was my sister?" asked sammy curiously. "no, i confess i did not." "oh!" "but i would have saved her anyhow," added robert hastily. "honest?" "yes, gump, honest." the bully of the town looked sharply into our hero's honest eyes, and his face grew redder than ever. "i believe you; yes, i do," he observed, in a choking voice. "say, do you know what? i'm awfully sorry i pitched into you. i was a big fool to do it. you're the right sort, and you'll never find me standing in your way again." "i am glad to hear you talk so, gump," answered robert. there was an awkward pause, and then our hero put out his hand. sammy gump clutched it eagerly and gave it a tight squeeze. from that instant the two boys were firm friends. nor was this all. robert's generous action set sammy gump to thinking how mean and overbearing he had been, and the bully ended up by giving up all his overbearing manners, and treating everybody as he himself wished to be treated. he soon made a score of friends, and was as well liked as anybody in the town. two days later robert and mrs. vernon set out for oxford. the journey was a delightful one, and nightfall found them located at one of the principal hotels. on the day following they went shopping, and mrs. vernon insisted upon having her young secretary measured for two business suits, a traveling suit, and also a dress suit, and likewise bought him a generous supply of other things to wear. "as my private secretary, you must dress well," she said. "and i owe it to you to foot the bills myself." "my old friends will hardly know me when they see me," said robert, as he surveyed himself in one of his new suits. "i wonder what your nephew would say if he heard of this." to this mrs. vernon did not reply, and quickly changed the subject. little did they dream that frederic vernon was already on his way to see them. two more days were spent in oxford, and robert visited many places of interest, including several famous colleges, the cathedral, and the great library. then mrs. vernon and our hero returned to chishing. "i am feeling ever so much better," she declared. "i believe the excitement of the fire and the traveling to oxford helped me." "i am glad of it," answered robert. "but to have a fire to help a sick person is rather costly medicine." at this mrs. vernon laughed outright. "quite true, robert, and i want no more fires. but we can travel. how would you like to go to paris?" "i will go anywhere you say, mrs. vernon." "paris is one of the most beautiful cities in the whole world. perhaps we will go there before long." "i am afraid my knowledge of french is rather limited," said our hero, with a faint smile. "that will not matter much, since we can stop at an english hotel. i can speak french fluently." "have you any idea how long you will remain in europe?" "no, robert. it will depend somewhat upon what frederic does." "it is queer that you do not get some word back from mr. farley." "we may get a letter to-day." mrs. vernon was right,--a letter came in the evening mail. in this the lawyer stated that he had investigated the charges brought against the great lakes lumber company, and found them to be utterly without foundation. mrs. vernon grew very sober when she read the communication. "what do you think of this?" she asked, after letting robert read the letter. "it is as i thought," answered the young secretary. "it was a ruse to get you back to the united states." "do you know what i feel like doing? i feel like writing to mr. farley to tell frederic that he may expect no more remittances from me." "if you cut him off entirely what will he do?" "he will have to do as thousands of others do, go to work for a living." "does he know anything--i mean anything special?" "he is an expert bookkeeper, and could get a position at that, if he would only apply himself." on the day following mrs. vernon had some special business to be transacted in london, and sent robert down to the metropolis to attend to it. it was a fine day, and, left to herself, the lady prepared to go out for a short walk when a visitor was announced. she went down to the parlor to see who it was, and was nearly struck dumb to behold frederic vernon. chapter xviii. vernon plays the penitent. "what, you!" cried mrs. vernon, when she could speak. "yes, aunt," replied frederic vernon awkwardly. "i suppose you didn't expect to see me." "i certainly did not." and the lady sank in a chair. "aren't you going to shake hands with me?" he came to her side and held out his hand, and she grasped it mechanically. "when did you come over?" she asked. "i arrived at liverpool yesterday, and went directly to london. at the charing cross hotel i found out that you had come here." "i see." she said no more, but stared hard at him. "dear aunt, cannot you forgive me," he said, trying to put on a sad face. "i have done wrong, i know, but i--i--couldn't help it." "sit down, frederic, and tell me why you reported to me that the lumber company was in bad shape." "because i was told that it was a fact." "who told you that?" "some of the men at the pioneer club. they knew i, or rather you, were interested in the company." "the report is absolutely false." "so i have since heard, and i have come to you for the purpose of setting myself straight in your eyes." frederic vernon had carefully rehearsed his part, and his manner was such that his aunt almost believed him. "you wish to set yourself straight?" she asked slowly. "yes, dear aunt. i know i have done wrong, but i am not the rascal you may think i am." "i have never said you were a rascal, frederic." "but you turned me away, and had that young frost take my place." "i did that because you neglected my business. somebody had to attend to that business." "and then you left chicago without letting me know where you were going." "i had my reasons for that." "i trust you didn't do it on my account, aunt. i may have been neglectful, but i--well, i never tried to do you any harm, no matter what that young frost or others may say against me." frederic vernon began to cough, and sank back on a sofa as if partly exhausted. "you are not well?" she asked, in alarm. "i am not very sick now. but i have been quite ill," he answered, telling the falsehood without a blush. "and you have a scar on your neck and cheek." "i was taken sick on the street, and fell down and cut myself on a stray barrel hoop," he answered. "but i guess i'll pull through." mrs. vernon was alarmed, for he did look sick, and she at once began to question him about what he had done for himself. "i haven't done much--i was too anxious to find you and set myself straight with you," he said. "since you sent me off i have had no peace of mind at all." "perhaps i was a little hasty," said mrs. vernon, whose heart was a tender one. "you must consult a doctor at once, and settle down where you can have it comfortable." the conversation between the pair lasted for fully an hour, and the upshot of the matter was that mrs. vernon engaged a room for frederic at the boarding house opposite to that maintained by mrs. cabe, the latter resort being full. "i will pay all of your expenses," she said. then a doctor was ordered. the physician was a man of small practice, and frederic vernon fooled him easily. "he is, indeed, quite sick," said the doctor to mrs. vernon. "but rest and medicine will make him pull through, i feel certain of it." then he wrote out a prescription, and a boy was sent to procure it at the apothecary shop. when the medicine came frederic vernon pretended to take it, but not a mouthful of it did he ever swallow. "you'll not catch me swallowing any such dose," he said to himself, when he was alone, and poured the medicine out of the window. he was highly elated over his success in fooling his aunt, and when left to himself felt like dancing a jig. "i'll work my cards all right enough," he thought. "my next move must be to get rid of young frost, and when my aunt takes me back i'll make sure that i am not thrown aside again." of course robert was astonished to hear of frederic vernon's arrival. he listened gravely to what mrs. vernon had to tell him. "it's too bad if he is sick, mrs. vernon," he said. "but take my advice and be careful how you trust him." "i will be careful, robert. but i am really afraid that i have been too hard on frederic." "have you questioned him about that scheme he and dr. remington were hatching out?" "no. i will bring that around when he is real well again." "of course he will deny it." "it may be that you were mistaken, robert." "i don't think so." it was not until two days later that robert and frederic vernon met. in the meantime mrs. vernon had called upon her nephew a number of times. "glad to see you, frost," said frederic, extending his hand cordially. "i hear you are getting along first-rate as my aunt's private secretary." "thank you, i am doing very well," answered robert stiffly. "how do you feel?" "oh, i am coming around slowly. but i've had a pretty bad spell of sickness." "that isn't very nice." "it's beastly. but sit down, i want to talk to you. how do you like things over here?" "oh, i am suited very well." "say, but that's a nice scarfpin you are sporting." "it is a nice pin." "looks like a real diamond." "it is." "where did you get it?" "mrs. vernon gave it to me." "you are in luck." frederic vernon laughed nervously. "by the way, i understand you have been playing the part of a hero." "who told you that?" "the landlady here. she says you saved my aunt and a servant girl when that other boarding house burnt down." "well, i did what i could." "you've lined your nest nicely," went on frederic vernon, eyeing robert in a peculiar manner. robert's face flushed. "what do you mean by that?" "the first thing you know, mrs. vernon will be making you her heir." "if she does it will be a complete surprise to me." "do you deny that you are working for that end?" "i do deny it, most emphatically. i want no more than i am entitled to." "bah, you talk well, frost, but don't think i can't see through your little plot. has my aunt changed her will lately?" "i don't know." "you ought to know; you have charge of her private papers." "i haven't seen anything of a will." "then she must have left it with mr. farley, in chicago." and frederic vernon breathed a long sigh of relief. he was very anxious to learn if his aunt had cut him off, but could get absolutely nothing out of robert. if she had made no new will, however, the chances were that he was safe. "how long is my aunt going to remain in england?" he went on. "i cannot say. why don't you ask her yourself?" "i will. she left in a big hurry, didn't she?" "i admit she did." "what was the reason?" "perhaps you had better ask her that, too." "don't get saucy, frost." "i am not saucy. i wasn't hired to answer your questions." "i want to be friends with you, not enemies. but you seem to wish otherwise." "no, mr. vernon. but i am your aunt's private secretary, and it won't do for me to expose her business, or her motives for doing certain things." frederic vernon looked daggers at robert, but controlled himself. "all right, as you please," he said carelessly. "but you may find it to pay to make a friend of me some day." "i do not wish to be your enemy. but i must do my duty to your aunt," concluded robert, and a minute later bowed himself away. when our hero was gone frederic vernon grated his teeth. "he's a clever one," he muttered. "but he shan't get the best of me. he knows all of her business, but he intends to keep it to himself. i must watch my chances and see if i cannot overhear what they talk about from time to time. hang me, if i don't follow him now!" and putting on his hat, frederic vernon did so. he saw robert enter the garden attached to mrs. cabe's place and join mrs. vernon in the summerhouse overlooking the broad river. taking care so that he would not be seen, he came up close to a tree near the summerhouse. from this point he could hear every word that passed between his aunt and our hero. chapter xix. mrs. vernon's bank account. "how did you find frederic?" was mrs. vernon's first question when robert joined her. "he seems to be doing very well," answered the young secretary. "i don't think he was quite as sick as he made out to be." "he was certainly sick when he came here. and he must have been very sick to fall and hurt himself on the neck and cheek." "perhaps you are right, mrs. vernon, i never had much to do with sick people." "did he ask you anything about yourself?" "he asked me about the diamond scarfpin. i told him that you had given it to me." "if frederic really reforms i will get him one, too. what else did he ask about, robert?" "well, he asked about you." "and what did you say?" "maybe i had better not repeat our talk, mrs. vernon." "did you quarrel?" "he was quite angry because i would not tell him about your will. he wanted to know if you had changed it lately." "and what did you tell him?" "that i knew nothing of a will." mrs. vernon became thoughtful. "i presume it would be a shame to cut him off," she said slowly. "have you done that?" "not yet. in my last will, which mr. farley holds, he is almost my sole heir. but i have been thinking of changing my will and leaving him only a quarter of my estate,--one-half of the whole estate to go to charitable institutions, and the remaining quarter to go to my friends, including yourself." "i did not expect anything to be left to me, mrs. vernon. you have given me enough--in fact, more than enough--already." "you have been like a son to me, robert. but about frederic--if he really and truly reforms, i think i will leave him the bulk of my fortune." "i would not be too hasty. you see, i haven't forgotten the plot he and the doctor hatched against you." "i will be very careful. i shall watch him for a year, and if during that time he does not reform thoroughly, i shall cut him off with a very small allowance, say a thousand dollars." "a thousand dollars wouldn't be bad for most young fellows. but to him it will be nothing. by the way, he seems to have quite some money." "i have noticed that, too, and it has puzzled me greatly, for, as you are aware, i have cut down his allowance." "perhaps somebody has loaned him some money." "it is possible. but i know, through mr. farley, that he was in debt to many of his friends, and these folks will not go on loaning money forever." "they may be banking on his prospects." "then they may get left, as the saying goes. i sincerely wish that frederic would settle down to some business and make a man of himself." here the conversation changed, and soon after mrs. vernon went into the house, while robert walked down to the river to take a row. left to himself, frederic vernon stole back to his boarding quarters. "so she will cut me off with a paltry thousand dollars unless i reform, eh, and she is going to watch me for a whole year," he muttered to himself. "i wonder when she will hear from that forged check? i hope it doesn't come in before i have time to arrange my future plans." the more he thought of the matter, the more did the forged check worry him. he had hoped to get possession of his aunt's mail by applying at the local post-office, but this scheme had fallen through, as the mail was delivered only to mrs. vernon or to robert, and orders were to deliver it to no one else. several days went by, and now frederic came to see his aunt regularly morning, afternoon, and evening. from her he learned that she thought of going to paris, and he eagerly favored the scheme, hoping that through the change he might be able to get the mail. but he was doomed to bitter disappointment. before any change could be made there came a long letter from mr. farley, showing how money matters stood. among other things, this showed a deficiency in one bank account of six hundred dollars. robert looked over this communication with the lady, for this was a part of his work, mrs. vernon trusting him more and more every day with her private affairs. "i cannot understand this," she said, after referring to her various bank accounts. "understand what, mrs. vernon?" he asked. "the account at the american exchange bank is just six hundred dollars short." "are you certain the stubs have been footed up properly?" asked robert, in much surprise. "you footed them up yourself." "so i did. but i will foot them up again." the young secretary did so. "according to your check book, you have a balance there of two thousand and three hundred dollars," he said, when he had concluded his calculations. "exactly, and according to the bank rendering, made through mr. farley, the sum is seventeen hundred dollars--just six hundred dollars less. i cannot understand it." robert shook his head slowly, for he was as much puzzled as the lady. "let us look over the other accounts," he ventured. "perhaps the money was transferred without a showing being made,--although i don't see how that could be." there were six other bank accounts, running up to many thousands of dollars, but each was correct to the cent. "you never drew a check and forgot to charge it up against the account, did you?" asked robert. "there is the book. aren't all the stubs filled--i mean those from which the checks have been detached?" robert looked through the book with care. "yes, every one is filled out," he said. "then i don't understand it." mrs. vernon leaped to her feet suddenly. "unless----" she stopped short. "unless----" repeated robert, and then he, too, became silent. both had thought of frederic vernon at the same time. "i do not think he would do it," went on the lady, almost pitifully. "he has our family blood running in his veins. he would not be guilty of such a terrible crime." robert said nothing, but he had his own opinion of the nephew who would plot to put his aunt in the insane asylum just to get hold of her money. "what do you advise, robert?" she asked, as she began to pace the floor nervously. "i would advise you to send to chicago at once for an accounting from the bank, giving the numbers of the checks you have really issued. if you don't want the bank to know that something is wrong, transact the business through mr. farley." "i will do so. i will send a cablegram to america this very day." mrs. vernon set to work to prepare her cablegram with great care. of course, the sending of such a message way off to chicago would be expensive, but just now she did not think of the money, she wanted to know the truth concerning the shortage. "if frederic is guilty i will cut him off without a dollar," she said quietly, but so firmly that robert felt she meant what she said. robert was commissioned to take the cablegram to the nearest telegraph office which could forward it, and on the way he met frederic vernon, who was out walking. "hullo, frost, come and take a walk with me," said the young man patronizingly, as our hero approached. "thank you, but i just as lief walk alone," answered robert shortly. "don't want to be sociable, eh? all right. where are you bound?" "that is my business." "humph!" frederic vernon stared at him for a moment. then he walked on without further words. but at the corner he looked back and saw robert enter the telegraph office. "something is in the wind," he muttered to himself, and retraced his steps. getting behind several other people, he drew close to the youth and saw him send the message and pay a good round price for it. "that message is going to chicago, and i know it," he told himself, after following robert to the road once more. "now what did it contain? has my aunt got wind of that forged check already? if so, i must act quickly, or my cake will be dough. whatever comes, she must never live to alter her will." all that night he brooded over the way matters had turned. he felt that he would be made a beggar did his aunt discover the forgery. but so far the only will she had made was in his favor. she must not be allowed to make another. "i must watch her closely," he told himself. "she frequently goes out driving, and along the cliff back of the town, too. what if some day her team took fright and went over the cliff? i don't believe she would ever live to tell the tale, and the fortune would be mine!" if frederic vernon was bitter against his aunt, he was also bitter against robert, for he now knew that our hero had exposed the plot to get mrs. vernon into an insane asylum. "he goes driving with her," thought the desperate man. "they can both go over the cliff together!" chapter xx. the runaway along the cliff. the discovery of the shortage in her bank account made mrs. vernon very nervous, and for two nights the lady slept but little. robert noticed the change in her condition, and pitied her greatly. "it's a shame that frederic vernon can't turn over a new leaf," he thought. "but i am afraid that it isn't in him." on the day that mrs. vernon expected a reply to her cablegram she felt worse than ever, and robert suggested that they take a drive together. "we can go along the river road, and then along the cliffs," he said. "i am certain the morning air will do you good, for it promises to be very clear." "very well, robert. i will go with you, and you can get a team without delay," she answered. "and shall i drive?" "if you want to." mrs. vernon spoke thus, for robert had taken her out a number of times and had always proved a very careful and reliable driver. in a few minutes robert was on his way to the livery stable. he met frederic vernon on the street, bound for his aunt's boarding place. "hullo, frost, how is my aunt to-day?" cried the young man. "not so well, mr. vernon." "that's too bad. what seems to be the trouble?" "she can't sleep nights, so she says." as robert spoke he looked sharply at the fellow, but vernon did not change color. "you ought to take her out for a drive," said the young man. "that is just what i am going to do." "indeed! this morning?" "yes, just as soon as i can get a team and a carriage." "good for you. i would take her out myself but somehow i never made a fist at driving." "that is strange. i thought all young men in your station of life liked to drive." "well--er--the trouble is, i was scared by a horse when i was a little boy. i've never liked horseflesh since." "i see. well, i have never yet seen the team i was afraid of," answered robert, telling the exact truth. "is that so? well, your time may come." there was a significance in frederic vernon's words which was lost upon our hero. "where are you going to drive?" went on the spendthrift. "along the river road first, and then along the cliffs." and with these words robert passed on. he was afraid that if he stopped to talk longer frederic vernon might invite himself to go along, and he was quite certain the ride would do mrs. vernon no good were such the case. watching his opportunity, vernon followed our hero and saw robert hire a team of white and gray horses, and have them hooked up to a light road carriage. then he hurried to his boarding house with a peculiar smile on his evil face. "i can see that team coming a long way off," he said to himself. "and i won't make any mistake." with quite a little flourish robert drove around to mrs. cabe's boarding place, and tied up at the block. soon mrs. vernon came out, and he handed her to a seat. "i met your nephew when i went to the livery stable," he observed, as he drove away. "did he come in?" "no," answered mrs. vernon. "where was he going?" "i thought he was coming to see you." "did he want to know if i was going out?" "he suggested i take you for a drive, after i told him you were not very well again." "i wonder he never offers to take me driving," mused the lady. "he said he didn't like to drive--that he was afraid of horses." "what, frederic? why, he used to own a very fast horse and go out driving in lincoln park at home nearly every day." "he told me he had been frightened when a boy by a horse, and had never cared for horseflesh since." "that is not true, robert. how queer that he should tell such a falsehood. do you suppose he did it just to get out of driving me?" "i don't know what to think, mrs. vernon. on the whole, i think your nephew is a very peculiar young man." "it's too bad." mrs. vernon gave a deep sigh. "and he is the only near relative i have!" fearful that the drive would do the lady small good if they continued to talk about frederic vernon, robert changed the subject, and so skillfully did he manage it that presently mrs. vernon grew quite cheerful. down along the river they stopped for a few minutes, and the boy picked a bunch of wild flowers and presented them to his companion. at length they left the river road and took to that running up along the cliffs previously mentioned. this road was but little used, but its wildness was attractive to both mrs. vernon and the youth, for from the upper heights they could see for many miles around. "i would not mind owning a summer home up here," said mrs. vernon, as they halted at the highest point in the road. "see how beautiful the thames looks, winding along through the meadows and woods below us." "it is nice," answered robert. "but as for a summer home, i rather think i would prefer one in the united states." the lady smiled. "i can see you are an out-and-out yankee lad, robert. well, i cannot blame you. i agree that our life at home is good enough for anybody." presently robert started the team again, and they bowled along the edge of the cliff at a rapid gait. to one side was a mass of rocks and shrubbery, while to the other was a valley or gorge forty or fifty feet deep, at the bottom of which flowed a tiny brook on its way to the river thames. the team was a fresh one, and the drive along the river had just warmed them up. they went along at a spanking pace, and robert had his hands full holding them in. but it was a pleasant task. "i love a good team," he said, as they sped along. "no old slow-pokes for me." "you are certain you can control them?" asked mrs. vernon, as the horses stepped out livelier than ever. "oh, yes, they are all right," he answered. a quarter of a mile more was covered, when they reached a point where the cliff road wound around a sharp bend. mrs. vernon had just called robert's attention to a pretty scene in the valley far below, when of a sudden somebody leaped out in the road in front of the horses. it was a man wrapped in a white sheet and with a pistol in his hand. the pistol was discharged, and one end of the sheet waved wildly at the same time. the mettlesome horses were badly frightened and reared and plunged wildly. "oh, robert, we will be killed!" burst from mrs. vernon's lips. "we will be thrown over the cliff!" "don't jump!" he answered, as he saw her rise up as if to leap from the carriage. he held the reins tightly and spoke to the team as gently as possible. but now another pistol shot rang out, and off sped the team on a furious gallop down the cliff road, with the carriage bumping and rocking after them. robert felt that a crisis in his life had suddenly arisen. should he lose all control of the horses it was more than likely that they would leap over the cliff, and that would mean death for both mrs. vernon and himself. all in a flash it came to him that frederic vernon must have been the man wound in the white sheet who had fired the pistol. "the scoundrel!" he thought. "if we get out of this alive, he'll have a big score to settle with me!" on and on plunged the team, the carriage jolting from side to side, and mrs. vernon prepared to leap out at the first move the horses might make toward the gorge. robert held on to the lines like grim death, his feet braced firmly against the dashboard. it was truly a ride for life or death. in the meantime the man in the white sheet had disappeared as suddenly as he had come. so far the road had been tolerably even, but now came a stretch which was rough, and the carriage came closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. "we are going!" shrieked mrs. vernon. "not yet," answered robert, and tried to pull the team around. he had partly succeeded when snap! went one of the reins, and he was thrown backward. the breaking of the rein presented a new obstacle to be overcome, and for the second our hero did not know what to do. the team were now out of control, and even the youth was afraid they might leap over the cliff at any instant. but then a new thought occurred to him, and as quick as a flash he stood up and leaped to the back of one of the horses. "whoa!" he shouted. "whoa!" and clapped his hat over the creature's eyes. a rearing and a plunging followed. but the horse slowed up and brought the carriage around to the thicket opposite to the cliff. a crashing of bushes followed, and in a few seconds more the team was halted. one of the wheels of the carriage was badly shattered and one horse was cut about the legs, but otherwise no damage was done. chapter xxi. the cablegram from chicago. as soon as the team came to a halt robert leaped to the ground and held their heads. "now you can get out, mrs. vernon," he said. "thank god we are safe!" murmured the lady. she was so weak she could scarcely stand, and once having left the carriage she sank down on a flat rock, her breast heaving with emotion. robert tied the team fast to a nearby tree, and then came to her side. "you are not hurt, are you?" he asked anxiously. "i--i believe not," she faltered. "but, oh, robert, we had a very narrow escape!" "that is so, mrs. vernon." "had the carriage gone over the cliff nothing could have saved us from death!" "yes, it would have been a nasty fall." "and that man who scared the team----" she paused. "do you imagine----" she could go no further. "let us talk about that later on, mrs. vernon," he put in hastily. "you had better rest here while i see how much the carriage is damaged." our hero made the examination, and speedily found that the wheel was too badly shattered to permit the turnout being used again until it was repaired. "i'll have to get another carriage," he said. "what will you do, remain here until i get back?" "no! no!" she cried. "i--i--that man--he may come again----" she gazed at him with a world of meaning in her eyes. "you are right," answered robert. "there is a cottage some distance down the road. can you walk that far with me?" mrs. vernon said she would try, and they started out. as they approached the cottage they met the owner coming away in his wagon. matters were quickly explained to the englishman, and he readily agreed to drive them both back to the village. "i hav'n't no quick horses for to run away with ye!" he grinned. "but i can git ye there in time an' safe, too." they seated themselves on a back seat of the farm wagon, and started. the pace was a slow one, and it was fully an hour before they reached the village and the turnout came to a halt before mrs. cabe's door. "let the livery stable people attend to the wreck," said mrs. vernon, "and tell them to send the bill to me." "and what of the man who scared us?" asked robert. "shall i put the constable on his track?" mrs. vernon's face became a study. "robert, what do you think of this?" "what do you mean?" "have you any idea who it was?" "frankly, i have, mrs. vernon." "you imagine it was frederic?" "i do." "but why should he want to--to----" she could get no further, but burst into tears. "don't you remember he wanted to know about your will? he has probably found out that you have not yet altered it, and----" "well?" "well, he wanted to get you out of the way before any change was made. i am sorry to speak so plainly, but i think your nephew is a thorough villain." "but we may be mistaken. the man may have been an ordinary highwayman." robert shook his head. "i don't believe there are highwaymen in this part of england." satisfied that the lady would be safe for the time being, robert hurried off to the livery stable and explained matters to the proprietor. "the horses got frightened on the road," he said, "and in saving them from going over the cliff i had to turn them into a thicket. a wheel is broken and one horse has his legs scratched." "and who is going to foot the bill?" growled the livery stable keeper, imagining he scented trouble. "mrs. vernon will pay any fair bill you may present. but she will pay no fancy price for the damage done." "oh, all right, i won't charge her any more than is necessary," said the man, much relieved. he wished to know how the team had become frightened, but robert evaded the question, for mrs. vernon had not given him permission to speak of the matter. evidently the lady wished to think over it before deciding what to do. when the young secretary returned to the boarding house he found mrs. vernon lying down, having taken a quieting draught. he attended to the writing of several letters, and was just finishing up when a messenger appeared from the telegraph office. "the cablegram," said robert, looking at the envelope. "read it, robert," said the lady, and opening the communication he did as requested. the cablegram was from mr. farley. it read as follows: "check 865, frederic vernon. six hundred dollars." "check number 865," murmured mrs. vernon. "robert, what is the last stub number in my book?" "number 838." "then check number 865 is a forgery!" the young secretary bowed. "it was drawn to the order of frederic vernon, and probably cashed by him," went on the lady, her breath coming short and fast. "mrs. vernon, we are only reaching a conclusion we guessed at long ago," said the youth soothingly. "i know, i know, robert! yet i had hoped there might be some mistake!" "your nephew is unworthy of the interest you take in him." "that is where he got his money to come here." "he was a fool to commit the forgery. he must have known that it would be discovered sooner or later," said robert bluntly. he felt that the sooner mrs. vernon realized the utter rascality of her nephew the better it would be for the lady. "but if i had been killed--if both of us had been killed----" she began. "then the forgery would never have been discovered, for your nephew would have taken charge of everything, including your private papers and your check-books." "it is terrible! terrible!" the lady buried her face in a sofa pillow and began to weep. "robert, what would you advise me to do?" she asked, after a while. "do you want my candid opinion?" he questioned. "i do." "i would have a straight talk with your nephew, and then send him about his business, and tell him if he ever came near me again i would have him arrested." "i cannot be so harsh with one of my own flesh and blood." "well, then, i tell you what you might do. you might give him, say, a thousand dollars, with the understanding that he leave the country, and that he does not go back to the united states." "but where would he go?" "there are lots of places to go to--south africa, south america, or australia. with a thousand dollars and his passage money he might set himself up in some sort of business and get rich." mrs. vernon's face brightened. "if he would only do that i might be so glad! if he really made a man of himself i would not cut him out of my will." "i would not allow him to be around where i was. he is too dangerous a young man. he may try to poison you next." mrs. vernon shivered. "yes, and he may try poisoning you, too, robert," she said. "i must be very careful. it would not be right for me to let you run any more risk. perhaps you would prefer to leave my services." "mrs. vernon, i will never leave you--at least, so long as you wish me to stay," he cried impulsively. "you are a true friend, robert, and i should not like to part with you. i will have a talk with frederic as soon as he shows himself." "i would like to be present at the interview, mrs. vernon." "yes?" "i want to make certain that he tries no violence. after this i am going to arm myself with a pistol," added robert. "you shall be present, robert. but perhaps frederic will not come again--if he imagines that we suspect him." "he will hang around as long as he dares. he can get hold of no money excepting what he wrings from you, and he knows it." at that moment a servant knocked on the door. "what is wanted?" asked our hero, who went to answer the summons. "mr. parsons come to see you and mrs. vernon," answered the girl. "mr. parsons?" repeated the young secretary. "who is he?" "a farmer, please sir, as lives up back of the cliff. he says he saw you driving, and he has something to tell you." "he must know something of importance," put in mrs. vernon eagerly. "show him up, lucy." in a moment more farmer parsons, a short, ruddy-faced englishman, entered the apartment hat in hand. robert gave him a chair, and then closed the door tightly, that no outsiders might hear what the newcomer had to tell. chapter xxii. farmer parsons' story. "you will excuse me for troubling you," began farmer parsons, after bowing several times to mrs. vernon and robert. "but i thought i just had to come in and tell you that i couldn't help a-doing of it." "couldn't help doing what?" questioned mrs. vernon, in perplexity. "giving him a sound trouncing, lady. i thought as how he deserved it, i did." "whom did you whip?" asked robert. "why, the lady's relative, of course!" cried the farmer, in surprise. "isn't he back yet?" "no, we have seen nothing of him." farmer parsons fell back in his chair in open-mouthed surprise. "by harry! then i suppose i've put my foot into it!" he gasped. "into what?" asked robert, although he guessed at the truth. "why i--that is--you see i collared him on the road and i couldn't help but give him the worst trouncing i guess he ever got in his life. he threatened to have me locked up, so i thought i would come here and explain matters." "you caught frederic vernon up on the cliff road?" asked mrs. vernon. "i did, madam--jest after he had up and scared your horses so that they ran away." "then it was frederic, beyond a doubt," murmured the lady faintly. "he said as how he had done it only in fun," went on the english farmer. "but i said it was mighty poor fun, and he deserved a thrashing." "and then you whipped him?" said robert. "no, i didn't trounce him until after he got impudent and told me to shut up and mind my own affairs. i told him he might have killed both on you." "and what did he say to that?" asked our hero curiously. "he said he knew what he was doing and i must keep my mouth shut, or he would lay the whole thing off on to me. then i up and knocked him down, madam, and when he comes back it will be limping and with a black eye. but i don't care," added the farmer defiantly. "he deserved it." "i do not blame you, mr. parsons," said mrs. vernon quietly. "it was a--a mean thing for him to do." "some folks would have him arrested for it, madam." "i do not doubt but that they would. where did you leave my nephew?" "i left him to find his way back to the village the best he could. but before we parted i took this thing away from him. i was afraid if i didn't he might shoot me." farmer parsons reached into one of the deep pockets of his coat and brought forth a nickel-plated revolver. mrs. vernon received it gingerly and passed it over to robert. "is it empty?" she asked. "no, it has two cartridges still in it," answered the young secretary, after an examination. "i do not know what to do with it, robert. i do not want it." "i reckon i'll keep it for the present, mrs. vernon," said our hero, and placed the pistol in his hip pocket. the lady turned to farmer parsons. "i do not blame you for what you have done," she said. "i imagine my nephew got what he deserved. but i hate a family scandal, and i wish you would not say anything about this matter unless i call upon you." "as you will, madam; only i don't want no trouble----" "you shall get into no trouble, mr. parsons; i will see to that. and for coming here, i will pay you for your time." farmer parsons wished to refuse, but he was a poor man with a large family to support and he readily accepted the two pounds--about ten dollars--which mrs. vernon tendered him. "very much obliged, madam," he said, as he bowed himself out. "but take my advice and watch your nevvy--watch him closely, for he's a bad un, he is!" and in a moment he was lumbering down the stairs again. for several minutes after the farmer was gone mrs. vernon said nothing. she began to pace the floor nervously. the last of her faith in her graceless nephew was shattered. "he is a villain, robert," she said at last. "a villain in every sense of the word. there does not seem to be a redeeming trait in his whole character." "well, i wouldn't say that exactly, mrs. vernon. but one thing is certain, he is too dangerous a character to be allowed to remain where you are." "you are right, and i shall send him off as you suggested." "and if he won't go?" "he will go--or else he shall go to jail." for once mrs. vernon spoke firmly and in a manner that admitted of no dispute. it took a long time to arouse her, but once aroused her nature was a thoroughly stubborn one. in the meantime frederic vernon had found his way to one of the ale-houses of the village. as farmer parsons had said, he had suffered a severe chastisement and he could scarcely walk. his chin and one eye were much swollen, and his back felt as if it had been pounded into a jelly. "i'll get even with that man," he muttered. "i'd give a hundred dollars to see him hanged!" entering the ale-house he called for a glass of liquor, and then explained that he had suffered a severe fall from the cliff. as he had spent considerable money in the resort the landlord was all attention and led him to a side room, where he was given the chance to brush and wash up. at the same time the landlord's wife sewed up several rents in his coat and gave him a bit of court-plaster for a cut on his hand. it must be confessed that frederic vernon was in a most unsettled state of mind. he hardly knew whether he dared to go to his aunt or not. from the landlord of the ale-house he learned that both mrs. vernon and robert had escaped without serious physical injury, although the report was around that the lady was suffering from severe shock. "i must put on a bold front," he told himself at last. "after all, my word is as good as that yokel's." to put on a bold front, as he expressed it, frederic vernon drank rather more than was good for him, and then with a swagger he made his way to mrs. cabe's house that evening after supper. "i want to see my aunt," he said to the landlady. "mrs. vernon is not feeling very well," said mrs. cabe. "i guess she will see me," he returned, and pushed past her and up to mrs. vernon's apartment. robert heard him coming, and the two met at the door. "what do you want?" asked our hero shortly. he saw at once that vernon was partly under the influence of liquor. "none of your business," retorted the young man. "my business is with my aunt." "she is not well to-night." "then it is your fault, frost. i heard all about how you let those horses run away with her." by this time mrs. vernon had come to the door, and frederic vernon pushed his way into the room. robert followed, and at the same time his hand went into his pocket to feel if the pistol farmer parsons had surrendered was still where he had placed it. "well, aunt, i've heard that you came close to losing your life this noon," began frederic vernon. "it is true," answered mrs. vernon coldly. "you ought not to let that boy drive you out. he might have lost all control and you would have been killed." "it was not robert's fault that the horses ran away." "they wouldn't have run away had i been driving them." "frederic, i think it is about time that this farce came to an end. you know well enough what made our team run away in the first place." the young man drew back. "why--er----" he stammered. "you scared them with your white sheet and the pistol." "it's false, aunt. was that yokel of an englishman here with his lying story?" "mr. parsons was here, yes, and he told the truth, frederic. you are an out-and-out rascal. my eyes are open at last, and you shall no longer deceive me." as mrs. vernon spoke she faced the young man so sternly that he felt compelled to fall back, while his eyes sought the floor. "i--i never deceived you, aunt." "you have deceived me from start to finish, frederic. at first you neglected my business and caused me several heavy losses. then, when i engaged robert to take your place, you tried to get him into trouble over my jewelry. after that you hired that dr. remington to aid you in placing me in an insane asylum, and your plot might have proved a success had i not left america. after that, running short of money, you forged my name to a check for six hundred dollars. and now you have finished up by trying to kill both robert and me. frederic, i am done with you, and i never want you to come near me again." as mrs. vernon concluded the tears started down her cheeks, and she turned away to hide her emotions. utterly dumfounded, frederic vernon sank in an easy chair the picture of despair. he realized that complete exposure had come at last, and he wondered what his rich relative would do with him. chapter xxiii. aunt and nephew's agreement. "aunt, you don't mean it!" gasped frederic vernon, when he felt able to speak. "i do mean it, frederic, and it will be useless for you to argue the question," replied the lady, firmly. "but this is a--a--all a mistake," he faltered. "there is no mistake. and as i just said, i will not argue the question." "you--you cast me out?" "i do." "but if you do that, what shall i do?" "go to work and make a man of yourself. do that, and perhaps in time i will do something for you." frederic vernon shook his head slowly. then he faced robert, and his proud face became black with illy-suppressed rage. "this is your work, you young rascal----" he began, when his aunt stopped him. "i will hear no talk like that here, frederic," she said. "robert is my best and truest friend, and you must respect him as such." "he has done everything he could to cut me out!" howled the young spendthrift bitterly. "that ain't so," burst out robert. "you cut yourself out. your aunt would never have discharged you had you done your work properly--she has told me that a number of times." "i say it's a plot against me!" said frederic vernon, hardly knowing how to go on. "frederic, you are a very foolish young man," came from mrs. vernon gravely. "there was a time when i had unlimited confidence in you, and you could have retained that confidence had you chosen so to do. instead, you became a spendthrift. now you must go out into the world and earn your own living." "what am i to go at?" he asked, in a hopeless tone. for the time being he seemed utterly crushed. "you have a fair commercial education. you might become a bookkeeper." "bookkeepers don't earn their salt!" he snapped. "some of them earn twenty to forty dollars per week," put in robert. "twenty to forty dollars! do you suppose i am going to live on a beggarly twenty dollars per week! perhaps a low-bred boy like you can do it. i am used to something better." "i am not a low-bred boy," retorted robert, clenching his fists, at which frederic vernon fell back before him. "i consider my breeding as good as yours, perhaps better." "i will have no further arguments or quarrels," said mrs. vernon, coming between them. "aunt, do you mean to throw me off without a cent?" pleaded frederic vernon. "if you do that i shall starve, here among strangers. at least, pay my fare back to the united states." "i do not want you to go back to the united states." "then where shall i go?" "i have been thinking that over. your best plan will be to strike out for some new country, say south africa, south america, or perhaps australia, where you can take a fresh start in life." "i can't go to any of those places without money." "i understand there are splendid openings in south africa, and in australia. if you will agree to go to one or the other of those places, and to keep away from the united states for at least five years, i will pay your passage money and give you a thousand dollars besides." the young man's face brightened, but then it fell again. "a thousand dollars isn't much," he ventured. "it is enough." "make it five thousand, aunt, and i'll agree never to bother you again." "no, i will not give you a cent more than the thousand dollars, and robert shall buy your passage ticket." "always that boy!" howled the young man. "cannot you trust me even to buy my own ticket?" "i am sorry to say i cannot." "you won't make it two thousand?" pleaded the wayward nephew. "well, i will give you fifteen hundred dollars," replied mrs. vernon, weakening a little. "that will give you a splendid start in some new place. some men have made fortunes in south africa and in australia." "i don't want to go to south africa; i might try australia. dick roberts went to sydney, and, i believe, is doing first-rate." "you ought to do as well as young roberts. you have just as good an education." "and how soon do you want me to start?" "you must start within the next week." "that is rather short notice." "there is nothing to keep you here. you can find out when the australian steamer leaves, and what the fare is, to-morrow," replied mrs. vernon. a long discussion followed, in which robert took but small part. in vain frederic vernon pleaded for more money and more time. mrs. vernon remained obdurate, and at last the graceless nephew bid her good-night and left. as the door closed after him the lady uttered a heavy sigh of relief. "i am glad that is over, robert," she murmured. "it was certainly a heavy trial for you," he said, with a smile of sympathy. "i trust he doesn't bother me any more before he leaves." "i think it won't do any harm if i watch him and see what moves he makes. he may try to play some game upon you at the last minute, you know." "perhaps you are right, robert. but so long as he remains around i shall try to look out for myself." the next morning robert met frederic vernon on the street, near the post-office. at once the spendthrift caught our hero by the arm. "come along, i want to talk to you," he said, with a dark look on his face. feeling well able to take care of himself, robert followed the young man down a side street which was practically deserted. "you think you are mighty smart, don't you?" began vernon, as soon as he felt that they were out of hearing of outsiders. "i think i am smart in some things, mr. vernon," replied robert, as coolly as he could. "you think it's a fine thing to have me shipped off to australia." "it may prove the making of you." "you want to get me out of the way so that you can get hold of my aunt's fortune." "well, it will be a good thing for her and for me when you are out of the way. you are too dangerous a young man to have around." "bah! what i have done against her doesn't amount to shucks." "there is a difference of opinion on that score." frederic vernon shook his fist in robert's face. "you have me down now, and i can't help myself," he hissed. "but my time will come, remember that!" "are you going to australia, as your aunt wishes?" "that is none of your business." "she has made it my business." "do you mean to say you have been sent to watch me?" "yes, i am going to see that you are going to leave england, as intended." "then that is another score i will have to settle with you." without a word more, frederic vernon turned on his heel and hurried away. robert continued to the post-office for the mail, and then purchased a railroad and steamship guide. in the guide he found that a steamer for australia would sail from liverpool on the next tuesday at noon. he also learned where tickets could be procured, and the rate of fare. with this information he returned to mrs. vernon. one of the letters from america interested the lady deeply. "i ought to return to chicago at once," she said, after reading it. "there is to be a change in a manufacturing company in which i hold a large interest." "well, your nephew can sail for australia on tuesday," answered robert. "we might return to new york by steamer, starting a day or two later." that afternoon frederic vernon called upon his aunt again. he was quite humble now, for the last of the six hundred dollars procured on the forged check had been spent, and he was afraid mrs. vernon might cut him off entirely unless he agreed to do exactly as she desired. "robert tells me there is a steamer for australia on tuesday next," said the lady. "you can take that, frederic." "very well," he answered. "but i must have the money for the ticket. i am dead broke." "i will give you five pounds to spend on an outfit and to keep you until you sail. robert will buy your ticket." "i am old enough to do that myself," grumbled frederic. "no; i prefer to have him do so," said mrs. vernon pointedly, and the nephew did not dare to argue the point. the ticket was bought on saturday. then mrs. vernon announced that robert should see the young man to liverpool and to the steamer. "i hope all goes well," said mrs. vernon to our hero in private. "you must make certain that frederic sails as intended." chapter xxiv. the attack in the stateroom. frederic vernon was only calm outwardly; inwardly he was boiling with rage, and more than anxious to "get square" with robert. he attributed his downfall completely to the young secretary. "if it hadn't been for him i could have hoodwinked aunt right along," he told himself. "it's a shame that i've got to do just what that boy wants me to." as soon as he heard that robert was going to accompany him to liverpool, he set to work to hatch up some plot against our hero. robert was to carry the fifteen hundred dollars, and give it to frederic when the time came for the steamer to depart, and when young vernon was on board. frederic vernon spent sunday night with his aunt, and did what he could to get mrs. vernon to allow him a little more money. as a consequence, he came away a hundred dollars richer than would otherwise have been the case. nor was this all. at the last minute, while the aunt was getting the money for him, he picked up some of mrs. vernon's jewels and slipped them into his pocket. among the jewels was a diamond crescent worth five hundred dollars, and a pair of earrings worth three hundred dollars more. mrs. vernon was not feeling well, and as soon as her nephew left she retired for the night, and the jewels were not missed until forty-eight hours later. early the next morning frederic vernon started for liverpool, with robert with him. "i won't wake my aunt up to say good-by," said the young man. "i always hate a scene." "she will be glad not to be disturbed," thought robert, but said nothing. arriving in liverpool frederic vernon set about buying such things as he thought he would need on his long ocean trip. "will you go along to the shops?" he asked robert. "no, i will remain at the hotel," answered our hero. so frederic vernon went off alone. he had no heart to buy what was needed, for the thought of going to australia was very distasteful to him. "it won't be like living in chicago or new york," he thought. "it's beastly uncivilized out there. i wish i could put frost in my place and stay behind myself." among the places he visited was a ticket broker's office, and here he asked what they would give for the ticket to australia. tickets were just then in good demand, and the broker looked the matter up. "i'll give you seventy-five per cent. of its cost," he said. "but i want the ticket right away." "i can give it to you in about an hour." "that is positive?" "yes." "very well, bring it to me. i have a customer who wishes just such a ticket, but i cannot hold him long." at once frederic hurried back to the hotel. "i am going on board the steamer at once," he said. "give me my ticket." "you seem to be in a tremendous hurry," said robert suspiciously. "well, i'll tell you the truth, frost, since we are to part to meet no more. some of my old creditors are after me and i want to give them the slip." "i see." robert felt it would not be honorable to help frederic vernon escape his creditors, but at the same time there was no use in detaining the young man, since he would have no money with which to settle his old obligations. but he would not give up the ticket. "i will go to the steamer with you, and give you the ticket there," he said. he was firm in this, and wondering what he had best do next, frederic vernon led the way to the street and hailed a passing cab. the two got in and were driven to the docks without delay. the young man had his hand-baggage with him. "now i am off," he said. "give me the ticket and the money, and good-by to you." "i will take you on the steamer," said robert firmly. vernon grated his teeth, but had to agree, and both went on board, and down to the stateroom which had been selected. it was a room for two, but as yet vernon occupied it alone. "now let me see that money and the ticket," snapped the young man. "i am not going off until i am sure that everything is right." sitting down on the edge of the lower berth, robert brought out the articles in question, and passed them over. vernon inspected the ticket closely and counted the money. "there is twenty dollars missing," he declared. "no, the money is all right," cried robert. "well, count it out to me and see for yourself." anxious to prove that the amount was correct robert began to count the bills one after another. as he was doing this frederic vernon suddenly raised the umbrella he carried and brought down the heavy handle with crushing force on the boy's head. the blow was as cruel as it was unexpected, and with a groan robert fell forward on the stateroom floor. vernon bent over him, to find that he was totally unconscious, and liable to remain so for some time to come. "that's the time i paid him off," muttered the rascal. "i'll teach him to meddle in my private affairs." he gathered up the ticket and the money, and prepared to leave the stateroom. then a sickly smile came over his face. "might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb," he muttered, and going back he relieved robert of his watch, his pocketbook, and the scarfpin mrs. vernon had given him. "i reckon i'll be pretty well fixed for awhile," said the young rascal to himself. "and if the steamer carries him off to south africa or australia perhaps i'll be able to tell aunt a pretty good story and get back into her good graces." leaving the stateroom he locked the door, and as an extra precaution he stuffed the keyhole with a paper wad. "now he won't get out in a hurry, even if he does come around," he added, and hurried on deck and to the crowded dock. soon he was lost to view amid the people and drays that were coming and going. half an hour after frederic vernon's departure a burly man of forty-five came on board the steamer and engaged the vacant berth in the stateroom robert was occupying. "i hope i have a good room-mate," observed mr. pelham, as he found his way below. "frederic vernon, eh? well, that's a pretty good name." he reached the stateroom, and finding the door locked, knocked upon it several times. no answer came back, and mr. pelham was perplexed. "can the key be at the office?" he mused, and went off to see if such was the case. of course the article was not there, and a porter followed him to the room to let him in. "the keyhole is stuffed," said the porter, after an examination. "some of the children on board have been playing pranks again." "hark!" cried mr. pelham. "am i mistaken, or did i hear a groan?" he and the porter listened. the gentleman was not mistaken, for now a second groan sounded out, more loudly than the first. "your room-mate must be sick!" cried the porter. "hi, there, sir, please open the door?" he called. but robert paid no attention, for he was not yet conscious. the porter dug away at the paper wad, and at last extricated it from the keyhole. then he inserted the key and swung the door back. both men uttered exclamations of horror, for robert lay across the lower berth unconscious, and with a small stream of blood running over his temple and cheek. "gracious! this looks like suicide!" ejaculated mr. pelham. "run for the captain and a doctor, quick!" the porter needed no second bidding, and made off with all speed. when he returned he found that mr. pelham had propped robert up on a pillow and bound up the small wound on our hero's head with a handkerchief. "whe--where is he?" were robert's first words. "he? who?" asked the men who surrounded him. "frederic vernon, the man who struck me down." "so you were struck down?" said the captain of the steamer. "i--i was," gasped robert. "did he--he escape?" the others looked around, but of course vernon was nowhere to be seen. "he must have escaped," said mr. pelham. "frederic vernon, you said. he was to be my room-mate." a number of questions followed, and robert told his tale, to which the others listened with close attention. then a search was instituted for frederic vernon, but this was unsuccessful. "he has left the ship," declared the captain. "it's not likely that he wanted to go to australia." it was not until some time later that robert discovered the loss of his purse, watch, and the scarfpin, and then he was more angry than ever. "oh, if only i can lay hands on him," he thought. "i'll make him suffer for all his evil doings!" chapter xxv. a friend in need. the steamer was now ready to sail, and robert went ashore with a number of others who had come aboard to see their friends off. just as he left the gang-plank a belated passenger came rushing on the ship. it was the man who purchased frederic vernon's ticket at the cut-rate office. it must be confessed that robert was much downcast as he walked slowly away from the dock. here he was in liverpool without a shilling in his pocket, and the mission he had undertaken for mrs. vernon had proved a miserable failure. "i was a chump not to watch vernon more closely," he muttered to himself. "i might have known that he was just waiting to get the best of me." presently the idea struck him that frederic vernon might be watching the steamer to learn whether or not his victim would come ashore or set sail in the ship. "i'll see if he is anywhere around," he thought, and set out on the hunt without delay. the docks were piled high with merchandise of all sorts, and thus afforded numerous hiding places. robert made his way from one corner to another, until he reached a tall pile of lumber. on the top of this were seated half a dozen boys and a young man. the latter individual was frederic vernon, who had returned to the dock to do just as our hero had suspected. vernon saw robert at the same instant that the boy spotted him, and before our hero could reach the place he leaped from the lumber pile and started on a dead run for the street beyond the dock. "hi, stop!" cried robert, giving chase. "stop the thief!" the boys and a number of others took up the cry, and in a few minutes fully a score of people were following frederic vernon. down one street and up another went the crowd, vernon keeping fully a square ahead of them. robert was nearest to him, and presently saw the rascal dart into an alleyway. when our hero reached the alleyway vernon was out of sight. robert and the crowd searched the alleyway from end to end, but without success. vernon had slipped all of his pursuers, and had hired a cab to take him to another part of the city. the rascal remained in hiding at an obscure boarding house for nearly a week, and then took passage for boston, satisfied that since robert had not sailed for australia, it would be worse than useless for him to appeal again to his aunt. after the chase was over robert found himself tired out and as hungry as a bear. moreover his head, which the ship's doctor had patched up with court-plaster, hurt him not a little. "another failure," he muttered disconsolately. "did ever a fellow have such a run of bad luck before!" had vernon not been a close relative of the lady who employed him, robert would have put the case in the hands of the liverpool police, and got them to telegraph to mrs. vernon for him for aid. but this he knew would not suit the lady at all. "i must find some means of getting back to chishing without the aid of the police," he told himself. "perhaps i'll run across somebody i know." he scanned every face he met, but for several hours was unsuccessful. at last he met a farmer he had seen on the river thames several times. farmer goodall had come to liverpool to see his son off, who was bound for america. father and son had just separated when our hero ran across the former. "how do you do, mr. goodall," said robert, extending his hand. "i trust you remember me." "indeed i do, mr. frost," answered the farmer, as he shook hands. "what brings you here? are you going back home?" "not yet. i came on a little business for mrs. vernon. you know i am her private secretary." "so they told me in the village, sir." "i was just looking for somebody i might know," went on the youth. "i've got myself into trouble." "indeed, and how is that?" "i've been robbed of my watch, my scarfpin and my money." "gracious me! is it possible, mr. frost? it must have been a bold thief that could do that." "he caught me in an out-of-the-way spot and hit me over the head." robert showed the plastered cut. "i just wish i could get hold of him." "i've no doubt of that, sir. so he stole your pocketbook, eh? then perhaps you are out of money." "i am, and i was just looking for somebody who would advance me enough with which to get my dinner and a railway ticket to chishing. of course as soon as i get back mrs. vernon will, i am certain, make good the amount." "then in that case i'll advance what you need," answered farmer goodall. "but i am going back myself, and perhaps we can travel together, if you don't mind." "not at all." "i generally travel second-class, but if you----" "second class will suit me well enough, mr. goodall. in america, you know, we have no classes at all, although in the south we have coaches for white folks, and coaches--we call them cars--for colored people." "so i've heard. i suppose my son john will see many strange sights when he gets to new york. i've just been seeing him off." "he will, for new york is somewhat different from any city you have over here. is he going to remain in new york?" "no, he's going to chicago first, and then to what they call the west. i don't know much about it, but i hope the buffaloes and indians don't kill him, that's all. come on and have something to eat." "i don't believe the buffaloes and indians will trouble him," said robert, as they moved toward an eating house. "there are very few buffaloes left, and none around the cities and towns, and as for the indians they are quite peaceful now and live on the reservations the government has allotted them." "it must be a great country. i wanted to go there when i was a young man, but my wife objected. she didn't want to take the long voyage over the ocean." "that i presume was before we had the swift ocean steamers." "yes. those that went over took the sailing vessels, and the trip lasted about a couple of months or so." they entered a modest but respectable eating house, and here farmer goodall ordered a substantial dinner for two. he looked curiously at robert when the youth turned down his glass. "what, lad, won't have a bit of ale with your eating?" he queried. "no, mr. goodall, thank you just the same. i never drink." "don't like to mix good ale with your eating?" "i never drink at all." the farmer dropped his knife and fork in sheer amazement. "so you are temperance. well, well! you americans are queer folks, i must allow." "all our folks are not temperance, i can assure you of that," laughed robert. "some of them drink far more than is good for them." "i've been used to my ale from childhood; i couldn't get along without it," answered the farmer, and then fell to eating, and robert did the same. the dinner finished, the two walked around to the railway station, and learned that they could get a train for chishing in an hour and a half. "i guess i had better spend the time in looking around for that thief," said robert. "shall i go along?" "if you wish to do so, mr. goodall." "yes, since i haven't anything else to occupy the wait with," answered the farmer. but the hunt amounted to nothing, and ten minutes before train time the two reached the station again. promptly on time the train rolled in, and robert and his friend entered one of the second-class coaches. luckily they were the only passengers, so to the boy it was quite like riding in a special car. had he had the money he would have purchased some books and newspapers with which to while away the time, but he did not care to make any further calls upon the farmer's generosity, so contented himself with gazing at the scenery along the road and in talking with his companion. it was long after nightfall when they reached chishing. "you can settle up with me to-morrow," said farmer goodall. "i want to get home now and tell dora how john got away," and so they separated. it must be admitted that robert's heart was heavy when he walked to the cabe boarding house. "i've made a bad mess of it," he told himself. "perhaps mrs. vernon will not like it at all. who knows but what she may discharge me for what has happened." chapter xxvi. in chicago once more. mrs. vernon was sitting up waiting for robert's return. she at once saw by his face that something was wrong. "how did you get hurt?" she cried, as she noticed the court-plaster on his forehead. "it's a long story, mrs. vernon," he answered, as he dropped into a chair. "i'm afraid you will be very angry when i tell you all." "why, robert, what has happened?" "i allowed your nephew to slip through my fingers." "and that bruise on your head?" "he did that. he knocked me senseless and robbed me of my watch, my pocketbook, and also that diamond scarfpin you gave me." "and he has robbed me too," added the lady. "robert, i am very sorry for you!" and she caught his hand. "robbed you!" he ejaculated. "you mean that check?" "no, more than that. he took some of my jewelry the last time he visited me." again robert had to tell his tale, and this time he related all of the details, for he felt that it would not do to hold back anything from the lady. she listened with her face growing whiter every instant. "he is a terrible villain, robert," she gasped at last. "so he did not sail for australia, after all." "no. i think he must be still hiding in liverpool." "were it not for the scandal i would place a detective on his track. the attack on you was a most cowardly one." "i don't believe he will worry either of us again very soon," said the boy. "he is too much afraid of arrest." "he knows i am very indulgent," she sighed. "yes, but he knows he now has me to deal with as well as yourself, and he won't expect to find me so tender-hearted." "that is true." "if he shows his nose again i will make him give up what he stole and then threaten him with immediate arrest if he comes near us a second time," went on our hero warmly. they figured up between them that frederic vernon, after disposing of the stolen things, would have about three thousand dollars in his possession. "that will probably keep him for twelve months, since he used to expend that amount yearly," said mrs. vernon. "oh, i sincerely trust i never see or hear of him again." she promised to make good robert's loss. "i will buy you another scarfpin when we go back to london," she said, "and also another timepiece." "the watch came from my father," answered robert. "i would like to get it back if i could." "we will notify the liverpool police to search for it in the pawnshops." on the next day mr. goodall received a call from robert, who paid the farmer the money coming to him, and gave him a gift in addition. "i shall not forget your kindness, mr. goodall," he said. "i trust some day i shall be able to do as much for you." "perhaps some day you'll meet my son john in america," replied the farmer. "if so, and you can give him a lift, that will please me more than anything else." "i'll remember, if we ever do meet," said robert. the liverpool police were notified, and inside of thirty-six hours the watch was recovered from a pawnbroker who had loaned two pounds on it. but the jewelry could not be traced. ten days passed, and then mrs. vernon received several additional letters from chicago urging her to return home. robert also received a very interesting letter from livingston palmer, but no communication from his mother, which disappointed him not a little. "i would like to know how she and mr. talbot are getting along," he thought. "i hope he isn't making her any fresh troubles." he did not know that his mother had written, telling of her hard lot, and that mr. talbot had intercepted the communication and burnt it up. "i think we had better sail for new york next saturday, robert," said mrs. vernon. "i do not wish to lose anything by not being in chicago if my presence is required there." "i am more than willing," he answered promptly. "you do not like england then?" "oh, i can't say that. but i like the united states better." "so do i, and that is natural, for both of us were born and brought up there." friday night found them in liverpool, and here they engaged passage on one of the fastest transatlantic vessels running to new york. by saturday afternoon they were well out on the ocean. on the whole, the trip to england had done both mrs. vernon and robert a good deal of good. robert's face was round and ruddy, and he looked what he was fast becoming, a young man. "they won't be able to call you a boy much longer," said mrs. vernon, during the trip. "i suppose you will soon be sporting a mustache." and she laughed. "i guess i can wait a while for that," answered robert. "but i won't mind if people think you have a young man for a secretary, instead of a boy. some folks don't like to trust their business with a boy." "i am perfectly willing to trust you, robert." "a man might have been smarter in liverpool than i was." "i don't think so. you were taken off your guard, and that might happen to anyone." the voyage passed without special incident outside of a severe storm which was encountered on the third day out. during this storm all of the passengers had to remain below, and meals were served only under great difficulties. "this is not so pleasant," observed robert. "but i suppose we have got to take the bitter with the sweet." "i shall be thankful if we don't go to the bottom," said mrs. vernon, with a shudder. the storm lasted for twelve hours, and then departed as speedily as it had come, and the balance of the trip proved ideal, for at night there was a full moon, making the ocean look like one vast sheet of silver. it was about four o'clock of an afternoon when they came in sight of new york harbor. from a distance they made out the statue of liberty. "home again!" cried robert. "i tell you there is nothing so good as the united states." "right you are, young man," replied a gentleman standing near. "i have traveled in many foreign countries, but give me the states every time." they anchored at quarantine over night, and landed at the pier ten o'clock the next morning. one day was spent in new york, and then they took the train for chicago. it made robert's heart swell with delight to tread the familiar streets of chicago once more. it seemed to him that he had been away a long time. mrs. vernon had sent word ahead that she was coming, and at the depot a coach awaited her to take the lady and robert to the handsome mansion of prairie avenue. here martha, the maid, met them at the door, her good-natured face wreathed in smiles. "welcome home again, mrs. vernon!" she cried joyfully. "and glad to see you, master robert." "i am glad to be back," answered mrs. vernon. robert was soon back in his old room, and the expressman brought in the trunks. by night the youth was as much settled as he had ever been, and the same can be said of the lady who had made him her private secretary. mrs. vernon's first move in the morning was to settle domestic affairs. two days later mr. farley called upon her, and her next move was to attend a meeting of the stockholders of one of the companies in which she was interested. "if you wish you can take a run home, robert," she said, before going away. "i thought, if you did not mind, i would go home over next sunday," he replied. "then you can do that. but i shall not need you to-day." "then i'll take a walk downtown and see how matters look." before going out robert wrote a long letter to his mother, telling of his adventures in england, and stating when he was coming home. as he had done with the other letters, he marked this for personal delivery only, and sent it in care of the postmaster at granville, that his step-father might not get hold of it. his first call was at mr. gray's office, where he found livingston palmer behind the desk as usual. "right glad to see you, robert," cried the clerk. "and i must thank you for that gift of yours." "i trust you had a good time on your money, livingston." "well, i didn't spend it foolishly, i can tell you that. i have learned a lesson, robert. i am saving my spare money, and i am putting in most of my nights in learning stenography and typewriting. i have an offer of twenty-five dollars per week if i learn stenography thoroughly, and i am pegging away at it for all i am worth." "i am glad to hear it," answered robert heartily. "i have taken up stenography myself," and such was a fact. the conversation lasted for quarter of an hour, and then our hero mentioned dick marden. "why, he is in town and at the palmer house," said livingston palmer. "i saw him yesterday afternoon. you had better call on him. i know he will be glad to see you." "i certainly will call on him, and at once," said robert, and moved off without further delay. chapter xxvii. dick marden's good news. on entering the palmer house robert was very much surprised to run across dr. remington. at first glance he did not recognize the physician, for the latter's face was much bloated, showing that he had been drinking heavily, and his general appearance was seedy to the last degree. "why, hullo!" cried dr. remington, on seeing our hero. "when did you get back to chicago?" "i got back yesterday," replied robert coldly. he was about to pass on when the doctor detained him. "got back yesterday, eh? did you have a nice trip?" "yes." "glad to hear it, frost. and how is mrs. vernon?" "very well." "good enough. i suppose an ocean trip was just what she wanted." "it was," said robert. he was struck with a sudden idea that perhaps remington knew something of frederic vernon's whereabouts. "how have you been?" "oh, so so. you see, i've been troubled a good deal lately with the grippe." "a doctor ought to be able to cure himself of that." "so one would think, but it's pretty hard for a doctor to cure himself, even though he can cure others." "how is your old friend frederic vernon these days?" went on our hero, in an apparently careless tone. at this question remington's face fell and took on a sour look. "vernon played me a mean trick," he muttered. "how so?" "why, i--er--i loaned him some money, and he went off without paying me back." "and you haven't seen anything of him since?" "no. do you know where he is?" "i do not." "didn't he follow you to europe?" "he did. but he wasn't there long before he cleared out," added robert. by the manner in which remington spoke he felt that the doctor had told the truth about frederic vernon, and if this was so it was likely that vernon had not returned to chicago. "i'll wager he worried his aunt a good bit while he was there," went on remington, closing one eye suggestively. "he did. but i must go on, because i do not wish to miss meeting a friend of mine." robert tried to proceed, but again the seedy doctor detained him. "hold on a bit, frost. i--er--that is, how are you fixed?" "what do you mean?" "can you lend me ten dollars for a few days? i'm out trying to collect some bills from my patients, but all of them seem to be out of town." this statement was a falsehood, for remington had neither an office nor a practice left, and the few people that he did treat now and then had to pay him his small fee in spot cash. "you will have to excuse me, dr. remington," said robert. he saw no reason for accommodating the man who had caused his best friend so much trouble. "won't you lend me the money?" demanded the doctor half angrily. "i will not." "don't get on a high-horse about it, frost. anybody is liable to get into a hole now and then." "i am not getting on a high-horse. i don't care to lend you ten dollars, that's all." "then make it five. i'll pay you back to-morrow evening, sure." "dr. remington, i shall not lend you five cents. i understand you, and i have no use for you. now let me pass." "you--you monkey!" hissed the irate doctor, and raised the cane he carried as if to strike robert on the head. but the steady gaze out of our hero's eyes disconcerted him, and lowering the stick he passed on, and was soon swallowed up in the crowd on the street. robert found dick marden's room without trouble, and came upon the miner just as the latter was preparing to go away for the day. "robert, my boy!" cried dick marden, as he shook our hero's hand warmly. "i was just wondering if you were in chicago or in england. you look well. how has it been with you?" "all right, on the whole," answered the boy. "but i've had some strange adventures since i parted with you." "tell me about them." the two sat down and dick marden listened with deep interest to all robert had to relate. "that frederic vernon is a bad one--a regular snake in the grass," he declared. "you want to beware of him." "i intend to keep my eyes open." "and you want to watch that remington, too. now mrs. vernon is back to chicago the pair may try to do her further injury." "but remington says he doesn't know where vernon is." "never mind, rogues always manage to get together again, no matter how they become separated, and they soon patch up their differences if there is any booty in sight. do you know what i think that lady ought to do?" "what?" "employ a detective as a sort of bodyguard. then if that nephew and the doctor try any underhanded work the detective can catch them red-handed." "i will suggest that to mrs. vernon." "i suppose you would like to know how matters are going on at timberville, michigan." "i would." "well, the news is first-rate. in the first place my uncle, felix amberton, is as well as ever again." "i am very glad to hear that." "in the second place his lawyers have made it so warm for those canadians and englishmen that were trying to defraud my uncle out of his timber lands, that the foreigners have given up the contest." "they have left mr. amberton in sole possession of the lands?" "exactly. that map you procured from old herman wenrich did the business." "in that case i don't think mr. wenrich ought to be forgotten by your uncle." "my uncle has sent herman wenrich his check for one thousand dollars." "that's nice. i am certain it will help mr. wenrich and his daughter nettie a good deal, for they are not very well off." "my uncle also thinks that you ought to be rewarded for your trouble," continued the miner. "he told me that as soon as you returned to america he was going to place a thousand dollars in the bank to your credit." "a thousand dollars!" ejaculated robert. "what for?" "for what you did for him." "i didn't do so much." "he thinks you did, and so do i. you had lots of trouble in getting that map, and lots of trouble in delivering it after you got it." "but a thousand dollars!" "my uncle can easily afford it, for the timber lands are worth fifty times that amount." "i am getting rich," mused robert. "do you know how much mrs. vernon has given me?" "i haven't the least idea." "when we were in england she placed two thousand dollars in the bank to my credit. the money will be transferred to a chicago bank in a few days." "that will make three thousand dollars. you are doing well, robert, but you deserve it. you have had no easy time of it, to defend mrs. vernon against that unscrupulous nephew of hers." "i hardly think he will dare bother me again. he knows that i can have him locked up for the assault on me." "what do you intend to do with your money?" "i am going to let it rest in the bank for the present, until i see some good investment. i am adding a little to it every month from my salary." "i am glad to see you haven't turned spendthrift, robert," said marden warmly. "many a young fellow would have his head turned by so much good fortune." "well, i'll try to keep my head--and my money, too," rejoined the youth, with a laugh. a pleasant talk lasting quarter of an hour followed, and then marden said he would have to go. "but you must call on me again, robert," he said, as they parted. "remember, i consider you very largely my boy still." "and you must call on me," added our hero warmly. "i am sure mrs. vernon will be pleased to have you do so." "i am going up to timberville in a day or two, and i'll tell my uncle you are back. you will probably get a letter from him by the beginning of next week," concluded the miner. chapter xxviii. in which mrs. vernon is missing. robert reached home about one o'clock, which was the usual hour that mrs. vernon and himself had lunch. he found the lady had not yet returned. "i am in no hurry, martha," he said. "i will go into the office and write some letters." the letters took nearly an hour to finish, and by that time our hero felt decidedly hungry. mrs. vernon had told him never to wait over half an hour for a meal, so he now ordered lunch for himself alone. "that meeting probably took longer than expected," he thought. "perhaps she is having a whole lot of trouble with the other stockholders. i wish i could help her." slowly the afternoon wore away, and still mrs. vernon did not put in an appearance. robert went out for another walk, and did not come back until six o'clock, the regular dinner hour. "not back yet, martha?" was his first question, on returning. "no, mr. frost." "it is queer." "shall i have dinner served?" "no, i will wait half an hour." "it's too bad. the roast will be overdone, i am afraid." "well, it probably cannot be helped." robert drifted into the library, and selecting a volume of cooper's works, sat down in an easy chair to read. but he could not fasten his attention on the story, and soon cast the volume aside. "is it possible that anything has happened to mrs. vernon?" was the question which he asked himself over and over again. he thought of frederic vernon and dr. remington, and of what dick marden had said. "would frederic vernon dare to do anything?" he asked himself. the evening passed slowly and painfully. as hour after hour went by robert began to pace the floor nervously. he felt "in his bones," as the saying is, that something was wrong, but he could not exactly imagine what. when the clock struck eleven he could stand the suspense no longer. he summoned martha. "i am going out to look for mrs. vernon," he said. "if she comes in in the meantime tell her not to worry about me." "very well," answered the maid. robert had decided to call first at the masonic temple, a large business building situated in the heart of chicago. it was in the temple that the offices were located which mrs. vernon had started to visit early that morning. he rode the greater part of the distance and reached the office building shortly before midnight. the ground floor was still open, but the great majority of the offices were dark. approaching one of the hallmen he asked about the meeting of the manufacturing company. "i don't know anything about that," was the answer. "but joe dolan does. i'll call him." "the meeting broke up about noon," said joe dolan, when summoned. "do you remember mrs. vernon?" "i don't know the lady by name. how was she dressed?" as well as he was able, robert described the lady's appearance. "oh, yes, i know her now," cried joe dolan. "there were only two ladies, you see, and the other was short and stout." "well, what became of mrs. vernon?" "she went out ahead of the others." "alone?" "yes." "do you know what direction she took?" "i do not." "are you sure she did not come back?" "i didn't see anything of her, and i've been around ever since." "are the offices locked up?" "yes, and have been ever since five o'clock. no one but mr. smith has been in them since three o'clock." "then she must certainly have gone somewhere else." "do you calculate there is anything wrong?" said the janitor, with interest. "i don't know what to think. she said she would return home from here, and she hadn't got back up to eleven o'clock." "that looks bad." "of course something else may have come up that is keeping her away." "that is so." thanking the janitor for his information, robert left the masonic temple and walked up the street. he scarcely knew what to do next. he would have called upon mr. farley for advice, but knew that the lawyer's offices were closed, and he had not the man's home address. hoping that mrs. vernon had returned to the mansion on prairie avenue, he returned. it was now nearly one o'clock, and it must be confessed that robert was sleepy. martha had gone to bed, but william the butler sat dozing in a hall chair. "no, she isn't home yet," said the butler, in reply to our hero's question. "i never knew her to stay out so late before, excepting when she went to a ball or something like that." "there is something wrong, that is certain," said robert. "i have half a mind to call on the police for aid." "better wait, mr. frost. it may be all right, and if the police were called in the newspapers might make a big sensation of it. and you know how much mrs. vernon dislikes scandals." the butler did not mention frederic vernon's doings, but he had them in mind, and robert understood. our hero slept but little that night, and was up and dressed long before the usual breakfast hour. he passed to mrs. vernon's apartments, to find them still empty. "i will go down to mr. farley's and have a talk with him," he told himself, and left the house in time to reach the lawyer's offices at nine o'clock--for he knew mr. farley would not be there earlier. "this is certainly strange, frost," said the lawyer, with a grave look on his face. "i don't like it at all." "nor i, especially as i saw that nephew of hers in town yesterday morning." "what, frederic vernon?" "yes." "then he is to blame for his aunt's disappearance," said robert bitterly. "what makes you think that?" "i may as well tell you the truth, mr. farley, although i trust you will let the thing go no further. i believe you do not know exactly what reasons mrs. vernon had for going to england so suddenly." "i know she had some trouble with her nephew." "frederic vernon was plotting to put her into an insane asylum." "you don't mean it, frost!" gasped the lawyer. "i do mean it. he had his plans all arranged, when i got wind of it, told mrs. vernon, and she left, without letting her nephew know anything about it." "in that case, frederic vernon must be accountable for her present disappearance." "i am half of a mind that that is so. the thing of it is, to catch the young man and prove it." "that is so." "if we catch him he may deny everything, unless he is certain he can make out a case of insanity against her." "but she is no more insane than you or i!" cried mr. farley. "i agree with you. but frederic vernon had a tool, a certain dr. remington, who was willing to swear that mrs. vernon was of unsound mind." "it is a dastardly plot, and the man who invented it ought to be in prison." "mrs. vernon hated publicity or anything in the nature of a family scandal. that is why she suffered so much in silence." "we ought to find this frederic vernon at once." "that is so." "if you agree with me, we will put a private detective on his track. i know a reliable man, who knows when to talk and when to keep his mouth shut." "then that is the man to get. it would be foolish to allow mrs. vernon's enemies more time than necessary. they may be carrying her off to a great distance." mr. farley was quick to act, and soon he and robert were on the way to the place where detective brossom could be found. as much as was necessary was told to the detective, and he was given a description of frederic vernon and also a list of the resorts which the spendthrift had been in the habit of frequenting. "if he's in chicago i'll run him down all right enough," said brossom. "if i am not mistaken i've met him at one of the clubs, when i was running down carew the bank wrecker." "of course we may be mistaken, and mrs. vernon may return home to-day," said robert. "if she does, i will send word to this place immediately." chapter xxix. doctor rushwood's sanitarium. mrs. vernon's house was built in the shape of a letter l, the lady's wing containing the library and business office downstairs and private apartments on the second floor. when robert let himself into the house he entered the library to find out if the lady had yet returned. nothing was disturbed, and he was about to walk into the business office, when on looking out on the street he saw frederic vernon standing behind a nearby tree, watching the mansion closely. "hullo," cried robert to himself. "what is he up to now?" at first he thought to go out and hail vernon, but quickly changed his mind. "i'll get nothing out of him by questioning him," he reasoned. "it will pay far better to watch him and see what he does and where he goes." a few minutes after our hero had discovered vernon, he saw the spendthrift hurry swiftly for the wing of the house and try the window to the business office. the sash was locked, but by inserting a knife blade between the upper and lower sashes he was enabled to push the catch back. this done the lower sash was raised, and frederic vernon crawled into the business office as silently as a cat. "he is up to no good," said our hero to himself. "i believe he is here to steal something." there was a large turkish chair handy, and robert crouched behind this, that frederic vernon might not see him should he take a peep into the library. "don't seem to be anybody around," he heard vernon mutter, as he looked into the library. "frost must be off trying to hunt the old woman up." vernon tiptoed his way to mrs. vernon's desk, and, unlocking it, slid back the roller top. the movement surprised robert, for he had thought that only mrs. vernon and himself had keys to the desk. "perhaps he is using mrs. vernon's key," he thought. with great rapidity frederic vernon went through several drawers full of papers. "pshaw! the papers must be in the safe," he murmured, and leaving the desk he approached the safe, which stood in a corner. getting down on his knees he began to work at the combination. "thirty-five twice, twelve three times," he murmured, repeating what had once been the combination of the lock. but mrs. vernon had had robert to change the combination just before starting for england, and consequently frederic vernon failed to get the door open. he fussed with the combination for a quarter of an hour, getting more angry over his failure every minute. "confound the luck, they must have changed it," he muttered. "i wish i dared to tackle frost about it. but i am not quite ready for that. perhaps i can make her give me the combination." robert did not hear the last words, yet he felt pretty certain that frederic vernon was responsible for his aunt's disappearance, and knew where she was. he was half of a mind to call in a policeman, yet he was afraid that vernon might in some manner give the officer of the law the slip. "and if he is locked up now he may deny knowing anything about his aunt," was the boy's conclusion. at last vernon left the safe and went to the desk once more. here he selected several papers and rammed them in his pocket. then, without warning, he slipped out of the window again, closed the sash, and started down the street at a brisk pace. "i'll follow him," said robert to himself. "and i won't leave him out of sight until i've found out what has become of mrs. vernon." running into the upper hallway robert saw on a rack an old overcoat he had once worn and a slouch hat which had belonged to another inmate of the mansion. he donned these, pulling the hat far down over his forehead, and the coat up around his neck. then he put on a pair of blue glasses which mrs. vernon had used on the sea voyage to protect her eyes from the glare of the sun on the water. thus partially disguised, he made after frederic vernon, who had now reached the block below the house. here vernon took a passing car and took a seat inside. running rapidly, robert managed to catch the car, and took a position on the rear platform, with his back to the interior, that the young spendthrift might not see his face. the car was one running well on toward the southern outskirts of chicago, and vernon remained in it until the very end of the line was gained. then he walked on once more, with robert still dogging his footsteps, but so carefully that the young man never suspected he was being followed. once he looked back, but our hero promptly stepped out of sight behind a nearby billboard. in this district the houses were much scattered, and most of them were surrounded by large gardens. frederic vernon passed into a side street which was little better than a road, and soon reached a large square building of stone, set in a perfect wilderness of trees and bushes. a high iron fence surrounded the ill-kept garden, and the single iron gate was locked. ringing a bell at the gate, frederic vernon thus summoned a porter, who came, and after asking him a few questions, let him in. approaching the gate, robert saw a sign over it, in gilt letters, which read in this fashion: dr. nicholas rushwood, private sanitarium for the weak-minded. peering through the ironwork, our hero saw frederic vernon follow the porter up the steps of the stone building and disappear inside. "this must be the place to which mrs. vernon has been taken," thought robert. he waited at the gate for awhile to see if frederic vernon would come out, but the young spendthrift failed to put in an appearance. the sanitarium was located on a corner, and ran from one street to the next, so that our hero could walk around three sides of the place. on the other side was a high stone wall, which separated the asylum grounds from those of a well-kept garden. all of the windows on the second and third stories of the stone building were very closely barred. "they must keep the patients up there," concluded robert. he gazed sharply at each window, but though he saw several men and women, he did not catch sight of mrs. vernon. presently a butcher boy came along the back street, a large basket on his arm. "can you tell me what place this is?" questioned robert. "that's dr. rushwood's asylum for crazy folks," answered the butcher boy. "has he many patients?" "ten or a dozen, i believe." "were you ever inside of the place?" "i used to deliver meat there. but our firm don't serve him any more." "and what kind of a place is it?" "it's a gloomy hole, and the doctor is a terror." "a terror? what do you mean by that?" "he's awfully strict and awfully mean. some folks say he don't give the crazy folks half enough to eat. he was always kicking about his meat bill. that's the reason our firm stopped serving him." "did you see them taking anybody new into there lately?" "no, but i heard jack mason telling that he saw them taking a woman in there last night." "a young woman or an elderly lady?" "jack said it was an oldish-looking woman, and said she was very handsomely dressed." "what time was this?" "about six o'clock last night. they brought her in a coach, and two men were with her. but what do you ask all these questions for?" "i have my reasons. a lady has disappeared and i am looking for her." "christopher! did they abduct her?" "i don't know. i am much obliged to you," returned robert, and to avoid being questioned further he sauntered off. he did not go far, however, and as soon as the butcher boy was gone, he returned to the vicinity of the sanitarium. it was now growing dusk, and watching his chance he climbed to the top of the stone wall which divided the asylum grounds from that of the garden next door. the top of the wall was rough, but with care he managed to walk from one end to the other. while he was on the wall he heard the gate bell ring, and crouched down to get out of sight. the porter admitted two men, but who they were robert could not see. from the wall robert could easily look into the lower windows of the building. one room into which he gazed was fitted up as a library, and as he gazed into it the door opened and four men entered. the four men were frederic vernon, dr. remington, and two others, the keeper of the asylum and a second physician. chapter xxx. frederic vernon's demands. the window to the room was closed so that robert could not hear what the four men said. he, however, saw them talking earnestly, and then saw one of the strangers, probably the doctor who ran the asylum, bring out a legal-looking document. this frederic vernon urged dr. remington and the second stranger to sign. "it must be the certificate to prove that mrs. vernon is insane," thought robert. "i believe such a document has to be signed by two doctors, and frederic vernon is urging remington and that other physician to do the dirty work for him." robert's surmise was correct, as later events proved. remington did not wish to give the certificate until he was certain that frederic vernon would pay over the ten thousand dollars which had been promised to him. "i've got to have my pay," he said, in a low but earnest manner. "you'll get it," returned vernon. "you can trust me." "humph! i trusted you before," growled the doctor. "well, you know why i went off--merely to induce my aunt to return to chicago." "your money will be safe." "and how about my money?" put in the second physician. "you shall be paid, dr. carraway." "you must remember that it is a ticklish business, this signing a certificate when the party isn't--ahem--just as bad as she might be." "and i must have my money," put in dr. rushwood. "i am running a risk, too." "what risk will you run if you have your certificate?" questioned frederic vernon. "you can fall back on that in case of trouble." "mrs. vernon's friends may have us all arrested for conspiracy. it's a big risk." "well, every man of you shall be paid," said frederic vernon. "as soon as the excitement of the affair blows over, i'll take charge of all my aunt's property and then i'll have money to burn, and lots of it. why, she's worth half a million." so the talk ran on, until dr. remington and dr. carraway agreed to sign the certificate, and did so. this paper was then turned over to dr. rushwood, who placed it on file in his safe. following this the keeper of the asylum brought out some wine and cigars, and half an hour was spent in general conversation. then frederic vernon said he would like to talk to his aunt for awhile. dr. rushwood led the way to an apartment on the third floor. the room had once been well furnished, but the furnishings were now dilapidated, the carpet being worn threadbare and the furniture being scratched and broken. one small window lit up the apartment, and this was closely barred. frederic vernon knocked on the door, but received no answer. "can i come in, aunt?" asked the young spendthrift. at once there was a rustle in the room. "yes, frederic, come in," came in mrs. vernon's voice. dr. rushwood opened the door and the young man entered. then the doctor locked the door again. "when you want to get out just call me," he said significantly, and walked away. "frederic, what does this mean?" demanded mrs. vernon. by her face it was plain to see that she had been weeping. "don't excite yourself, aunt," responded the young rascal soothingly. "it is all for the best." "what is for the best?" demanded the lady. "that you are here." "but i do not wish to be here, and you have no right to place me here." "it is for your good, aunt." "i understand you, frederic, but let me tell you your wicked plot against me shall not succeed." "i have no plot against you, aunt. if you wish to know the truth, let me tell you that your mind is not just what it should be. for a long while you have imagined that i was your enemy, while all your friends know that i have been your best friend." "indeed! were you my friend when you forged my name to that check for six hundred dollars?" frederic vernon winced, but quickly recovered. "you do me a great injustice when you say i forged your name. i was never guilty of any such baseness." "i know better." "that is only another proof of your hallucination, aunt. but the doctor says if you will submit to his treatment you will be quite cured in a few months." "i need no treatment, for my mind is as clear as yours, perhaps clearer. i want you and those wicked men who helped place me here to let me go." "such a course is impossible, and you must make yourself content with your surroundings. the room is not furnished as nicely as you may wish, but i will have all that changed in a day or two, as soon as i can get my other affairs straightened out." "you will profit nothing by your high-handed course, frederic. in the past i have been very indulgent toward you, but if you insist upon keeping me here against my will, when once i do get free i will let the law take its course." the lady spoke so sharply and positively that frederic vernon was made to feel decidedly uncomfortable. he had carried matters with a high hand, and he realized that should the game go against him, the reckoning would be a bitter one. "i would let you go, aunt, but i am certain i am acting for your own good. and now i want to talk business to you." "if you do not give me my freedom i do not wish to say another word," answered the lady shortly. "you must give me the combination of your safe." "so that you can rob me again, eh? no, i will do nothing of the sort." frederic vernon's face grew dark. "you had better not defy me, aunt. i am bound to have the combination sooner or later." "you will not get from me. nor from robert, either, i am thinking." "i will get it somehow." "will you send robert or mr. farley to me?" "i cannot do that--just yet." "why not--if you are honest in your actions toward me?" "because it is against the doctor's orders. he says you must remain very quiet. it is the only hope of restoring you to your full mental health again." "very well then, frederic. but remember what i said. if i ever get away again you shall suffer the full penalty of the law." "you won't give me that combination?" "no." mrs. vernon remained obdurate, and a little while later the young man called dr. rushwood. "you must be careful and watch her closely," said frederic vernon to the keeper of the asylum, as the pair walked downstairs. "she is clever, and will try to get the best of you if she can." dr. rushwood smiled grimly. "don't worry about me, vernon," he replied. "i've never yet had one of them to get the best of me." "i am afraid it will take several days to break her down. at present i can do nothing with her." "perhaps i had better put her on a diet of bread and water. that sometimes fetches them," suggested the keeper of the asylum brutally. "i am afraid she may do something desperate. she is a nervous, high-strung woman, remember." "i've had all kinds to deal with, and i never miss it in judging them. you just leave the whole thing to me. when will you come again?" "that must depend upon circumstances. perhaps to-morrow afternoon." "will you take charge of her affairs at once?" "i must feel my way before i do that. you see my aunt had a private secretary. he is nothing but a boy, but he may cause us a lot of trouble." "better discharge him at once, then, and make him turn over all his private business to you." "that is what i intend to do." "you said something about getting the combination of her safe." "she wouldn't give it to me. but it won't matter so much. i can get an expert to open the safe--after i have sent that private secretary about his business," concluded frederic vernon. chapter xxxi. robert decides to act. to go back to robert at the time he was watching the four men in the room on the ground floor of the sanitarium. our hero saw the certificate signed, and a little later saw dr. remington and his friend arise to depart. he leaped from the fence and ran around to the front of the grounds, and was just in time to see remington and his companion stalk off in the direction of the nearest street car. at first he thought to have the pair arrested, but on second thought concluded to wait. he must first have positive proof that mrs. vernon had been brought to the place, and that these men were implicated in the plot against the lady. "it's one thing to know a truth," thought robert. "it's another thing to prove it. i must wait until i can prove what i suspect." after the two men had gone the youth walked around to the rear of the institution once more. some trees hid the upper windows from view, and to get a better sight of these robert climbed one of the trees to the very top. from this point he could look into several apartments. the sight in one made his heart sick. on a bed lay an old man, reduced to almost a skeleton. the old man had his fists doubled up, and seemed to be fighting off some imaginary foe. the next window was dark, and our hero turned to the third. the sight that met his gaze here startled him. in a chair near the narrow window sat mrs. vernon, while in the center of the apartment stood her graceless nephew. the conversation between the pair has already been given. robert could not hear what was being said, but he saw every action, and saw that mrs. vernon was pleading to be released. when frederic vernon went below, our hero slid down the tree and ran once more to the front of the house. he saw vernon come out and start for the street car line. it was now dark, and he managed to keep quite close to the young man without being discovered. now that he had seen mrs. vernon, robert's mind was made up as to what he should do. frederic vernon had to wait several minutes for a car. when it came along he hurried to a forward seat and gave himself up to his thoughts. as before, robert kept on the rear platform. the center of the city being reached, frederic vernon left the car and took his way to a leading hotel. watching him, robert saw the young man get a key from the night clerk and enter the elevator. as soon as vernon was out of sight robert entered the hotel office and asked if he might look over the register. "certainly," answered the clerk. our hero soon found the entry, "frederic vernon, chicago," and after it the number of his room--643. "mr. vernon is stopping here, i see," he said to the clerk. "yes, he just went up to his room. do you want to see him?" "i won't bother him to-night, thank you," rejoined robert, and walked out. he felt pretty certain that frederic vernon had retired for the night, but in order to make certain he hung around for the best part of an hour. as vernon did not re-appear he concluded that the young man had gone to bed. "now to find mr. farley and explain everything to him," said robert. in looking over the directory he found a long list of people by that name, and of this list three were lawyers. which of the three could be the man he was after was the question. "i'll have to go it blind," said our hero to himself, and called a passing hack. soon he was on his way to the nearest of the three residences of the lawyers who bore the same family name. when he arrived he found a rather tumbled-down looking place. telling the hackman to wait for him, he ran up the steps and rang the bell. no answer was returned and he rang again. presently an upper window was thrown up, and a head thrust out. "what's wanted?" asked a deep bass voice. "i am looking for mr. farley, the lawyer," answered robert. "all right, i'm your man." "hardly," thought robert. "i mean mr. farley who has his office in the phoenix building," he went on, aloud. "oh!" came the disappointed grunt. "i am not the fellow." "so i see. will you please tell me where he lives?" "somewhere out on michigan avenue. i don't remember the number." and with this the upper window was closed with a bang. "that man doesn't believe in being accommodating," said robert to himself. "however, there is no telling how many times he has been bothered by people looking for other farleys." he had the address of the farley living on michigan avenue, and told the hackman to drive to it. the distance was covered in quarter of an hour. a sleepy-looking servant answered our hero's summons. "is mr. farley at home?" "he is, but he went to bed long ago." "will you tell him that robert frost is here and wishes to see him on important business?" "yes, sir." robert was ushered into a library and the servant went off. soon mr. farley appeared, in dressing gown and slippers. "why, frost, what brings you here this time of night?" he asked, as he came in. "i suppose you are surprised, mr. farley, but something quite out of the ordinary has happened, and i want your advice." "i will assuredly do the best i can for you. what is the trouble?" "frederic vernon has carried off mrs. vernon and had her placed in an asylum for the insane." the lawyer emitted a low whistle. "is it possible!" he ejaculated. "it is, sir. i hunted for mrs. vernon for several hours, and just located her a little while ago. she is confined in dr. rushwood's sanitarium for the weak-minded, as the institution is called." "i have heard of the place, and, let me add, dr. rushwood's reputation is none of the best." "how frederic vernon got her there is still a mystery to me, but she is there, and i am pretty certain that he has got his tool, dr. remington, and another physician to certify that she is insane." at this announcement the lawyer's face fell. "in that case we may have considerable trouble in procuring her release." "but she is no more insane than you or i." "that is true, and i presume an examination in court will prove the fact." "i can testify that frederic vernon plotted this whole thing out with dr. remington, and offered the doctor ten thousand dollars for his assistance." "that will be good evidence in mrs. vernon's favor." "we can prove, too, that vernon forged his aunt's name to a check for six hundred dollars." "yes, i know that. i saw the forged check myself." "and we can prove that he followed her to england and tried to take her life," added robert. and then he told the particulars of the perilous carriage ride along the cliff and of how frederic vernon had been caught by farmer parsons. "i guess we'll have a pretty clear case against that young man," said mr. farley, after robert had finished. our hero then told of his following frederic vernon from mrs. vernon's mansion, and of what he had seen while hanging around dr. rushwood's institution. "we ought to rescue mrs. vernon at once," he concluded. "if we don't frederic vernon may take it into his head to do her harm." "i think we had better have vernon and dr. remington arrested first," answered the lawyer. he returned to his room above and donned his street clothing. a little later he and robert were driven to the office of the private detective who had been engaged to hunt up frederic vernon. "he is around town," said brossom. "i've seen him. he is thick again with that dr. remington." he had learned a few things, but was astonished when robert told his tale. "why, you ought to be a detective yourself, young man," he cried. "thanks, but i don't care for the work," was our hero's dry response. brossom agreed that it would be best to arrest frederic vernon without delay. the arrests of dr. remington and the other physician could then follow. again the hack was called into service, and they proceeded to the hotel at which frederic vernon had been stopping since his return to the city by the great lakes. "i will see mr. vernon now, if you please," said robert. "sorry, but mr. vernon went out about half an hour ago," was the clerk's answer, which filled our hero with dismay. chapter xxxii. the beginning of the end. "gone!" "yes, sir." "did he say where to?" "he did not." "did he say he would be back?" "no, he said nothing, just handed over his key and went off as fast as he could." our hero turned to the lawyer. "what do you make of this?" he asked. "perhaps he has gone to the asylum," suggested mr. farley. "or to mrs. vernon's residence," put in the detective. "he may have gone to rejoin dr. remington and that other physician," said robert. the three talked the matter over for some time, but could reach no satisfactory conclusion regarding frederic vernon's departure from the hotel. "i think it will be best to take the bull by the horns, and have mrs. vernon released without delay," said the detective. "unless we do that her nephew may get it into his head to have her taken a long distance off." this was thought good advice, and leaving the hotel they told the hackman to drive them to dr. rushwood's sanitarium. "sure an' i'm havin' a long spell av it," grinned the jehu. "so you are," answered robert. "but you shall be fully paid for your work." "is somethin' wrong?" "very much wrong, and we are going to set it right." "thin mike grady is wid yez to the end," said the hack driver, as he slammed shut the door of his turnout. when they reached the asylum they saw that all of the lower rooms were dark. in two of the upper apartments lights were burning. "come around and i will show you the room in which mrs. vernon is confined," said our hero. they walked to the rear of the institution and robert pointed up through the tree at the window. as they looked up mrs. vernon's face appeared from behind the bars. "there she is!" cried robert. "i wish i could attract her attention." he decided to climb the tree again, and aided by the detective he went up with all possible speed. one branch grew closer to the window than the others, and robert went out on this as far as he dared. then he waved his handkerchief. even in the darkness the white object fluttering in the wind attracted mrs. vernon's attention, and she looked intently in the direction. at last she recognized robert, and her face showed her joy. she had had the window shut to exclude the cool night air, but now she raised the sash. "robert!" she cried softly. "oh, how glad i am that you have come!" "don't speak too loudly, mrs. vernon, or they may hear you." "are you alone?" "no, mr. farley is below, and also a private detective." "thank god for that. you have come to save me, of course." "yes. is anybody around, or have they all gone to bed?" "i have seen nobody since my nephew was here several hours ago." "i wish i could get to the window, i would soon have those bars out and get in to help you," went on robert, after a pause. "never mind, tell mr. farley and the detective to go around to the front door and demand admittance." robert descended to the ground and repeated what the lady had said. the men and our hero walked to the great iron gate and rang the bell. nobody answered the summons. "we had better climb the fence and try the front door," said brossom. "i'm afraid i am not equal to it," answered mr. farley, as he surveyed the iron barrier dubiously. "there is an easy way to get into the garden from the rear end of that dividing wall," said robert, pointing out the wall in question. "come along." the spot was soon gained, and the boy leaped up on the wall. mr. farley came next, and the detective followed. they picked their way through the tangled shrubbery, and ascending the piazza rang the bell loudly. the bark of a dog rang out, and then they heard hasty footsteps sound through the hallway. "who is there?" came in a high-pitched voice. "i wish to see dr. rushwood on important business," answered mr. farley. "let me in at once." "wait till i call the doctor," was the reply. the dog continued to bark and to rattle his chain. a few minutes passed, and then dr. rushwood put in appearance. "wha--what is the meaning of this?" he stammered, as he found himself confronted by three people, when he had expected to see only one person. "we have important business with you, dr. rushwood," replied mr. farley, as he forced his way into the hall, followed by the detective and robert. "what is your business?" "you have a lady confined here--mrs. vernon." the keeper of the asylum changed color and fell back a step. "well--er--what do you want?" he stammered. "we want you to release the lady at once." "but she is confined here as a--a person of--of weak mind." "she is all right, and you know it," put in robert. "if you try to make any trouble for us it will go hard with you, i can promise you that." "and who are you to threaten me?" demanded dr. rushwood. "i am robert frost, mrs. vernon's private secretary. mrs. vernon has been confined here through a plot hatched out by her worthless nephew, frederic vernon, and his tool, dr. remington." "the young man tells the truth," put in mr. farley. "if you wish to keep out of trouble you will make us no trouble." "and you are----?" faltered rushwood. "i am louis farley, the lawyer." "and i am frank brossom, the detective," put in that individual. "doctor, the game is up, and you had better retire as gracefully as you can." "retire?" thundered dr. rushwood, who felt that he must put on a front. "i have done nothing of which i am ashamed. the lady is here on the certificate of two doctors. if anything is wrong----" "you will right it, of course," finished the detective, thus affording rushwood a loop-hole through which he might escape. "very well, take us up to the lady." "of course i will right anything that is wrong." "then take us up to mrs. vernon," put in robert, and started for the stairs. "see here, it seems to me that you are very forward," blustered the doctor. "i shall not waste time with you," answered robert. "i know where mrs. vernon is, and i am going up to her," and he began to ascend the stairs. "be careful, young man, or i may loosen my dog." "if you do he'll be a dead animal in about two seconds," answered brossom. robert ran up to the third floor of the house, and speedily found mrs. vernon's room. luckily the key to the door was on a nearby peg, and he quickly took it down and let himself into the apartment. the lady was waiting for him, and almost threw herself into his sturdy arms. "robert!" she cried. "oh, what a friend you have proved to be!" mr. farley followed our hero, and then came the doctor and the detective. dr. rushwood felt that the game was indeed up, and to save himself insisted that he had been imposed upon. "i told the other doctors that mrs. vernon did not act like a very crazy person," he said. "but they assured me that she was in the habit of having violent spells." robert assisted mrs. vernon down to the lower floor and then a servant was called upon to unlock the gate leading to the road. the hack was in waiting, and without listening to any more dr. rushwood might have to say, the party got in and were driven directly for mrs. vernon's mansion. here it was decided that robert should remain with mrs. vernon until morning, while mr. farley returned home and the detective went on a hunt for frederic vernon and his accomplices. mrs. vernon was very nervous because of her bitter experience, and had robert occupy a room next to her own, while william the butler was requested to do his sleeping on a couch in the hall. it must be confessed that our hero slept but little during the remainder of the night. his thoughts were busy concerning the rescue and what frederic vernon would do next. he was exceedingly thankful that he had been able to render such signal service to the lady who had been so much of a friend to him. on the following morning mr. farley put in an appearance, and steps were taken to proceed against frederic vernon and those who had aided him in his wicked plot against his aunt. but these steps proved of no avail, for, later on, it was discovered that the rascally nephew had taken a lake steamer to canada. from canada frederic vernon drifted to the west, and then joined a gold hunting party bound for alaska. he was caught in a blizzard while out among the mines, and was so badly frozen that recovery was impossible. he sent word to his aunt, telling of his condition, and she forwarded sufficient money for him to return to chicago. here he lingered in a hospital for several months, and then died. before his death he professed to be very sorry for his many wrong-doings, and told where he had pawned the balance of the jewelry he had stolen, and the articles were eventually recovered. dr. remington also disappeared, as did dr. carraway, and what ever became of them robert never learned. chapter xxxiii. robert's heroism--conclusion. it took several days to straighten matters out around the vernon household, and so robert's proposed visit home had to be deferred until the middle of the week following. mrs. vernon was truly grateful to the youth for all he had done, and did not hesitate to declare that she was going to make him her principal heir when she died. "you did nobly, robert," she said. "your mother should be proud of you. no woman could have a better son." as frederic vernon had disappeared, the scandal was hushed up, the detective paid off, and there the matter was allowed to drop. this was a great relief to dr. rushwood, who had dreaded an exposure. but exposure soon came through another so-styled patient, and the doctor had to depart in a great hurry, which he did, leaving a great number of unpaid bills behind him. one day came a letter for robert, which made him feel very sober. it was from his mother. "i wish you would come home and assist me in my money affairs," wrote mrs. talbot. "mr. talbot had asked me for more than i am willing to lend him, and lately he has taken to drink and is making me very miserable." "the wretch!" muttered robert, when he had finished the communication. "what a pity mother ever threw herself away on such a man. i'll run home this very afternoon," and receiving permission from mrs. vernon he hurried up and caught the first train leaving after the lunch hour. robert had not been to granville for a long time, and he felt rather strange as he stepped off the train. no one was at the depot to receive him, yet he met several people that he knew. "why if it aint robert frost!" cried sam jones, his old school chum. "how are you getting along, robert? but there's no need to ask, by the nice clothes you are wearing." "i am doing very well, sam," replied our hero. "and how are you faring?" "pretty good. i am learning the carpenter's trade." "i see." "come home to stay?" "no, just to see my mother." sam jones' face fell a little. "it's too bad she's having such a hard time of it, robert--indeed it is." "so you know she is having a hard time?" "why, everybody in granville knows it. mr. talbot is drinking like a fish, and using up her money fast, too, so they say." "it's a shame," muttered robert. "it's a wonder mother didn't write before." "going up to the house now?" continued sam. "yes." "you'll be in time for a jolly row. i just saw your step-father going up there, and he was about half full." "it's too bad, sam. i'll have to do the best i can. i wish my mother would come to chicago and live with me." the two boys separated, and our hero continued on his way to what had once been his happy home. the main street of granville was a winding one, and after running away from the railroad for a short distance, it crossed the tracks a second time and then led up a hill, on the top of which was built the frost homestead. as robert approached the railroad he saw a familiar figure ahead of him, reeling from side to side of the dusty roadway. the figure was that of his step-father. the sight filled him with disgust, and he did not know whether to stop and speak to the man or pass him by unnoticed. while he was deliberating james talbot reeled down to the railroad tracks, staggered, and fell headlong. he tried to rise, but the effort seemed a failure, and then he sank down in a drunken stupor. "he is too drunk to walk any further," thought robert. "oh, what a beast he is making of himself! if he----" our hero broke off short, as the whistle of an approaching train reached his quick ears. the afternoon express was coming--along the very tracks upon which his step-father lay! the boy's heart seemed to stop beating. the drunken man was unconscious of his danger--he could not help himself. supposing he was left where he lay? there would be a rushing and crushing of heavy wheels, and then all would be over, and this man, who was not fit to live, would be removed from the frost path forever! this was the thought that came into robert's mind, a thought born of the evil one himself. but then came another thought, as piercing as a shaft of golden light, "love your enemies." the boy dropped the valise he was carrying and leaped forward madly. "get up! get up!" he yelled, as he caught the drunken man by the arm. "get up! the train is coming!" "whazzer mazzer!" hiccoughed james talbot dreamily. "lemme alone, i shay!" "get off the railroad track!" went on robert. "the train is coming!" "train!" repeated the drunkard. "i--hic--don't shee no train." but now the whistle sounded louder than ever, and around the turn of the hill appeared the locomotive of the express, speeding along at a rate of fifty-five miles an hour. the sight caused robert's heart to thump loudly, while james talbot gazed at the iron monster as though transfixed with terror. "we're lost!" he screamed hoarsely, and then straightened out and sank back like one dead. what happened in the next few seconds robert could hardly tell in detail. he had a hazy recollection of catching his step-father by the leg and jerking him from the track and falling down on top of him. man and boy rolled into a dry ditch, and as they went down the express thundered by, the engineer being unable to stop the heavy train short of twice its own length. and when robert came to his senses he was lying on a grassy bank and sam jones and several others were bathing him with water. "my step-father--is he saved?" were the youth's first words. "yes, he was saved," answered one of the men. "but he seems to be suffering from another stroke of paralysis." robert soon felt strong enough to get up, and asked for his valise, which was handed over to him. his brave deed had been witnessed by sam jones and a farmer who had been driving toward the railroad crossing. both of these explained to the crowd how our hero had risked his life to save that of his intoxicated step-father. a stretcher was procured and mr. talbot was placed upon this and carried to his home. the whole lower portion of his body seemed to be paralyzed and he spoke with great difficulty. strange to say the shock had completely sobered him. it was a strange meeting between mrs. talbot and robert. tears were in the eyes of the mother, tears which only her son understood. with great care james talbot was carried to a bed-chamber on the second floor of the house and here made as comfortable as possible, while one of the neighbors went off to summon a doctor. "they tell me you risked your life to save him," whispered mrs. talbot to robert. "oh, robert, my boy! my only boy!" and she clasped him about the neck and burst into a passionate fit of weeping. when the doctor had made a careful examination he looked very grave. "the shock is a heavy one, mrs. talbot," he said. "and coming on top of that which he had some time ago, is likely to prove serious." "do you mean he will die?" she asked quickly. "'while there is life there is hope,' that is all i can say," said the physician, and then gave directions as to what should be done for the sufferer. in the morning james talbot was no better, physically, although able to talk a little. from his wife he learned what robert had done for him. "he's a good boy," he whispered huskily. "a better boy than i am a man." "james, when you get well you must give up drinking," she replied. "i won't get well, sarah--i feel it. but i won't drink any more, i promise you." and then she kissed him on the forehead. she had loved him once, and now, when he lay helpless, she could not help but love him again. two days later it was evident that the end was drawing near. before this came he asked for his wife and told her to bring robert. when the two were at his bedside he placed their hands one within the other. "robert, i'm going," he said slowly and painfully. "will you forgive the past?" "i will," answered robert. his emotion was such that he could scarcely speak. "and, sarah, will you forgive me, too?" went on the dying man, turning his yearning eyes toward his wife. "oh, james, james, there is nothing to forgive!" she wailed, and fell on his bosom. "i've done a good deal of wrong, and this is the end of it. robert, be a good boy and take care of your mother, for she is the best woman in the world. i--i--wish--i had--been--better too. if i----" james talbot tried to say more, but could not. a spasm had seized him, and when it was over the paralysis had touched his tongue, and his speech was silenced forever. he died at sunset, and was buried on the sunday following, in the little granville cemetery where robert's father rested. the taking off of james talbot made a great change in robert's mother. she became a deep-thinking, serious woman, and from that hour on her heart and soul were wrapped up in her only child. to get her away from the scene of her sorrows, robert wrote to mrs. vernon, and that lady promptly invited the widow to pay her a visit, and this invitation was accepted. the two ladies soon became warm friends, and it was decided that in the future mrs. talbot was to spend her winters in chicago, while each summer mrs. vernon and robert should come to granville for an outing. "because, you see," said mrs. vernon, "we'll have to divide robert between us, since neither of us can very well give him up." * * * * * several years have passed since the events recorded above took place. robert has gone through a college education, and, in connection with mr. farley, manages all of mrs. vernon's business affairs for her. it is well known that he will be the rich lady's principal heir when she dies, but he openly declares that it is his hope she will live for many a long year to come. robert frequently hears from dick marden and from his old fellow clerk, livingston palmer. through marden robert received a thousand dollars with the compliments of felix amberton. both the lumberman and the miner are doing well. livingston palmer has mastered stenography thoroughly and is now mr. farley's private clerk, at a salary of thirty dollars per week. to use palmer's own words, "this beats clerking in a cut-rate ticket office or traveling with a theatrical company all to pieces." as yet robert is unmarried. but he is a frequent visitor at the home of herman wenrich, and rumor has it that some day he will make pretty nettie wenrich his wife. he is interested in a number of business ventures of his own, and is fast becoming rich, but no matter what good luck may befall him, it is not likely that he will ever forget the thrilling adventures through which he passed when he was unconsciously _falling in with fortune_. transcriber notes this ebook was produced by shane mcdonald. images used in the html version of this ebook were taken from the internet archive. the following obvious typographic printer errors were changed. page numbers refer to the pages in the original printed version of the book. page 27, chapter 3: added " to end of "now give it to me. page 33, chapter 3: changed capitalized avenue in "prairie avenue" page 34, chapter 3: added , after "it is my new secretary" page 48, chapter 5: removed the second "the" in "the the" page 62, chapter 7: added missing . to last paragraph page 75, chapter 9: changed "does she deed" to "does she need" page 78, chapter 9: changed , to ? after "deserve such liberality" page 79, chapter 9: changed "whose attempt" to "whose attempts" page 81, chapter 10: added period to end of chapter title page 89, chapter 11: changed . to ? after "to know where she is" page 94, chapter 11: changed , to . after "on the street once more" page 108, chapter 13: changed reached to reach after "silly rumor ever" page 113, chapter 14: added d to end of "ejaculate" page 120, chapter 15: changed "here him" to "hear him" page 126, chapter 15: changed "but this time" to "by this time" page 139, chapter 17: changed "nora's" to "norah's" page 150, chapter 18: changed . to ? after "ask her yourself" page 173, chapter 21: changed ? to . after "i do" page 195, chapter 23: changed "set" to "sent" after "you have been" page 200, chapter 24: changed "it's" to "its" after "per cent. of" page 200, chapter 24: added missing "you" after "i can give it to" page 229, chapter 27: changed ? to . after "for what you did for him" page 241, chapter 29: added missing . after "mrs" page 254, chapter 30: changed "keeeper" to "keeper" page 256, chapter 31: added missing period to end of second paragraph page 262, chapter 31: added missing " at end of paragraph "that will be good evidence" page 281, chapter 33: last paragraph before thought break, merged sentences epicoene; or, the silent woman by ben jonson introduction the greatest of english dramatists except shakespeare, the first literary dictator and poet-laureate, a writer of verse, prose, satire, and criticism who most potently of all the men of his time affected the subsequent course of english letters: such was ben jonson, and as such his strong personality assumes an interest to us almost unparalleled, at least in his age. ben jonson came of the stock that was centuries after to give to the world thomas carlyle; for jonson's grandfather was of annandale, over the solway, whence he migrated to england. jonson's father lost his estate under queen mary, "having been cast into prison and forfeited." he entered the church, but died a month before his illustrious son was born, leaving his widow and child in poverty. jonson's birthplace was westminster, and the time of his birth early in 1573. he was thus nearly ten years shakespeare's junior, and less well off, if a trifle better born. but jonson did not profit even by this slight advantage. his mother married beneath her, a wright or bricklayer, and jonson was for a time apprenticed to the trade. as a youth he attracted the attention of the famous antiquary, william camden, then usher at westminster school, and there the poet laid the solid foundations of his classical learning. jonson always held camden in veneration, acknowledging that to him he owed, "all that i am in arts, all that i know;" and dedicating his first dramatic success, "every man in his humour," to him. it is doubtful whether jonson ever went to either university, though fuller says that he was "statutably admitted into st. john's college, cambridge." he tells us that he took no degree, but was later "master of arts in both the universities, by their favour, not his study." when a mere youth jonson enlisted as a soldier, trailing his pike in flanders in the protracted wars of william the silent against the spanish. jonson was a large and raw-boned lad; he became by his own account in time exceedingly bulky. in chat with his friend william drummond of hawthornden, jonson told how "in his service in the low countries he had, in the face of both the camps, killed an enemy, and taken opima spolia from him;" and how "since his coming to england, being appealed to the fields, he had killed his adversary which had hurt him in the arm and whose sword was ten inches longer than his." jonson's reach may have made up for the lack of his sword; certainly his prowess lost nothing in the telling. obviously jonson was brave, combative, and not averse to talking of himself and his doings. in 1592, jonson returned from abroad penniless. soon after he married, almost as early and quite as imprudently as shakespeare. he told drummond curtly that "his wife was a shrew, yet honest"; for some years he lived apart from her in the household of lord albany. yet two touching epitaphs among jonson's "epigrams," "on my first daughter," and "on my first son," attest the warmth of the poet's family affections. the daughter died in infancy, the son of the plague; another son grew up to manhood little credit to his father whom he survived. we know nothing beyond this of jonson's domestic life. how soon jonson drifted into what we now call grandly "the theatrical profession" we do not know. in 1593, marlowe made his tragic exit from life, and greene, shakespeare's other rival on the popular stage, had preceded marlowe in an equally miserable death the year before. shakespeare already had the running to himself. jonson appears first in the employment of philip henslowe, the exploiter of several troupes of players, manager, and father-in-law of the famous actor, edward alleyn. from entries in "henslowe's diary," a species of theatrical account book which has been handed down to us, we know that jonson was connected with the admiral's men; for he borrowed 4 pounds of henslowe, july 28, 1597, paying back 3s. 9d. on the same day on account of his "share" (in what is not altogether clear); while later, on december 3, of the same year, henslowe advanced 20s. to him "upon a book which he showed the plot unto the company which he promised to deliver unto the company at christmas next." in the next august jonson was in collaboration with chettle and porter in a play called "hot anger soon cold." all this points to an association with henslowe of some duration, as no mere tyro would be thus paid in advance upon mere promise. from allusions in dekker's play, "satiromastix," it appears that jonson, like shakespeare, began life as an actor, and that he "ambled in a leather pitch by a play-wagon" taking at one time the part of hieronimo in kyd's famous play, "the spanish tragedy." by the beginning of 1598, jonson, though still in needy circumstances, had begun to receive recognition. francis meres -well known for his "comparative discourse of our english poets with the greek, latin, and italian poets," printed in 1598, and for his mention therein of a dozen plays of shakespeare by title -accords to ben jonson a place as one of "our best in tragedy," a matter of some surprise, as no known tragedy of jonson from so early a date has come down to us. that jonson was at work on tragedy, however, is proved by the entries in henslowe of at least three tragedies, now lost, in which he had a hand. these are "page of plymouth," "king robert ii. of scotland," and "richard crookback." but all of these came later, on his return to henslowe, and range from august 1599 to june 1602. returning to the autumn of 1598, an event now happened to sever for a time jonson's relations with henslowe. in a letter to alleyn, dated september 26 of that year, henslowe writes: "i have lost one of my company that hurteth me greatly; that is gabriel [spencer], for he is slain in hogsden fields by the hands of benjamin jonson, bricklayer." the last word is perhaps henslowe's thrust at jonson in his displeasure rather than a designation of his actual continuance at his trade up to this time. it is fair to jonson to remark however, that his adversary appears to have been a notorious fire-eater who had shortly before killed one feeke in a similar squabble. duelling was a frequent occurrence of the time among gentlemen and the nobility; it was an impudent breach of the peace on the part of a player. this duel is the one which jonson described years after to drummond, and for it jonson was duly arraigned at old bailey, tried, and convicted. he was sent to prison and such goods and chattels as he had "were forfeited." it is a thought to give one pause that, but for the ancient law permitting convicted felons to plead, as it was called, the benefit of clergy, jonson might have been hanged for this deed. the circumstance that the poet could read and write saved him; and he received only a brand of the letter "t," for tyburn, on his left thumb. while in jail jonson became a roman catholic; but he returned to the faith of the church of england a dozen years later. on his release, in disgrace with henslowe and his former associates, jonson offered his services as a playwright to henslowe's rivals, the lord chamberlain's company, in which shakespeare was a prominent shareholder. a tradition of long standing, though not susceptible of proof in a court of law, narrates that jonson had submitted the manuscript of "every man in his humour" to the chamberlain's men and had received from the company a refusal; that shakespeare called him back, read the play himself, and at once accepted it. whether this story is true or not, certain it is that "every man in his humour" was accepted by shakespeare's company and acted for the first time in 1598, with shakespeare taking a part. the evidence of this is contained in the list of actors prefixed to the comedy in the folio of jonson's works, 1616. but it is a mistake to infer, because shakespeare's name stands first in the list of actors and the elder kno'well first in the dramatis personae, that shakespeare took that particular part. the order of a list of elizabethan players was generally that of their importance or priority as shareholders in the company and seldom if ever corresponded to the list of characters. "every man in his humour" was an immediate success, and with it jonson's reputation as one of the leading dramatists of his time was established once and for all. this could have been by no means jonson's earliest comedy, and we have just learned that he was already reputed one of "our best in tragedy." indeed, one of jonson's extant comedies, "the case is altered," but one never claimed by him or published as his, must certainly have preceded "every man in his humour" on the stage. the former play may be described as a comedy modelled on the latin plays of plautus. (it combines, in fact, situations derived from the "captivi" and the "aulularia" of that dramatist). but the pretty story of the beggar-maiden, rachel, and her suitors, jonson found, not among the classics, but in the ideals of romantic love which shakespeare had already popularised on the stage. jonson never again produced so fresh and lovable a feminine personage as rachel, although in other respects "the case is altered" is not a conspicuous play, and, save for the satirising of antony munday in the person of antonio balladino and gabriel harvey as well, is perhaps the least characteristic of the comedies of jonson. "every man in his humour," probably first acted late in the summer of 1598 and at the curtain, is commonly regarded as an epoch-making play; and this view is not unjustified. as to plot, it tells little more than how an intercepted letter enabled a father to follow his supposedly studious son to london, and there observe his life with the gallants of the time. the real quality of this comedy is in its personages and in the theory upon which they are conceived. ben jonson had theories about poetry and the drama, and he was neither chary in talking of them nor in experimenting with them in his plays. this makes jonson, like dryden in his time, and wordsworth much later, an author to reckon with; particularly when we remember that many of jonson's notions came for a time definitely to prevail and to modify the whole trend of english poetry. first of all jonson was a classicist, that is, he believed in restraint and precedent in art in opposition to the prevalent ungoverned and irresponsible renaissance spirit. jonson believed that there was a professional way of doing things which might be reached by a study of the best examples, and he found these examples for the most part among the ancients. to confine our attention to the drama, jonson objected to the amateurishness and haphazard nature of many contemporary plays, and set himself to do something different; and the first and most striking thing that he evolved was his conception and practice of the comedy of humours. as jonson has been much misrepresented in this matter, let us quote his own words as to "humour." a humour, according to jonson, was a bias of disposition, a warp, so to speak, in character by which "some one peculiar quality doth so possess a man, that it doth draw all his affects, his spirits, and his powers, in their confluctions, all to run one way." but continuing, jonson is careful to add: "but that a rook by wearing a pied feather, the cable hat-band, or the three-piled ruff, a yard of shoe-tie, or the switzers knot on his french garters, should affect a humour! o, it is more than most ridiculous." jonson's comedy of humours, in a word, conceived of stage personages on the basis of a ruling trait or passion (a notable simplification of actual life be it observed in passing); and, placing these typified traits in juxtaposition in their conflict and contrast, struck the spark of comedy. downright, as his name indicates, is "a plain squire"; bobadill's humour is that of the braggart who is incidentally, and with delightfully comic effect, a coward; brainworm's humour is the finding out of things to the end of fooling everybody: of course he is fooled in the end himself. but it was not jonson's theories alone that made the success of "every man in his humour." the play is admirably written and each character is vividly conceived, and with a firm touch based on observation of the men of the london of the day. jonson was neither in this, his first great comedy (nor in any other play that he wrote), a supine classicist, urging that english drama return to a slavish adherence to classical conditions. he says as to the laws of the old comedy (meaning by "laws," such matters as the unities of time and place and the use of chorus): "i see not then, but we should enjoy the same licence, or free power to illustrate and heighten our invention as they [the ancients] did; and not be tied to those strict and regular forms which the niceness of a few, who are nothing but form, would thrust upon us." "every man in his humour" is written in prose, a novel practice which jonson had of his predecessor in comedy, john lyly. even the word "humour" seems to have been employed in the jonsonian sense by chapman before jonson's use of it. indeed, the comedy of humours itself is only a heightened variety of the comedy of manners which represents life, viewed at a satirical angle, and is the oldest and most persistent species of comedy in the language. none the less, jonson's comedy merited its immediate success and marked out a definite course in which comedy long continued to run. to mention only shakespeare's falstaff and his rout, bardolph, pistol, dame quickly, and the rest, whether in "henry iv." or in "the merry wives of windsor," all are conceived in the spirit of humours. so are the captains, welsh, scotch, and irish of "henry v.," and malvolio especially later; though shakespeare never employed the method of humours for an important personage. it was not jonson's fault that many of his successors did precisely the thing that he had reprobated, that is, degrade the humour: into an oddity of speech, an eccentricity of manner, of dress, or cut of beard. there was an anonymous play called "every woman in her humour." chapman wrote "a humourous day's mirth," day, "humour out of breath," fletcher later, "the humourous lieutenant," and jonson, besides "every man out of his humour," returned to the title in closing the cycle of his comedies in "the magnetic lady or humours reconciled." with the performance of "every man out of his humour" in 1599, by shakespeare's company once more at the globe, we turn a new page in jonson's career. despite his many real virtues, if there is one feature more than any other that distinguishes jonson, it is his arrogance; and to this may be added his self-righteousness, especially under criticism or satire. "every man out of his humour" is the first of three "comical satires" which jonson contributed to what dekker called the poetomachia or war of the theatres as recent critics have named it. this play as a fabric of plot is a very slight affair; but as a satirical picture of the manners of the time, proceeding by means of vivid caricature, couched in witty and brilliant dialogue and sustained by that righteous indignation which must lie at the heart of all true satire -as a realisation, in short, of the classical ideal of comedy -there had been nothing like jonson's comedy since the days of aristophanes. "every man in his humour," like the two plays that follow it, contains two kinds of attack, the critical or generally satiric, levelled at abuses and corruptions in the abstract; and the personal, in which specific application is made of all this in the lampooning of poets and others, jonson's contemporaries. the method of personal attack by actual caricature of a person on the stage is almost as old as the drama. aristophanes so lampooned euripides in "the acharnians" and socrates in "the clouds," to mention no other examples; and in english drama this kind of thing is alluded to again and again. what jonson really did, was to raise the dramatic lampoon to an art, and make out of a casual burlesque and bit of mimicry a dramatic satire of literary pretensions and permanency. with the arrogant attitude mentioned above and his uncommon eloquence in scorn, vituperation, and invective, it is no wonder that jonson soon involved himself in literary and even personal quarrels with his fellow-authors. the circumstances of the origin of this 'poetomachia' are far from clear, and those who have written on the topic, except of late, have not helped to make them clearer. the origin of the "war" has been referred to satirical references, apparently to jonson, contained in "the scourge of villainy," a satire in regular form after the manner of the ancients by john marston, a fellow playwright, subsequent friend and collaborator of jonson's. on the other hand, epigrams of jonson have been discovered (49, 68, and 100) variously charging "playwright" (reasonably identified with marston) with scurrility, cowardice, and plagiarism; though the dates of the epigrams cannot be ascertained with certainty. jonson's own statement of the matter to drummond runs: "he had many quarrels with marston, beat him, and took his pistol from him, wrote his "poetaster" on him; the beginning[s] of them were that marston represented him on the stage."* [footnote] *the best account of this whole subject is to be found in the edition of "poetaster" and "satiromastrix" by j. h. penniman in "belles lettres series" shortly to appear. see also his earlier work, "the war of the theatres," 1892, and the excellent contributions to the subject by h. c. hart in "notes and queries," and in his edition of jonson, 1906. here at least we are on certain ground; and the principals of the quarrel are known. "histriomastix," a play revised by marston in 1598, has been regarded as the one in which jonson was thus "represented on the stage"; although the personage in question, chrisogonus, a poet, satirist, and translator, poor but proud, and contemptuous of the common herd, seems rather a complimentary portrait of jonson than a caricature. as to the personages actually ridiculed in "every man out of his humour," carlo buffone was formerly thought certainly to be marston, as he was described as "a public, scurrilous, and profane jester," and elsewhere as the grand scourge or second untruss [that is, satirist], of the time (joseph hall being by his own boast the first, and marston's work being entitled "the scourge of villainy"). apparently we must now prefer for carlo a notorious character named charles chester, of whom gossipy and inaccurate aubrey relates that he was "a bold impertinent fellow...a perpetual talker and made a noise like a drum in a room. so one time at a tavern sir walter raleigh beats him and seals up his mouth (that is his upper and nether beard) with hard wax. from him ben jonson takes his carlo buffone ['i.e.', jester] in "every man in his humour" ['sic']." is it conceivable that after all jonson was ridiculing marston, and that the point of the satire consisted in an intentional confusion of "the grand scourge or second untruss" with "the scurrilous and profane" chester? we have digressed into detail in this particular case to exemplify the difficulties of criticism in its attempts to identify the allusions in these forgotten quarrels. we are on sounder ground of fact in recording other manifestations of jonson's enmity. in "the case is altered" there is clear ridicule in the character antonio balladino of anthony munday, pageant-poet of the city, translator of romances and playwright as well. in "every man in his humour" there is certainly a caricature of samuel daniel, accepted poet of the court, sonneteer, and companion of men of fashion. these men held recognised positions to which jonson felt his talents better entitled him; they were hence to him his natural enemies. it seems almost certain that he pursued both in the personages of his satire through "every man out of his humour," and "cynthia's revels," daniel under the characters fastidious brisk and hedon, munday as puntarvolo and amorphus; but in these last we venture on quagmire once more. jonson's literary rivalry of daniel is traceable again and again, in the entertainments that welcomed king james on his way to london, in the masques at court, and in the pastoral drama. as to jonson's personal ambitions with respect to these two men, it is notable that he became, not pageant-poet, but chronologer to the city of london; and that, on the accession of the new king, he came soon to triumph over daniel as the accepted entertainer of royalty. "cynthia's revels," the second "comical satire," was acted in 1600, and, as a play, is even more lengthy, elaborate, and impossible than "every man out of his humour." here personal satire seems to have absorbed everything, and while much of the caricature is admirable, especially in the detail of witty and trenchantly satirical dialogue, the central idea of a fountain of self-love is not very well carried out, and the persons revert at times to abstractions, the action to allegory. it adds to our wonder that this difficult drama should have been acted by the children of queen elizabeth's chapel, among them nathaniel field with whom jonson read horace and martial, and whom he taught later how to make plays. another of these precocious little actors was salathiel pavy, who died before he was thirteen, already famed for taking the parts of old men. him jonson immortalised in one of the sweetest of his epitaphs. an interesting sidelight is this on the character of this redoubtable and rugged satirist, that he should thus have befriended and tenderly remembered these little theatrical waifs, some of whom (as we know) had been literally kidnapped to be pressed into the service of the theatre and whipped to the conning of their difficult parts. to the caricature of daniel and munday in "cynthia's revels" must be added anaides (impudence), here assuredly marston, and asotus (the prodigal), interpreted as lodge or, more perilously, raleigh. crites, like asper-macilente in "every man out of his humour," is jonson's self-complaisant portrait of himself, the just, wholly admirable, and judicious scholar, holding his head high above the pack of the yelping curs of envy and detraction, but careless of their puny attacks on his perfections with only too mindful a neglect. the third and last of the "comical satires" is "poetaster," acted, once more, by the children of the chapel in 1601, and jonson's only avowed contribution to the fray. according to the author's own account, this play was written in fifteen weeks on a report that his enemies had entrusted to dekker the preparation of "satiromastix, the untrussing of the humorous poet," a dramatic attack upon himself. in this attempt to forestall his enemies jonson succeeded, and "poetaster" was an immediate and deserved success. while hardly more closely knit in structure than its earlier companion pieces, "poetaster" is planned to lead up to the ludicrous final scene in which, after a device borrowed from the "lexiphanes" of lucian, the offending poetaster, marston-crispinus, is made to throw up the difficult words with which he had overburdened his stomach as well as overlarded his vocabulary. in the end crispinus with his fellow, dekker-demetrius, is bound over to keep the peace and never thenceforward "malign, traduce, or detract the person or writings of quintus horatius flaccus [jonson] or any other eminent man transcending you in merit." one of the most diverting personages in jonson's comedy is captain tucca. "his peculiarity" has been well described by ward as "a buoyant blackguardism which recovers itself instantaneously from the most complete exposure, and a picturesqueness of speech like that of a walking dictionary of slang." it was this character, captain tucca, that dekker hit upon in his reply, "satiromastix," and he amplified him, turning his abusive vocabulary back upon jonson and adding "an immodesty to his dialogue that did not enter into jonson's conception." it has been held, altogether plausibly, that when dekker was engaged professionally, so to speak, to write a dramatic reply to jonson, he was at work on a species of chronicle history, dealing with the story of walter terill in the reign of william rufus. this he hurriedly adapted to include the satirical characters suggested by "poetaster," and fashioned to convey the satire of his reply. the absurdity of placing horace in the court of a norman king is the result. but dekker's play is not without its palpable hits at the arrogance, the literary pride, and self-righteousness of jonson-horace, whose "ningle" or pal, the absurd asinius bubo, has recently been shown to figure forth, in all likelihood, jonson's friend, the poet drayton. slight and hastily adapted as is "satiromastix," especially in a comparison with the better wrought and more significant satire of "poetaster," the town awarded the palm to dekker, not to jonson; and jonson gave over in consequence his practice of "comical satire." though jonson was cited to appear before the lord chief justice to answer certain charges to the effect that he had attacked lawyers and soldiers in "poetaster," nothing came of this complaint. it may be suspected that much of this furious clatter and give-and-take was pure playing to the gallery. the town was agog with the strife, and on no less an authority than shakespeare ("hamlet," ii. 2), we learn that the children's company (acting the plays of jonson) did "so berattle the common stages...that many, wearing rapiers, are afraid of goose-quills, and dare scarce come thither." several other plays have been thought to bear a greater or less part in the war of the theatres. among them the most important is a college play, entitled "the return from parnassus," dating 1601-02. in it a much-quoted passage makes burbage, as a character, declare: "why here's our fellow shakespeare puts them all down; aye and ben jonson, too. o that ben jonson is a pestilent fellow; he brought up horace, giving the poets a pill, but our fellow shakespeare hath given him a purge that made him bewray his credit." was shakespeare then concerned in this war of the stages? and what could have been the nature of this "purge"? among several suggestions, "troilus and cressida" has been thought by some to be the play in which shakespeare thus "put down" his friend, jonson. a wiser interpretation finds the "purge" in "satiromastix," which, though not written by shakespeare, was staged by his company, and therefore with his approval and under his direction as one of the leaders of that company. the last years of the reign of elizabeth thus saw jonson recognised as a dramatist second only to shakespeare, and not second even to him as a dramatic satirist. but jonson now turned his talents to new fields. plays on subjects derived from classical story and myth had held the stage from the beginning of the drama, so that shakespeare was making no new departure when he wrote his "julius caesar" about 1600. therefore when jonson staged "sejanus," three years later and with shakespeare's company once more, he was only following in the elder dramatist's footsteps. but jonson's idea of a play on classical history, on the one hand, and shakespeare's and the elder popular dramatists, on the other, were very different. heywood some years before had put five straggling plays on the stage in quick succession, all derived from stories in ovid and dramatised with little taste or discrimination. shakespeare had a finer conception of form, but even he was contented to take all his ancient history from north's translation of plutarch and dramatise his subject without further inquiry. jonson was a scholar and a classical antiquarian. he reprobated this slipshod amateurishness, and wrote his "sejanus" like a scholar, reading tacitus, suetonius, and other authorities, to be certain of his facts, his setting, and his atmosphere, and somewhat pedantically noting his authorities in the margin when he came to print. "sejanus" is a tragedy of genuine dramatic power in which is told with discriminating taste the story of the haughty favourite of tiberius with his tragical overthrow. our drama presents no truer nor more painstaking representation of ancient roman life than may be found in jonson's "sejanus" and "catiline his conspiracy," which followed in 1611. a passage in the address of the former play to the reader, in which jonson refers to a collaboration in an earlier version, has led to the surmise that shakespeare may have been that "worthier pen." there is no evidence to determine the matter. in 1605, we find jonson in active collaboration with chapman and marston in the admirable comedy of london life entitled "eastward hoe." in the previous year, marston had dedicated his "malcontent," in terms of fervid admiration, to jonson; so that the wounds of the war of the theatres must have been long since healed. between jonson and chapman there was the kinship of similar scholarly ideals. the two continued friends throughout life. "eastward hoe" achieved the extraordinary popularity represented in a demand for three issues in one year. but this was not due entirely to the merits of the play. in its earliest version a passage which an irritable courtier conceived to be derogatory to his nation, the scots, sent both chapman and jonson to jail; but the matter was soon patched up, for by this time jonson had influence at court. with the accession of king james, jonson began his long and successful career as a writer of masques. he wrote more masques than all his competitors together, and they are of an extraordinary variety and poetic excellence. jonson did not invent the masque; for such premeditated devices to set and frame, so to speak, a court ball had been known and practised in varying degrees of elaboration long before his time. but jonson gave dramatic value to the masque, especially in his invention of the antimasque, a comedy or farcical element of relief, entrusted to professional players or dancers. he enhanced, as well, the beauty and dignity of those portions of the masque in which noble lords and ladies took their parts to create, by their gorgeous costumes and artistic grouping and evolutions, a sumptuous show. on the mechanical and scenic side jonson had an inventive and ingenious partner in inigo jones, the royal architect, who more than any one man raised the standard of stage representation in the england of his day. jonson continued active in the service of the court in the writing of masques and other entertainments far into the reign of king charles; but, towards the end, a quarrel with jones embittered his life, and the two testy old men appear to have become not only a constant irritation to each other, but intolerable bores at court. in "hymenaei," "the masque of queens," "love freed from ignorance," "lovers made men," "pleasure reconciled to virtue," and many more will be found jonson's aptitude, his taste, his poetry and inventiveness in these by-forms of the drama; while in "the masque of christmas," and "the gipsies metamorphosed" especially, is discoverable that power of broad comedy which, at court as well as in the city, was not the least element of jonson's contemporary popularity. but jonson had by no means given up the popular stage when he turned to the amusement of king james. in 1605 "volpone" was produced, "the silent woman" in 1609, "the alchemist" in the following year. these comedies, with "bartholomew fair," 1614, represent jonson at his height, and for constructive cleverness, character successfully conceived in the manner of caricature, wit and brilliancy of dialogue, they stand alone in english drama. "volpone, or the fox," is, in a sense, a transition play from the dramatic satires of the war of the theatres to the purer comedy represented in the plays named above. its subject is a struggle of wit applied to chicanery; for among its dramatis personae, from the villainous fox himself, his rascally servant mosca, voltore (the vulture), corbaccio and corvino (the big and the little raven), to sir politic would-be and the rest, there is scarcely a virtuous character in the play. question has been raised as to whether a story so forbidding can be considered a comedy, for, although the plot ends in the discomfiture and imprisonment of the most vicious, it involves no mortal catastrophe. but jonson was on sound historical ground, for "volpone" is conceived far more logically on the lines of the ancients' theory of comedy than was ever the romantic drama of shakespeare, however repulsive we may find a philosophy of life that facilely divides the world into the rogues and their dupes, and, identifying brains with roguery and innocence with folly, admires the former while inconsistently punishing them. "the silent woman" is a gigantic farce of the most ingenious construction. the whole comedy hinges on a huge joke, played by a heartless nephew on his misanthropic uncle, who is induced to take to himself a wife, young, fair, and warranted silent, but who, in the end, turns out neither silent nor a woman at all. in "the alchemist," again, we have the utmost cleverness in construction, the whole fabric building climax on climax, witty, ingenious, and so plausibly presented that we forget its departures from the possibilities of life. in "the alchemist" jonson represented, none the less to the life, certain sharpers of the metropolis, revelling in their shrewdness and rascality and in the variety of the stupidity and wickedness of their victims. we may object to the fact that the only person in the play possessed of a scruple of honesty is discomfited, and that the greatest scoundrel of all is approved in the end and rewarded. the comedy is so admirably written and contrived, the personages stand out with such lifelike distinctness in their several kinds, and the whole is animated with such verve and resourcefulness that "the alchemist" is a new marvel every time it is read. lastly of this group comes the tremendous comedy, "bartholomew fair," less clear cut, less definite, and less structurally worthy of praise than its three predecessors, but full of the keenest and cleverest of satire and inventive to a degree beyond any english comedy save some other of jonson's own. it is in "bartholomew fair" that we are presented to the immortal caricature of the puritan, zeal-in-the-land busy, and the littlewits that group about him, and it is in this extraordinary comedy that the humour of jonson, always open to this danger, loosens into the rabelaisian mode that so delighted king james in "the gipsies metamorphosed." another comedy of less merit is "the devil is an ass," acted in 1616. it was the failure of this play that caused jonson to give over writing for the public stage for a period of nearly ten years. "volpone" was laid as to scene in venice. whether because of the success of "eastward hoe" or for other reasons, the other three comedies declare in the words of the prologue to "the alchemist": "our scene is london, 'cause we would make known no country's mirth is better than our own." indeed jonson went further when he came to revise his plays for collected publication in his folio of 1616, he transferred the scene of "every man in his humour" from florence to london also, converting signior lorenzo di pazzi to old kno'well, prospero to master welborn, and hesperida to dame kitely "dwelling i' the old jewry." in his comedies of london life, despite his trend towards caricature, jonson has shown himself a genuine realist, drawing from the life about him with an experience and insight rare in any generation. a happy comparison has been suggested between ben jonson and charles dickens. both were men of the people, lowly born and hardly bred. each knew the london of his time as few men knew it; and each represented it intimately and in elaborate detail. both men were at heart moralists, seeking the truth by the exaggerated methods of humour and caricature; perverse, even wrong-headed at times, but possessed of a true pathos and largeness of heart, and when all has been said -though the elizabethan ran to satire, the victorian to sentimentality -leaving the world better for the art that they practised in it. in 1616, the year of the death of shakespeare, jonson collected his plays, his poetry, and his masques for publication in a collective edition. this was an unusual thing at the time and had been attempted by no dramatist before jonson. this volume published, in a carefully revised text, all the plays thus far mentioned, excepting "the case is altered," which jonson did not acknowledge, "bartholomew fair," and "the devil is an ass," which was written too late. it included likewise a book of some hundred and thirty odd "epigrams," in which form of brief and pungent writing jonson was an acknowledged master; "the forest," a smaller collection of lyric and occasional verse and some ten "masques" and "entertainments." in this same year jonson was made poet laureate with a pension of one hundred marks a year. this, with his fees and returns from several noblemen, and the small earnings of his plays must have formed the bulk of his income. the poet appears to have done certain literary hack-work for others, as, for example, parts of the punic wars contributed to raleigh's "history of the world." we know from a story, little to the credit of either, that jonson accompanied raleigh's son abroad in the capacity of a tutor. in 1618 jonson was granted the reversion of the office of master of the revels, a post for which he was peculiarly fitted; but he did not live to enjoy its perquisites. jonson was honoured with degrees by both universities, though when and under what circumstances is not known. it has been said that he narrowly escaped the honour of knighthood, which the satirists of the day averred king james was wont to lavish with an indiscriminate hand. worse men were made knights in his day than worthy ben jonson. from 1616 to the close of the reign of king james, jonson produced nothing for the stage. but he "prosecuted" what he calls "his wonted studies" with such assiduity that he became in reality, as by report, one of the most learned men of his time. jonson's theory of authorship involved a wide acquaintance with books and "an ability," as he put it, "to convert the substance or riches of another poet to his own use." accordingly jonson read not only the greek and latin classics down to the lesser writers, but he acquainted himself especially with the latin writings of his learned contemporaries, their prose as well as their poetry, their antiquities and curious lore as well as their more solid learning. though a poor man, jonson was an indefatigable collector of books. he told drummond that "the earl of pembroke sent him 20 pounds every first day of the new year to buy new books." unhappily, in 1623, his library was destroyed by fire, an accident serio-comically described in his witty poem, "an execration upon vulcan." yet even now a book turns up from time to time in which is inscribed, in fair large italian lettering, the name, ben jonson. with respect to jonson's use of his material, dryden said memorably of him: "[he] was not only a professed imitator of horace, but a learned plagiary of all the others; you track him everywhere in their snow....but he has done his robberies so openly that one sees he fears not to be taxed by any law. he invades authors like a monarch, and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him." and yet it is but fair to say that jonson prided himself, and justly, on his originality. in "catiline," he not only uses sallust's account of the conspiracy, but he models some of the speeches of cicero on the roman orator's actual words. in "poetaster," he lifts a whole satire out of horace and dramatises it effectively for his purposes. the sophist libanius suggests the situation of "the silent woman"; a latin comedy of giordano bruno, "il candelaio," the relation of the dupes and the sharpers in "the alchemist," the "mostellaria" of plautus, its admirable opening scene. but jonson commonly bettered his sources, and putting the stamp of his sovereignty on whatever bullion he borrowed made it thenceforward to all time current and his own. the lyric and especially the occasional poetry of jonson has a peculiar merit. his theory demanded design and the perfection of literary finish. he was furthest from the rhapsodist and the careless singer of an idle day; and he believed that apollo could only be worthily served in singing robes and laurel crowned. and yet many of jonson's lyrics will live as long as the language. who does not know "queen and huntress, chaste and fair." "drink to me only with thine eyes," or "still to be neat, still to be dressed"? beautiful in form, deft and graceful in expression, with not a word too much or one that bears not its part in the total effect, there is yet about the lyrics of jonson a certain stiffness and formality, a suspicion that they were not quite spontaneous and unbidden, but that they were carved, so to speak, with disproportionate labour by a potent man of letters whose habitual thought is on greater things. it is for these reasons that jonson is even better in the epigram and in occasional verse where rhetorical finish and pointed wit less interfere with the spontaneity and emotion which we usually associate with lyrical poetry. there are no such epitaphs as ben jonson's, witness the charming ones on his own children, on salathiel pavy, the child-actor, and many more; and this even though the rigid law of mine and thine must now restore to william browne of tavistock the famous lines beginning: "underneath this sable hearse." jonson is unsurpassed, too, in the difficult poetry of compliment, seldom falling into fulsome praise and disproportionate similitude, yet showing again and again a generous appreciation of worth in others, a discriminating taste and a generous personal regard. there was no man in england of his rank so well known and universally beloved as ben jonson. the list of his friends, of those to whom he had written verses, and those who had written verses to him, includes the name of every man of prominence in the england of king james. and the tone of many of these productions discloses an affectionate familiarity that speaks for the amiable personality and sound worth of the laureate. in 1619, growing unwieldy through inactivity, jonson hit upon the heroic remedy of a journey afoot to scotland. on his way thither and back he was hospitably received at the houses of many friends and by those to whom his friends had recommended him. when he arrived in edinburgh, the burgesses met to grant him the freedom of the city, and drummond, foremost of scottish poets, was proud to entertain him for weeks as his guest at hawthornden. some of the noblest of jonson's poems were inspired by friendship. such is the fine "ode to the memory of sir lucius cary and sir henry moryson," and that admirable piece of critical insight and filial affection, prefixed to the first shakespeare folio, "to the memory of my beloved master, william shakespeare, and what he hath left us," to mention only these. nor can the earlier "epode," beginning "not to know vice at all," be matched in stately gravity and gnomic wisdom in its own wise and stately age. but if jonson had deserted the stage after the publication of his folio and up to the end of the reign of king james, he was far from inactive; for year after year his inexhaustible inventiveness continued to contribute to the masquing and entertainment at court. in "the golden age restored," pallas turns the iron age with its attendant evils into statues which sink out of sight; in "pleasure reconciled to virtue," atlas figures represented as an old man, his shoulders covered with snow, and comus, "the god of cheer or the belly," is one of the characters, a circumstance which an imaginative boy of ten, named john milton, was not to forget. "pan's anniversary," late in the reign of james, proclaimed that jonson had not yet forgotten how to write exquisite lyrics, and "the gipsies metamorphosed" displayed the old drollery and broad humorous stroke still unimpaired and unmatchable. these, too, and the earlier years of charles were the days of the apollo room of the devil tavern where jonson presided, the absolute monarch of english literary bohemia. we hear of a room blazoned about with jonson's own judicious "leges convivales" in letters of gold, of a company made up of the choicest spirits of the time, devotedly attached to their veteran dictator, his reminiscences, opinions, affections, and enmities. and we hear, too, of valorous potations; but in the words of herrick addressed to his master, jonson, at the devil tavern, as at the dog, the triple tun, and at the mermaid, "we such clusters had as made us nobly wild, not mad, and yet each verse of thine outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine." but the patronage of the court failed in the days of king charles, though jonson was not without royal favours; and the old poet returned to the stage, producing, between 1625 and 1633, "the staple of news," "the new inn," "the magnetic lady," and "the tale of a tub," the last doubtless revised from a much earlier comedy. none of these plays met with any marked success, although the scathing generalisation of dryden that designated them "jonson's dotages" is unfair to their genuine merits. thus the idea of an office for the gathering, proper dressing, and promulgation of news (wild flight of the fancy in its time) was an excellent subject for satire on the existing absurdities among newsmongers; although as much can hardly be said for "the magnetic lady," who, in her bounty, draws to her personages of differing humours to reconcile them in the end according to the alternative title, or "humours reconciled." these last plays of the old dramatist revert to caricature and the hard lines of allegory; the moralist is more than ever present, the satire degenerates into personal lampoon, especially of his sometime friend, inigo jones, who appears unworthily to have used his influence at court against the broken-down old poet. and now disease claimed jonson, and he was bedridden for months. he had succeeded middleton in 1628 as chronologer to the city of london, but lost the post for not fulfilling its duties. king charles befriended him, and even commissioned him to write still for the entertainment of the court; and he was not without the sustaining hand of noble patrons and devoted friends among the younger poets who were proud to be "sealed of the tribe of ben." jonson died, august 6, 1637, and a second folio of his works, which he had been some time gathering, was printed in 1640, bearing in its various parts dates ranging from 1630 to 1642. it included all the plays mentioned in the foregoing paragraphs, excepting "the case is altered;" the masques, some fifteen, that date between 1617 and 1630; another collection of lyrics and occasional poetry called "underwoods", including some further entertainments; a translation of "horace's art of poetry" (also published in a vicesimo quarto in 1640), and certain fragments and ingatherings which the poet would hardly have included himself. these last comprise the fragment (less than seventy lines) of a tragedy called "mortimer his fall," and three acts of a pastoral drama of much beauty and poetic spirit, "the sad shepherd." there is also the exceedingly interesting "english grammar" "made by ben jonson for the benefit of all strangers out of his observation of the english language now spoken and in use," in latin and english; and "timber, or discoveries" "made upon men and matter as they have flowed out of his daily reading, or had their reflux to his peculiar notion of the times." the "discoveries," as it is usually called, is a commonplace book such as many literary men have kept, in which their reading was chronicled, passages that took their fancy translated or transcribed, and their passing opinions noted. many passages of jonson's "discoveries" are literal translations from the authors he chanced to be reading, with the reference, noted or not, as the accident of the moment prescribed. at times he follows the line of macchiavelli's argument as to the nature and conduct of princes; at others he clarifies his own conception of poetry and poets by recourse to aristotle. he finds a choice paragraph on eloquence in seneca the elder and applies it to his own recollection of bacon's power as an orator; and another on facile and ready genius, and translates it, adapting it to his recollection of his fellow-playwright, shakespeare. to call such passages -which jonson never intended for publication -plagiarism, is to obscure the significance of words. to disparage his memory by citing them is a preposterous use of scholarship. jonson's prose, both in his dramas, in the descriptive comments of his masques, and in the "discoveries," is characterised by clarity and vigorous directness, nor is it wanting in a fine sense of form or in the subtler graces of diction. when jonson died there was a project for a handsome monument to his memory. but the civil war was at hand, and the project failed. a memorial, not insufficient, was carved on the stone covering his grave in one of the aisles of westminster abbey: "o rare ben jonson." felix e. schelling. the college, philadelphia, u.s.a. the following is a complete list of his published works: -dramas: every man in his humour, 4to, 1601; the case is altered, 4to, 1609; every man out of his humour, 4to, 1600; cynthia's revels, 4to, 1601; poetaster, 4to, 1602; sejanus, 4to, 1605; eastward ho (with chapman and marston), 4to, 1605; volpone, 4to, 1607; epicoene, or the silent woman, 4to, 1609 (?), fol., 1616; the alchemist, 4to, 1612; catiline, his conspiracy, 4to, 1611; bartholomew fayre, 4to, 1614 (?), fol., 1631; the divell is an asse, fol., 1631; the staple of newes, fol., 1631; the new sun, 8vo, 1631, fol., 1692; the magnetic lady, or humours reconcild, fol., 1640; a tale of a tub, fol., 1640; the sad shepherd, or a tale of robin hood, fol., 1641; mortimer his fall (fragment), fol., 1640. to jonson have also been attributed additions to kyd's jeronymo, and collaboration in the widow with fletcher and middleton, and in the bloody brother with fletcher. poems: epigrams, the forrest, underwoods, published in fols., 1616, 1640; selections: execration against vulcan, and epigrams, 1640; g. hor. flaccus his art of poetry, englished by ben jonson, 1640; leges convivialis, fol., 1692. other minor poems first appeared in gifford's edition of works. prose: timber, or discoveries made upon men and matter, fol., 1641; the english grammar, made by ben jonson for the benefit of strangers, fol., 1640. masques and entertainments were published in the early folios. works: fol., 1616, volume. 2, 1640 (1631-41); fol., 1692, 1716-19, 1729; edited by p. whalley, 7 volumes., 1756; by gifford (with memoir), 9 volumes., 1816, 1846; re-edited by f. cunningham, 3 volumes., 1871; in 9 volumes., 1875; by barry cornwall (with memoir), 1838; by b. nicholson (mermaid series), with introduction by c. h. herford, 1893, etc.; nine plays, 1904; ed. h. c. hart (standard library), 1906, etc; plays and poems, with introduction by h. morley (universal library), 1885; plays (7) and poems (newnes), 1905; poems, with memoir by h. bennett (carlton classics), 1907; masques and entertainments, ed. by h. morley, 1890. selections: j. a. symonds, with biographical and critical essay, (canterbury poets), 1886; grosart, brave translunary things, 1895; arber, jonson anthology, 1901; underwoods, cambridge university press, 1905; lyrics (jonson, beaumont and fletcher), the chap books, no. 4, 1906; songs (from plays, masques, etc.), with earliest known setting, eragny press, 1906. life: see memoirs affixed to works; j. a. symonds (english worthies), 1886; notes of ben jonson conversations with drummond of hawthornden; shakespeare society, 1842; ed. with introduction and notes by p. sidney, 1906; swinburne, a study of ben jonson, 1889. epicoene; or, the silent woman to the truly noble by all titles sir francis stuart sir, my hope is not so nourished by example, as it will conclude, this dumb piece should please you, because it hath pleased others before; but by trust, that when you have read it, you will find it worthy to have displeased none. this makes that i now number you, not only in the names of favour, but the names of justice to what i write; and do presently call you to the exercise of that noblest, and manliest virtue; as coveting rather to be freed in my fame, by the authority of a judge, than the credit of an undertaker. read, therefore, i pray you, and censure. there is not a line, or syllable in it, changed from the simplicity of the first copy. and, when you shall consider, through the certain hatred of some, how much a man's innocency may be endangered by an uncertain accusation; you will, i doubt not, so begin to hate the iniquity of such natures, as i shall love the contumely done me, whose end was so honourable as to be wiped off by your sentence. your unprofitable, but true lover, ben jonson. dramatis personae: morose, a gentleman that loves no noise. sir dauphine eugenie, a knight, his nephew. ned clerimont, a gentleman, his friend. truewit, another friend. sir john daw, a knight. sir amorous la-foole, a knight also. thomas otter, a land and sea captain. cutbeard, a barber. mute, one of morose's servants. parson. page to clerimont. epicoene, supposed the silent woman. lady haughty, lady centaure, mistress dol mavis, ladies collegiates. mistress otter, the captain's wife, mistress trusty, lady haughty's woman, pretenders. pages, servants, etc. scene -london. prologue truth says, of old the art of making plays was to content the people; and their praise was to the poet money, wine, and bays. but in this age, a sect of writers are, that, only, for particular likings care, and will taste nothing that is popular. with such we mingle neither brains nor breasts; our wishes, like to those make public feasts, are not to please the cook's taste, but the guests'. yet, if those cunning palates hither come, they shall find guests' entreaty, and good room; and though all relish not, sure there will be some, that, when they leave their seats, shall make them say, who wrote that piece, could so have wrote a play, but that he knew this was the better way. for, to present all custard, or all tart, and have no other meats, to bear a part. or to want bread, and salt, were but course art. the poet prays you then, with better thought to sit; and, when his cates are all in brought, though there be none far-fet, there will dear-bought, be fit for ladies: some for lords, knights, 'squires; some for your waiting-wench, and city-wires; some for your men, and daughters of whitefriars. nor is it, only, while you keep your seat here, that his feast will last; but you shall eat a week at ord'naries, on his broken meat: if his muse be true, who commends her to you. another. the ends of all, who for the scene do write, are, or should be, to profit and delight. and still't hath been the praise of all best times, so persons were not touch'd, to tax the crimes. then, in this play, which we present to-night, and make the object of your ear and sight, on forfeit of yourselves, think nothing true: lest so you make the maker to judge you, for he knows, poet never credit gain'd by writing truths, but things (like truths) well feign'd. if any yet will, with particular sleight of application, wrest what he doth write; and that he meant, or him, or her, will say: they make a libel, which he made a play. act 1. scene 1.1. a room in clerimont's house. enter clerimont, making himself ready, followed by his page. cler: have you got the song yet perfect, i gave you, boy? page: yes, sir. cler: let me hear it. page: you shall, sir, but i'faith let nobody else. cler: why, i pray? page: it will get you the dangerous name of a poet in town, sir; besides me a perfect deal of ill-will at the mansion you wot of, whose lady is the argument of it; where now i am the welcomest thing under a man that comes there. cler: i think, and above a man too, if the truth were rack'd out of you. page: no, faith, i'll confess before, sir. the gentlewomen play with me, and throw me on the bed; and carry me in to my lady; and she kisses me with her oil'd face; and puts a peruke on my head; and asks me an i will wear her gown? and i say, no: and then she hits me a blow o' the ear, and calls me innocent! and lets me go. cler: no marvel if the door be kept shut against your master, when the entrance is so easy to you--well sir, you shall go there no more, lest i be fain to seek your voice in my lady's rushes, a fortnight hence. sing, sir. page [sings]: still to be neat, still to be drest- [enter truewit.] true: why, here's the man that can melt away his time and never feels it! what between his mistress abroad, and his ingle at home, high fare, soft lodging, fine clothes, and his fiddle; he thinks the hours have no wings, or the day no post-horse. well, sir gallant, were you struck with the plague this minute, or condemn'd to any capital punishment to-morrow, you would begin then to think, and value every article of your time, esteem it at the true rate, and give all for it. cler: why what should a man do? true: why, nothing; or that which, when it is done, is as idle. harken after the next horse-race or hunting-match; lay wagers, praise puppy, or pepper-corn, white-foot, franklin; swear upon whitemane's party; speak aloud, that my lords may hear you; visit my ladies at night, and be able to give them the character of every bowler or better on the green. these be the things wherein your fashionable men exercise themselves, and i for company. cler: nay, if i have thy authority, i'll not leave yet. come, the other are considerations, when we come to have gray heads and weak hams, moist eyes and shrunk members. we'll think on 'em then; and we'll pray and fast. true: ay, and destine only that time of age to goodness, which our want of ability will not let us employ in evil! cler: why, then 'tis time enough. true: yes; as if a man should sleep all the term, and think to effect his business the last day. o, clerimont, this time, because it is an incorporeal thing, and not subject to sense, we mock ourselves the fineliest out of it, with vanity and misery indeed! not seeking an end of wretchedness, but only changing the matter still. cler: nay, thou wilt not leave now- true: see but our common disease! with what justice can we complain, that great men will not look upon us, nor be at leisure to give our affairs such dispatch as we expect, when we will never do it to ourselves? nor hear, nor regard ourselves? cler: foh! thou hast read plutarch's morals, now, or some such tedious fellow; and it shews so vilely with thee! 'fore god, 'twill spoil thy wit utterly. talk me of pins, and feathers, and ladies, and rushes, and such things: and leave this stoicity alone, till thou mak'st sermons. true: well, sir; if it will not take, i have learn'd to lose as little of my kindness as i can. i'll do good to no man against his will, certainly. when were you at the college? cler: what college? true: as if you knew not! cler: no faith, i came but from court yesterday. true: why, is it not arrived there yet, the news? a new foundation, sir, here in the town, of ladies, that call themselves the collegiates, an order between courtiers and country-madams, that live from their husbands; and give entertainment to all the wits, and braveries of the time, as they call them: cry down, or up, what they like or dislike in a brain or a fashion, with most masculine, or rather hermaphroditical authority; and every day gain to their college some new probationer. cler: who is the president? true: the grave, and youthful matron, the lady haughty. cler: a pox of her autumnal face, her pieced beauty! there's no man can be admitted till she be ready, now-a-days, till she has painted, and perfumed, and wash'd, and scour'd, but the boy here; and him she wipes her oil'd lips upon, like a sponge. i have made a song, i pray thee hear it, on the subject. page. [sings.] still to be neat, still to be drest, as you were going to a feast; still to be powder'd, still perfum'd; lady, it is to be presumed, though art's hid causes are not found, all is not sweet, all is not sound. give me a look, give me a face, that makes simplicity a grace; robes loosely flowing, hair as free: such sweet neglect more taketh me, then all the adulteries of art; they strike mine eyes, but not my heart. true: and i am clearly on the other side: i love a good dressing before any beauty o' the world. o, a woman is then like a delicate garden; nor is there one kind of it; she may vary every hour; take often counsel of her glass, and choose the best. if she have good ears, shew them; good hair, lay it out; good legs, wear short clothes; a good hand, discover it often; practise any art to mend breath, cleanse teeth, repair eye-brows; paint, and profess it. cler: how? publicly? true: the doing of it, not the manner: that must be private. many things that seem foul in the doing, do please done. a lady should, indeed, study her face, when we think she sleeps; nor, when the doors are shut, should men be enquiring; all is sacred within, then. is it for us to see their perukes put on, their false teeth, their complexion, their eye-brows, their nails? you see guilders will not work, but inclosed. they must not discover how little serves, with the help of art, to adorn a great deal. how long did the canvas hang afore aldgate? were the people suffered to see the city's love and charity, while they were rude stone, before they were painted and burnish'd? no: no more should servants approach their mistresses, but when they are complete and finish'd. cler: well said, my truewit. true: and a wise lady will keep a guard always upon the place, that she may do things securely. i once followed a rude fellow into a chamber, where the poor madam, for haste, and troubled, snatch'd at her peruke to cover her baldness; and put it on the wrong way. cler: o prodigy! true: and the unconscionable knave held her in complement an hour with that reverst face, when i still look'd when she should talk from the t'other side. cler: why, thou shouldst have relieved her. true: no, faith, i let her alone, as we'll let this argument, if you please, and pass to another. when saw you dauphine eugenie? cler: not these three days. shall we go to him this morning? he is very melancholy, i hear. true: sick of the uncle? is he? i met that stiff piece of formality, his uncle, yesterday, with a huge turban of night-caps on his head, buckled over his ears. cler: o, that's his custom when he walks abroad. he can endure no noise, man. true: so i have heard. but is the disease so ridiculous in him as it is made? they say he has been upon divers treaties with the fish-wives and orange-women; and articles propounded between them: marry, the chimney-sweepers will not be drawn in. cler: no, nor the broom-men: they stand out stiffly. he cannot endure a costard-monger, he swoons if he hear one. true: methinks a smith should be ominous. cler: or any hammer-man. a brasier is not suffer'd to dwell in the parish, nor an armourer. he would have hang'd a pewterer's prentice once on a shrove-tuesday's riot, for being of that trade, when the rest were quit. true: a trumpet should fright him terribly, or the hautboys. cler: out of his senses. the waights of the city have a pension of him not to come near that ward. this youth practised on him one night like the bell-man; and never left till he had brought him down to the door with a long-sword: and there left him flourishing with the air. page: why, sir, he hath chosen a street to lie in so narrow at both ends, that it will receive no coaches, nor carts, nor any of these common noises: and therefore we that love him, devise to bring him in such as we may, now and then, for his exercise, to breathe him. he would grow resty else in his ease: his virtue would rust without action. i entreated a bearward, one day, to come down with the dogs of some four parishes that way, and i thank him he did; and cried his games under master morose's window: till he was sent crying away, with his head made a most bleeding spectacle to the multitude. and, another time, a fencer marchng to his prize, had his drum most tragically run through, for taking that street in his way at my request. true: a good wag! how does he for the bells? cler: o, in the queen's time, he was wont to go out of town every saturday at ten o'clock, or on holy day eves. but now, by reason of the sickness, the perpetuity of ringing has made him devise a room, with double walls, and treble ceilings; the windows close shut and caulk'd: and there he lives by candlelight. he turn'd away a man, last week, for having a pair of new shoes that creak'd. and this fellow waits on him now in tennis-court socks, or slippers soled with wool: and they talk each to other in a trunk. see, who comes here! [enter sir dauphine eugenie.] daup: how now! what ail you sirs? dumb? true: struck into stone, almost, i am here, with tales o' thine uncle. there was never such a prodigy heard of. daup: i would you would once lose this subject, my masters, for my sake. they are such as you are, that have brought me into that predicament i am with him. true: how is that? daup: marry, that he will disinherit me; no more. he thinks, i and my company are authors of all the ridiculous acts and monuments are told of him. true: s'lid, i would be the author of more to vex him; that purpose deserves it: it gives thee law of plaguing him. i will tell thee what i would do. i would make a false almanack; get it printed: and then have him drawn out on a coronation day to the tower-wharf, and kill him with the noise of the ordnance. disinherit thee! he cannot, man. art not thou next of blood, and his sister's son? daup: ay, but he will thrust me out of it, he vows, and marry. true: how! that's a more portent. can he endure no noise, and will venture on a wife? cler: yes: why thou art a stranger, it seems, to his best trick, yet. he has employed a fellow this half year all over england to hearken him out a dumb woman; be she of any form, or any quality, so she be able to bear children: her silence is dowry enough, he says. true: but i trust to god he has found none. cler: no; but he has heard of one that is lodged in the next street to him, who is exceedingly soft-spoken; thrifty of her speech; that spends but six words a day. and her he's about now, and shall have her. true: is't possible! who is his agent in the business? cler: marry a barber; one cutbeard; an honest fellow, one that tells dauphine all here. true: why you oppress me with wonder: a woman, and a barber, and love no noise! cler: yes, faith. the fellow trims him silently, and has not the knack with his sheers or his fingers: and that continence in a barber he thinks so eminent a virtue, as it has made him chief of his counsel. true: is the barber to be seen, or the wench? cler: yes, that they are. true: i prithee, dauphine, let us go thither. daup: i have some business now: i cannot, i'faith. true: you shall have no business shall make you neglect this, sir; we'll make her talk, believe it; or, if she will not, we can give out at least so much as shall interrupt the treaty; we will break it. thou art bound in conscience, when he suspects thee without cause, to torment him. daup: not i, by any means. i will give no suffrage to't. he shall never have that plea against me, that i opposed the least phant'sy of his. let it lie upon my stars to be guilty, i'll be innocent. true: yes, and be poor, and beg; do, innocent: when some groom of his has got him an heir, or this barber, if he himself cannot. innocent!--i prithee, ned, where lies she? let him be innocent still. cler: why, right over against the barber's; in the house where sir john daw lies. true: you do not mean to confound me! cler: why? true: does he that would marry her know so much? cler: i cannot tell. true: 'twere enough of imputation to her with him. cler: why? true: the only talking sir in the town! jack daw! and he teach her not to speak!--god be wi' you. * i have some business too. cler: will you not go thither, then? true: not with the danger to meet daw, for mine ears. cler: why? i thought you two had been upon very good terms. true: yes, of keeping distance. cler: they say, he is a very good scholar. true: ay, and he says it first. a pox on him, a fellow that pretends only to learning, buys titles, and nothing else of books in him! cler: the world reports him to be very learned. true: i am sorry the world should so conspire to belie him. cler: good faith, i have heard very good things come from him. true: you may; there's none so desperately ignorant to deny that: would they were his own! god be wi' you, gentleman. [exit hastily.] cler: this is very abrupt! daup: come, you are a strange open man, to tell every thing thus. cler: why, believe it, dauphine, truewit's a very honest fellow. daup: i think no other: but this frank nature of his is not for secrets. cler: nay, then, you are mistaken, dauphine: i know where he has been well trusted, and discharged the trust very truly, and heartily. daup: i contend not, ned; but with the fewer a business is carried, it is ever the safer. now we are alone, if you will go thither, i am for you. cler: when were you there? daup: last night: and such a decameron of sport fallen out! boccace never thought of the like. daw does nothing but court her; and the wrong way. he would lie with her, and praises her modesty; desires that she would talk and be free, and commends her silence in verses: which he reads, and swears are the best that ever man made. then rails at his fortunes, stamps, and mutines, why he is not made a counsellor, and call'd to affairs of state. cler: i prithee let's go. i would fain partake this. some water, boy. [exit page.] daup: we are invited to dinner together, he and i, by one that came thither to him, sir la-foole. cler: o, that's a precious mannikin. daup: do you know him? cler: ay, and he will know you too, if e'er he saw you but once, though you should meet him at church in the midst of prayers. he is one of the braveries, though he be none of the wits. he will salute a judge upon the bench, and a bishop in the pulpit, a lawyer when he is pleading at the bar, and a lady when she is dancing in a masque, and put her out. he does give plays, and suppers, and invites his guests to them, aloud, out of his window, as they ride by in coaches. he has a lodging in the strand for the purpose: or to watch when ladies are gone to the china-houses, or the exchange, that he may meet them by chance, and give them presents, some two or three hundred pounds' worth of toys, to be laugh'd at. he is never without a spare banquet, or sweet-meats in his chamber, for their women to alight at, and come up to for a bait. daup: excellent! he was a fine youth last night; but now he is much finer! what is his christian name? i have forgot. [re-enter page.] cler: sir amorous la-foole. page: the gentleman is here below that owns that name. cler: 'heart, he's come to invite me to dinner, i hold my life. daup: like enough: prithee, let's have him up. cler: boy, marshal him. page: with a truncheon, sir? cler: away, i beseech you. [exit page.] i'll make him tell us his pedegree, now; and what meat he has to dinner; and who are his guests; and the whole course of his fortunes: with a breath. [enter sir amorous la-foole.] la-f: 'save, dear sir dauphine! honoured master clerimont! cler: sir amorous! you have very much honested my lodging with your presence. la-f: good faith, it is a fine lodging: almost as delicate a lodging as mine. cler: not so, sir. la-f: excuse me, sir, if it were in the strand, i assure you. i am come, master clerimont, to entreat you to wait upon two or three ladies, to dinner, to-day. cler: how, sir! wait upon them? did you ever see me carry dishes? la-f: no, sir, dispense with me; i meant, to bear them company. cler: o, that i will, sir: the doubtfulness of your phrase, believe it, sir, would breed you a quarrel once an hour, with the terrible boys, if you should but keep them fellowship a day. la-f: it should be extremely against my will, sir, if i contested with any man. cler: i believe it, sir; where hold you your feast? la-f: at tom otter's, sir. page: tom otter? what's he? la-f: captain otter, sir; he is a kind of gamester, but he has had command both by sea and by land. page: o, then he is animal amphibium? la-f: ay, sir: his wife was the rich china-woman, that the courtiers visited so often; that gave the rare entertainment. she commands all at home. cler: then she is captain otter. la-f: you say very well, sir: she is my kinswoman, a la-foole by the mother-side, and will invite any great ladies for my sake. page: not of the la-fooles of essex? la-f: no, sir, the la-fooles of london. cler: now, he's in. [aside.] la-f: they all come out of our house, the la-fooles of the north, the la-fooles of the west, the la-fooles of the east and south--we are as ancient a family as any is in europe--but i myself am descended lineally of the french la-fooles--and, we do bear for our coat yellow, or or, checker'd azure, and gules, and some three or four colours more, which is a very noted coat, and has, sometimes, been solemnly worn by divers nobility of our house--but let that go, antiquity is not respected now.--i had a brace of fat does sent me, gentlemen, and half a dozen of pheasants, a dozen or two of godwits, and some other fowl, which i would have eaten, while they are good, and in good company:--there will be a great lady, or two, my lady haughty, my lady centaure, mistress dol mavis--and they come o' purpose to see the silent gentlewoman, mistress epicoene, that honest sir john daw has promis'd to bring thither--and then, mistress trusty, my lady's woman, will be there too, and this honourable knight, sir dauphine, with yourself, master clerimont--and we'll be very merry, and have fidlers, and dance.--i have been a mad wag in my time, and have spent some crowns since i was a page in court, to my lord lofty, and after, my lady's gentleman-usher, who got me knighted in ireland, since it pleased my elder brother to die.--i had as fair a gold jerkin on that day, as any worn in the island voyage, or at cadiz, none dispraised; and i came over in it hither, shew'd myself to my friends in court, and after went down to my tenants in the country, and surveyed my lands, let new leases, took their money, spent it in the eye o' the land here, upon ladies:--and now i can take up at my pleasure. daup: can you take up ladies, sir? cler: o, let him breathe, he has not recover'd. daup: would i were your half in that commodity! la-f.: no, sir, excuse me: i meant money, which can take up any thing. i have another guest or two, to invite, and say as much to, gentlemen. i will take my leave abruptly, in hope you will not fail--your servant. [exit.] daup: we will not fail you, sir precious la-foole; but she shall, that your ladies come to see, if i have credit afore sir daw. cler: did you ever hear such a wind-sucker, as this? daup: or, such a rook as the other! that will betray his mistress to be seen! come, 'tis time we prevented it. cler: go. [exeunt.] act 2. scene 2.1. a room in morose's house. enter morose, with a tube in his hand, followed by mute. mor: cannot i, yet, find out a more compendious method, than by this trunk, to save my servants the labour of speech, and mine ears the discord of sounds? let me see: all discourses but my own afflict me, they seem harsh, impertinent, and irksome. is it not possible, that thou should'st answer me by signs, and i apprehend thee, fellow? speak not, though i question you. you have taken the ring off from the street door, as i bade you? answer me not by speech, but by silence; unless it be otherwise [mute makes a leg.] --very good. and you have fastened on a thick quilt, or flock-bed, on the outside of the door; that if they knock with their daggers, or with brick-bats, they can make no noise?--but with your leg, your answer, unless it be otherwise, [mute makes a leg.] --very good. this is not only fit modesty in a servant, but good state and discretion in a master. and you have been with cutbeard the barber, to have him come to me? [mute makes a leg.] --good. and, he will come presently? answer me not but with your leg, unless it be otherwise: if it be otherwise, shake your head, or shrug. [mute makes a leg.] --so! your italian and spaniard are wise in these: and it is a frugal and comely gravity. how long will it be ere cutbeard come? stay, if an hour, hold up your whole hand, if half an hour, two fingers; if a quarter, one; [mute holds up a finger bent.] --good: half a quarter? 'tis well. and have you given him a key, to come in without knocking? [mute makes a leg.] --good. and is the lock oil'd, and the hinges, to-day? [mute makes a leg.] --good. and the quilting of the stairs no where worn out, and bare? [mute makes a leg.] --very good. i see, by much doctrine, and impulsion, it may be effected: stand by. the turk, in this divine discipline, is admirable, exceeding all the potentates of the earth; still waited on by mutes; and all his commands so executed; yea, even in the war, as i have heard, and in his marches, most of his charges and directions given by signs, and with silence: an exquisite art! and i am heartily ashamed, and angry oftentimes, that the princes of christendom should suffer a barbarian to transcend them in so high a point of felicity. i will practise it hereafter. [a horn winded within.] --how now? oh! oh! what villain, what prodigy of mankind is that? look. [exit mute.] --[horn again.] --oh! cut his throat, cut his throat! what murderer, hell-hound, devil can this be? [re-enter mute.] mute: it is a post from the court- mor: out rogue! and must thou blow thy horn too? mute: alas, it is a post from the court, sir, that says, he must speak with you, pain of death- mor: pain of thy life, be silent! [enter truewit with a post-horn, and a halter in his hand.] true: by your leave, sir;--i am a stranger here:--is your name master morose? is your name master morose? fishes! pythagoreans all! this is strange. what say you, sir? nothing? has harpocrates been here with his club, among you? well sir, i will believe you to be the man at this time: i will venture upon you, sir. your friends at court commend them to you, sir- mor: o men! o manners! was there ever such an impudence? true: and are extremely solicitous for you, sir. mor: whose knave are you? true: mine own knave, and your compeer, sir. mor: fetch me my sword- true: you shall taste the one half of my dagger, if you do, groom; and you, the other, if you stir, sir: be patient, i charge you, in the king's name, and hear me without insurrection. they say, you are to marry; to marry! do you mark, sir? mor: how then, rude companion! true: marry, your friends do wonder, sir, the thames being so near, wherein you may drown, so handsomely; or london-bridge, at a low fall, with a fine leap, to hurry you down the stream; or, such a delicate steeple, in the town as bow, to vault from; or, a braver height, as paul's; or, if you affected to do it nearer home, and a shorter way, an excellent garret-window into the street; or, a beam in the said garret, with this halter [he shews him a halter.]- which they have sent, and desire, that you would sooner commit your grave head to this knot, than to the wedlock noose; or, take a little sublimate, and go out of the world like a rat; or a fly, as one said, with a straw in your arse: any way, rather than to follow this goblin matrimony. alas, sir, do you ever think to find a chaste wife in these times? now? when there are so many masques, plays, puritan preachings, mad folks, and other strange sights to be seen daily, private and public? if you had lived in king ethelred's time, sir, or edward the confessor, you might, perhaps, have found one in some cold country hamlet, then, a dull frosty wench, would have been contented with one man: now, they will as soon be pleased with one leg, or one eye. i'll tell you, sir, the monstrous hazards you shall run with a wife. mor: good sir, have i ever cozen'd any friends of yours of their land? bought their possessions? taken forfeit of their mortgage? begg'd a reversion from them? bastarded their issue? what have i done, that may deserve this? true: nothing, sir, that i know, but your itch of marriage. mor: why? if i had made an assassinate upon your father, vitiated your mother, ravished your sisters- true: i would kill you, sir, i would kill you, if you had. mor: why, you do more in this, sir: it were a vengeance centuple, for all facinorous acts that could be named, to do that you do. true: alas, sir, i am but a messenger: i but tell you, what you must hear. it seems your friends are careful after your soul's health, sir, and would have you know the danger: (but you may do your pleasure for all them, i persuade not, sir.) if, after you are married, your wife do run away with a vaulter, or the frenchman that walks upon ropes, or him that dances the jig, or a fencer for his skill at his weapon; why it is not their fault, they have discharged their consciences; when you know what may happen. nay, suffer valiantly, sir, for i must tell you all the perils that you are obnoxious to. if she be fair, young and vegetous, no sweet meats ever drew more flies; all the yellow doublets and great roses in the town will be there. if foul and crooked, she'll be with them, and buy those doublets and roses, sir. if rich, and that you marry her dowry, not her, she'll reign in your house as imperious as a widow. if noble, all her kindred will be your tyrants. if fruitful, as proud as may, and humorous as april; she must have her doctors, her midwives, her nurses, her longings every hour; though it be for the dearest morsel of man. if learned, there was never such a parrot; all your patrimony will be too little for the guests that must be invited to hear her speak latin and greek; and you must lie with her in those languages too, if you will please her. if precise, you must feast all the silenced brethren, once in three days; salute the sisters; entertain the whole family, or wood of them; and hear long-winded exercises, singings and catechisings, which you are not given to, and yet must give for: to please the zealous matron your wife, who for the holy cause, will cozen you, over and above. you begin to sweat, sir! but this is not half, i'faith: you may do your pleasure, notwithstanding, as i said before: i come not to persuade you. [mute is stealing away.] --upon my faith, master servingman, if you do stir, i will beat you. mor: o, what is my sin! what is my sin! true: then, if you love your wife, or rather dote on her, sir: o, how she'll torture you! and take pleasure in your torments! you shall lie with her but when she lists; she will not hurt her beauty, her complexion; or it must be for that jewel, or that pearl, when she does: every half hour's pleasure must be bought anew: and with the same pain and charge you woo'd her at first. then you must keep what servants she please; what company she will; that friend must not visit you without her license; and him she loves most, she will seem to hate eagerliest, to decline your jealousy; or, feign to be jealous of you first; and for that cause go live with her she-friend, or cousin at the college, that can instruct her in all the mysteries of writing letters, corrupting servants, taming spies; where she must have that rich gown for such a great day; a new one for the next; a richer for the third; be served in silver; have the chamber fill'd with a succession of grooms, footmen, ushers, and other messengers; besides embroiderers, jewellers, tire-women, sempsters, feathermen, perfumers; whilst she feels not how the land drops away; nor the acres melt; nor foresees the change, when the mercer has your woods for her velvets; never weighs what her pride costs, sir: so she may kiss a page, or a smooth chin, that has the despair of a beard; be a stateswoman, know all the news, what was done at salisbury, what at the bath, what at court, what in progress; or, so she may censure poets, and authors, and styles, and compare them, daniel with spenser, jonson with the t'other youth, and so forth: or be thought cunning in controversies, or the very knots of divinity; and have often in her mouth the state of the question: and then skip to the mathematics, and demonstration: and answer in religion to one, in state to another, in bawdry to a third. mor: o, o! true: all this is very true, sir. and then her going in disguise to that conjurer, and this cunning woman: where the first question is, how soon you shall die? next, if her present servant love her? next, if she shall have a new servant? and how many? which of her family would make the best bawd, male, or female? what precedence she shall have by her next match? and sets down the answers, and believes them above the scriptures. nay, perhaps she will study the art. mor: gentle sir, have you done? have you had your pleasure of me? i'll think of these things. true: yes sir: and then comes reeking home of vapour and sweat, with going a foot, and lies in a month of a new face, all oil and birdlime; and rises in asses' milk, and is cleansed with a new fucus: god be wi' you, sir. one thing more, which i had almost forgot. this too, with whom you are to marry, may have made a conveyance of her virginity afore hand, as your wise widows do of their states, before they marry, in trust to some friend, sir: who can tell? or if she have not done it yet, she may do, upon the wedding-day, or the night before, and antedate you cuckold. the like has been heard of in nature. 'tis no devised, impossible thing, sir. god be wi' you: i'll be bold to leave this rope with you, sir, for a remembrance. farewell, mute! [exit.] mor: come, have me to my chamber: but first shut the door. [truewit winds the horn without.] o, shut the door, shut the door! is he come again? [enter cutbeard.] cut: 'tis i, sir, your barber. mor: o, cutbeard, cutbeard, cutbeard! here has been a cut-throat with me: help me in to my bed, and give me physic with thy counsel. [exeunt.] scene 2.2. a room in sir john daw's house. enter daw, clerimont, dauphine, and epicoene. daw: nay, an she will, let her refuse at her own charges: 'tis nothing to me, gentlemen: but she will not be invited to the like feasts or guests every day. cler: o, by no means, she may not refuse--to stay at home, if you love your reputation: 'slight, you are invited thither o' purpose to be seen, and laughed at by the lady of the college, and her shadows. this trumpeter hath proclaim'd you. [aside to epicoene.] daup: you shall not go; let him be laugh'd at in your stead, for not bringing you: and put him to his extemporal faculty of fooling and talking loud, to satisfy the company. [aside to epicoene.] cler: he will suspect us, talk aloud.--'pray, mistress epicoene, let us see your verses; we have sir john daw's leave: do not conceal your servant's merit, and your own glories. epi: they'll prove my servant's glories, if you have his leave so soon. daup: his vain-glories, lady! daw: shew them, shew them, mistress, i dare own them. epi: judge you, what glories. daw: nay, i'll read them myself too: an author must recite his own works. it is a madrigal of modesty. modest, and fair, for fair and good are near neighbours, howe'er.- daup: very good. cler: ay, is't not? daw: no noble virtue ever was alone, but two in one. daup: excellent! cler: that again, i pray, sir john. daup: it has something in't like rare wit and sense. cler: peace. daw: no noble virtue ever was alone, but two in one. then, when i praise sweet modesty, i praise bright beauty's rays: and having praised both beauty and modesty, i have praised thee. daup: admirable! cler: how it chimes, and cries tink in the close, divinely! daup: ay, 'tis seneca. cler: no, i think 'tis plutarch. daw: the dor on plutarch, and seneca! i hate it: they are mine own imaginations, by that light. i wonder those fellows have such credit with gentlemen. cler: they are very grave authors. daw: grave asses! mere essayists: a few loose sentences, and that's all. a man would talk so, his whole age: i do utter as good things every hour, if they were collected and observed, as either of them. daup: indeed, sir john! cler: he must needs; living among the wits and braveries too. daup: ay, and being president of them, as he is. daw: there's aristotle, a mere common-place fellow; plato, a discourser; thucydides and livy, tedious and dry; tacitus, an entire knot: sometimes worth the untying, very seldom. cler: what do you think of the poets, sir john? daw: not worthy to be named for authors. homer, an old tedious, prolix ass, talks of curriers, and chines of beef. virgil of dunging of land, and bees. horace, of i know not what. cler: i think so. daw: and so pindarus, lycophron, anacreon, catullus, seneca the tragedian, lucan, propertius, tibullus, martial, juvenal, ausonius, statius, politian, valerius flaccus, and the rest- cler: what a sack full of their names he has got! daup: and how he pours them out! politian with valerius flaccus! cler: was not the character right of him? daup: as could be made, i'faith. daw: and persius, a crabbed coxcomb, not to be endured. daup: why, whom do you account for authors, sir john daw? daw: syntagma juris civilis; corpus juris civilis; corpus juris canonici; the king of spain's bible- daup: is the king of spain's bible an author? cler: yes, and syntagma. daup: what was that syntagma, sir? daw: a civil lawyer, a spaniard. daup: sure, corpus was a dutchman. cler: ay, both the corpuses, i knew 'em: they were very corpulent authors. daw: and, then there's vatablus, pomponatius, symancha: the other are not to be received, within the thought of a scholar. daup: 'fore god, you have a simple learned servant, lady,- in titles. [aside.] cler: i wonder that he is not called to the helm, and made a counsellor! daup: he is one extraordinary. cler: nay, but in ordinary: to say truth, the state wants such. daup: why that will follow. cler: i muse a mistress can be so silent to the dotes of such a servant. daw: 'tis her virtue, sir. i have written somewhat of her silence too. daup: in verse, sir john? cler: what else? daup: why? how can you justify your own being of a poet, that so slight all the old poets? daw: why? every man that writes in verse is not a poet; you have of the wits that write verses, and yet are no poets: they are poets that live by it, the poor fellows that live by it. daup: why, would not you live by your verses, sir john? cler: no, 'twere pity he should. a knight live by his verses? he did not make them to that end, i hope. daup: and yet the noble sidney lives by his, and the noble family not ashamed. cler: ay, he profest himself; but sir john daw has more caution: he'll not hinder his own rising in the state so much. do you think he will? your verses, good sir john, and no poems. daw: silence in woman, is like speech in man, deny't who can. daup: not i, believe it: your reason, sir. daw: nor, is't a tale, that female vice should be a virtue male, or masculine vice a female virtue be: you shall it see prov'd with increase; i know to speak, and she to hold her peace. do you conceive me, gentlemen? daup: no, faith; how mean you "with increase," sir john? daw: why, with increase is, when i court her for the common cause of mankind; and she says nothing, but "consentire videtur": and in time is gravida. daup: then this is a ballad of procreation? cler: a madrigal of procreation; you mistake. epi: 'pray give me my verses again, servant. daw: if you'll ask them aloud, you shall. [walks aside with the papers.] [enter truewit with his horn.] cler: see, here's truewit again!--where hast thou been, in the name of madness! thus accoutred with thy horn? true: where the sound of it might have pierced your sense with gladness, had you been in ear-reach of it. dauphine, fall down and worship me: i have forbid the bans, lad: i have been with thy virtuous uncle, and have broke the match. daup: you have not, i hope. true: yes faith; if thou shouldst hope otherwise, i should repent me: this horn got me entrance; kiss it. i had no other way to get in, but by faining to be a post; but when i got in once, i proved none, but rather the contrary, turn'd him into a post, or a stone, or what is stiffer, with thundering into him the incommodities of a wife, and the miseries of marriage. if ever gorgon were seen in the shape of a woman, he hath seen her in my description: i have put him off o' that scent for ever.--why do you not applaud and adore me, sirs? why stand you mute? are you stupid? you are not worthy of the benefit. daup: did not i tell you? mischief!- cler: i would you had placed this benefit somewhere else. true: why so? cler: 'slight, you have done the most inconsiderate, rash, weak thing, that ever man did to his friend. daup: friend! if the most malicious enemy i have, had studied to inflict an injury upon me, it could not be a greater. true: wherein, for gods-sake? gentlemen, come to yourselves again. daup: but i presaged thus much afore to you. cler: would my lips had been solder'd when i spake on't. slight, what moved you to be thus impertinent? true: my masters, do not put on this strange face to pay my courtesy; off with this visor. have good turns done you, and thank 'em this way! daup: 'fore heav'n, you have undone me. that which i have plotted for, and been maturing now these four months, you have blasted in a minute: now i am lost, i may speak. this gentlewoman was lodged here by me o' purpose, and, to be put upon my uncle, hath profest this obstinate silence for my sake; being my entire friend, and one that for the requital of such a fortune as to marry him, would have made me very ample conditions: where now, all my hopes are utterly miscarried by this unlucky accident. cler: thus 'tis when a man will be ignorantly officious, do services, and not know his why; i wonder what courteous itch possest you. you never did absurder part in your life, nor a greater trespass to friendship or humanity. daup: faith, you may forgive it best: 'twas your cause principally. cler: i know it, would it had not. [enter cutbeard.] daup: how now, cutbeard! what news? cut: the best, the happiest that ever was, sir. there has been a mad gentleman with your uncle, this morning, [seeing truewit.] --i think this be the gentleman--that has almost talk'd him out of his wits, with threatening him from marriage- daup: on, i prithee. cut: and your uncle, sir, he thinks 'twas done by your procurement; therefore he will see the party you wot of presently: and if he like her, he says, and that she be so inclining to dumb as i have told him, he swears he will marry her, to-day, instantly, and not defer it a minute longer. daup: excellent! beyond our expectation! true: beyond our expectation! by this light, i knew it would be thus. daup: nay, sweet truewit, forgive me. true: no, i was ignorantly officious, impertinent: this was the absurd, weak part. cler: wilt thou ascribe that to merit now, was mere fortune? true: fortune! mere providence. fortune had not a finger in't. i saw it must necessarily in nature fall out so: my genius is never false to me in these things. shew me how it could be otherwise. daup: nay, gentlemen, contend not, 'tis well now. true: alas, i let him go on with inconsiderate, and rash, and what he pleas'd. cler: away, thou strange justifier of thyself, to be wiser than thou wert, by the event! true: event! by this light, thou shalt never persuade me, but i foresaw it as well as the stars themselves. daup: nay, gentlemen, 'tis well now. do you two entertain sir john daw with discourse, while i send her away with instructions. true: i will be acquainted with her first, by your favour. cler: master true-wit, lady, a friend of ours. true: i am sorry i have not known you sooner, lady, to celebrate this rare virtue of your silence. [exeunt daup., epi., and cutbeard.] cler: faith, an you had come sooner, you should have seen and heard her well celebrated in sir john daw's madrigals. true [advances to daw.]: jack daw, god save you! when saw you la-foole? daw: not since last night, master truewit. true: that's a miracle! i thought you two had been inseparable. daw: he is gone to invite his guests. true: 'odso! 'tis true! what a false memory have i towards that man! i am one: i met him even now, upon that he calls his delicate fine black horse, rid into a foam, with posting from place to place, and person to person, to give them the cue- cler: lest they should forget? true: yes: there was never poor captain took more pains at a muster to shew men, than he, at this meal, to shew friends. daw: it is his quarter-feast, sir. cler: what! do you say so, sir john? true: nay, jack daw will not be out, at the best friends he has, to the talent of his wit: where's his mistress, to hear and applaud him? is she gone? daw: is mistress epicoene gone? cler: gone afore, with sir dauphine, i warrant, to the place. true: gone afore! that were a manifest injury; a disgrace and a half: to refuse him at such a festival-time as this, being a bravery, and a wit too! cler: tut, he'll swallow it like cream: he's better read in jure civili, than to esteem any thing a disgrace, is offer'd him from a mistress. daw: nay, let her e'en go; she shall sit alone, and be dumb in her chamber a week together, for john daw, i warrant her. does she refuse me? cler: no, sir, do not take it so to heart; she does not refuse you, but a little neglects you. good faith, truewit, you were to blame, to put it into his head, that she does refuse him. true: sir, she does refuse him palpably, however you mince it. an i were as he, i would swear to speak ne'er a word to her to-day for't. daw: by this light, no more i will not. true: nor to any body else, sir. daw: nay, i will not say so, gentlemen. cler: it had been an excellent happy condition for the company, if you could have drawn him to it. [aside.] daw: i'll be very melancholy, i'faith. cler: as a dog, if i were as you, sir john. true: or a snail, or a hog-louse: i would roll myself up for this day, in troth, they should not unwind me. daw: by this pick-tooth, so i will. cler: 'tis well done: he begins already to be angry with his teeth. daw: will you go, gentlemen? cler: nay, you must walk alone, if you be right melancholy, sir john. true: yes, sir, we'll dog you, we'll follow you afar off. [exit daw.] cler: was there ever such a two yards of knighthood measured out by time, to be sold to laughter? true: a mere talking mole, hang him! no mushroom was ever so fresh. a fellow so utterly nothing, as he knows not what he would be. cler: let's follow him: but first, let's go to dauphine, he's hovering about the house to hear what news. true: content. [exeunt.] scene 2.3. a room in morose's house. enter morose and mute, followed by cutbeard with epicoene. mor: welcome cutbeard! draw near with your fair charge: and in her ear softly entreat her to unmasthey. [epi. takes off her mask.] --so! is the door shut? [mute makes a leg.] --enough. now, cutbeard, with the same discipline i use to my family, i will question you. as i conceive, cutbeard, this gentlewoman is she you have provided, and brought, in hope she will fit me in the place and person of a wife? answer me not, but with your leg, unless it be otherwise: [cut. makes a leg.] --very well done, cutbeard. i conceive, besides, cutbeard, you have been pre-acquainted with her birth, education, and qualities, or else you would not prefer her to my acceptance, in the weighty consequence of marriage. [cut. makes a leg.] --this i conceive, cutbeard. answer me not but with your leg, unless it be otherwise. [cut. bows again.] --very well done, cutbeard. give aside now a little, and leave me to examine her condition, and aptitude to my affection. [he goes about her, and views her.] --she is exceeding fair, and of a special good favour; a sweet composition or harmony of limbs: her temper of beauty has the true height of my blood. the knave hath exceedingly well fitted me without: i will now try her within. come near, fair gentlewoman: let not my behaviour seem rude, though unto you, being rare, it may haply appear strange. [epicoene curtsies.] --nay, lady, you may speak, though cutbeard and my man, might not; for, of all sounds, only the sweet voice of a fair lady has the just length of mine ears. i beseech you, say, lady; out of the first fire of meeting eyes, they say, love is stricken: do you feel any such motion suddenly shot into you, from any part you see in me? ha, lady? [epicoene curtsies.] --alas, lady, these answers by silent curtsies from you are too courtless and simple. i have ever had my breeding in court: and she that shall be my wife, must be accomplished with courtly and audacious ornaments. can you speak, lady? epi: [softly.] judge you, forsooth. mor: what say you, lady? speak out, i beseech you. epi: judge you, forsooth. mor: on my judgment, a divine softness! but can you naturally, lady, as i enjoin these by doctrine and industry, refer yourself to the search of my judgment, and, not taking pleasure in your tongue, which is a woman's chiefest pleasure, think it plausible to answer me by silent gestures, so long as my speeches jump right with what you conceive? [epi. curtsies.] --excellent! divine! if it were possible she should hold out thus! peace, cutbeard, thou art made for ever, as thou hast made me, if this felicity have lasting: but i will try her further. dear lady, i am courtly, i tell you, and i must have mine ears banqueted with pleasant and witty conferences, pretty girls, scoffs, and dalliance in her that i mean to choose for my bed-phere. the ladies in court think it a most desperate impair to their quickness of wit, and good carriage, if they cannot give occasion for a man to court 'em; and when an amorous discourse is set on foot, minister as good matter to continue it, as himself: and do you alone so much differ from all them, that what they, with so much circumstance, affect and toil for, to seem learn'd, to seem judicious, to seem sharp and conceited, you can bury in yourself with silence, and rather trust your graces to the fair conscience of virtue, than to the world's or your own proclamation? epi [softly]: i should be sorry else. mor: what say you lady? good lady, speak out. epi: i should be sorry else. mor: that sorrow doth fill me with gladness. o morose, thou art happy above mankind! pray that thou mayest contain thyself. i will only put her to it once more, and it shall be with the utmost touch and test of their sex. but hear me, fair lady; i do also love to see her whom i shall choose for my heifer, to be the first and principal in all fashions; precede all the dames at court by a fortnight; have council of tailors, lineners, lace-women, embroiderers, and sit with them sometimes twice a day upon french intelligences; and then come forth varied like nature, or oftener than she, and better by the help of art, her emulous servant. this do i affect: and how will you be able, lady, with this frugality of speech, to give the manifold but necessary instructions, for that bodice, these sleeves, those skirts, this cut, that stitch, this embroidery, that lace, this wire, those knots, that ruff, those roses, this girdle, that fanne, the t'other scarf, these gloves? ha! what say you, lady? epi [softly]: i'll leave it to you, sir. mor: how, lady? pray you rise a note. epi: i leave it to wisdom and you, sir. mor: admirable creature! i will trouble you no more: i will not sin against so sweet a simplicity. let me now be bold to print on those divine lips the seal of being mine.--cutbeard, i give thee the lease of thy house free: thank me not but with thy leg [cutbeard shakes his head.] --i know what thou wouldst say, she's poor, and her friends deceased. she has brought a wealthy dowry in her silence, cutbeard; and in respect of her poverty, cutbeard, i shall have her more loving and obedient, cutbeard. go thy ways, and get me a minister presently, with a soft low voice, to marry us; and pray him he will not be impertinent, but brief as he can; away: softly, [exit cutbeard.] --sirrah, conduct your mistress into the dining-room, your now mistress. [exit mute, followed by epi.] --o my felicity! how i shall be revenged on mine insolent kinsman, and his plots to fright me from marrying! this night i will get an heir, and thrust him out of my blood, like a stranger; he would be knighted, forsooth, and thought by that means to reign over me; his title must do it: no, kinsman, i will now make you bring me the tenth lord's and the sixteenth lady's letter, kinsman; and it shall do you no good, kinsman. your knighthood itself shall come on its knees, and it shall be rejected; it shall be sued for its fees to execution, and not be redeem'd; it shall cheat at the twelvepenny ordinary, it knighthood, for its diet, all the term time, and tell tales for it in the vacation to the hostess; or it knighthood shall do worse, take sanctuary in cole-harbour, and fast. it shall fright all its friends with borrowing letters; and when one of the fourscore hath brought it knighthood ten shillings, it knighthood shall go to the cranes, or the bear at the bridge-foot, and be drunk in fear: it shall not have money to discharge one tavern-reckoning, to invite the old creditors to forbear it knighthood, or the new, that should be, to trust it knighthood. it shall be the tenth name in the bond to take up the commodity of pipkins and stone jugs: and the part thereof shall not furnish it knighthood forth for the attempting of a baker's widow, a brown baker's widow. it shall give it knighthood's name, for a stallion, to all gamesome citizens' wives, and be refused; when the master of a dancing school, or how do you call him, the worst reveller in the town is taken: it shall want clothes, and by reason of that, wit, to fool to lawyers. it shall not have hope to repair itself by constantinople, ireland, or virginia; but the best and last fortune to it knighthood shall be to make dol tear-sheet, or kate common a lady: and so it knighthood may eat. [exit.] scene 2.4. a lane, near morose's house. enter truewit, dauphine,and clerimont. true: are you sure he is not gone by? daup: no, i staid in the shop ever since. cler: but he may take the other end of the lane. daup: no, i told him i would be here at this end: i appointed him hither. true: what a barbarian it is to stay then! daup: yonder he comes. cler: and his charge left behind him, which is a very good sign, dauphine. [enter cutbeard.] daup: how now cutbeard! succeeds it, or no? cut: past imagination, sir, omnia secunda; you could not have pray'd to have had it so well. saltat senex, as it is in the proverb; he does triumph in his felicity, admires the party! he has given me the lease of my house too! and i am now going for a silent minister to marry them, and away. true: 'slight, get one of the silenced ministers, a zealous brother would torment him purely. cut: cum privilegio, sir. daup: o, by no means, let's do nothing to hinder it now: when it is done and finished, i am for you, for any device of vexation. cut: and that shall be within this half hour, upon my dexterity, gentlemen. contrive what you can in the mean time, bonis avibus. [exit.] cler: how the slave doth latin it! true: it would be made a jest to posterity, sirs, this day's mirth, if ye will. cler: beshrew his heart that will not, i pronounce. daup: and for my part. what is it? true: to translate all la-foole's company, and his feast thither, to-day, to celebrate this bride-ale. daup: ay marry; but how will't be done? true: i'll undertake the directing of all the lady-guests thither, and then the meat must follow. cler: for god's sake, let's effect it: it will be an excellent comedy of affliction, so many several noises. daup: but are they not at the other place already, think you? true: i'll warrant you for the college-honours: one of their faces has not the priming colour laid on yet, nor the other her smock sleek'd. cler: o, but they'll rise earlier then ordinary, to a feast. true: best go see, and assure ourselves. cler: who knows the house? true: i will lead you: were you never there yet? daup: not i. cler: nor i. true: where have you lived then? not know tom otter! cler: no: for god's sake, what is he? true: an excellent animal, equal with your daw or la-foole, if not transcendant; and does latin it as much as your barber: he is his wife's subject, he calls her princess, and at such times as these follows her up and down the house like a page, with his hat off, partly for heat, partly for reverence. at this instant he is marshalling of his bull, bear, and horse. daup: what be those, in the name of sphynx? true: why, sir, he has been a great man at the bear-garden in his time; and from that subtle sport, has ta'en the witty denomination of his chief carousing cups. one he calls his bull, another his bear, another his horse. and then he has his lesser glasses, that he calls his deer and his ape; and several degrees of them too; and never is well, nor thinks any entertainment perfect, till these be brought out, and set on the cupboard. cler: for god's love!--we should miss this, if we should not go. true: nay, he has a thousand things as good, that will speak him all day. he will rail on his wife, with certain common places, behind her back; and to her face- daup: no more of him. let's go see him, i petition you. [exeunt.] act 3. scene 3.1. a room in otter's house. enter captain otter with his cups, and mistress otter. ott: nay, good princess, hear me pauca verba. mrs. ott: by that light, i'll have you chain'd up, with your bull-dogs, and bear-dogs, if you be not civil the sooner. i will send you to kennel, i'faith. you were best bait me with your bull, bear, and horse! never a time that the courtiers or collegiates come to the house, but you make it a shrove-tuesday! i would have you get your whitsuntide velvet cap, and your staff in your hand, to entertain them: yes, in troth, do. ott: not so, princess, neither; but under correction, sweet princess, give me leave.--these things i am known to the courtiers by: it is reported to them for my humour, and they receive it so, and do expect it. tom otter's bull, bear, and horse is known all over england, in rerum natura. mrs. ott: 'fore me, i will na-ture them over to paris-garden, and na-ture you thither too, if you pronounce them again. is a bear a fit beast, or a bull, to mix in society with great ladies? think in your discretion, in any good policy. ott: the horse then, good princess. mrs. ott: well, i am contented for the horse: they love to be well horsed, i know. i love it myself. ott: and it is a delicate fine horse this. poetarum pegasus. under correction, princess, jupiter did turn himself into a--taurus, or bull, under correction, good princess. [enter truewit, clerimont, and dauphine, behind.] mrs. ott: by my integrity, i will send you over to the bank-side, i will commit you to the master of the garden, if i hear but a syllable more. must my house or my roof be polluted with the scent of bears and bulls, when it is perfumed for great ladies? is this according to the instrument, when i married you? that i would be princess, and reign in mine own house: and you would be my subject, and obey me? what did you bring me, should make you thus peremptory? do i allow you your half-crown a day, to spend where you will, among your gamsters, to vex and torment me at such times as these? who gives you your maintenance, i pray you? who allows you your horse-meat and man's meat? your three suits of apparel a year? your four pair of stockings, one silk, three worsted? your clean linen, your bands and cuffs, when i can get you to wear them?--'tis marle you have them on now.--who graces you with courtiers or great personages, to speak to you out of their coaches, and come home to your house? were you ever so much as look'd upon by a lord or a lady, before i married you, but on the easter or whitsun-holidays? and then out at the banquetting-house window, when ned whiting or george stone were at the stake? true: for gods sake, let's go stave her off him. mrs. ott: answer me to that. and did not i take you up from thence, in an old greasy buff-doublet, with points, and green velvet sleeves, out at the elbows? you forget this. true: she'll worry him, if we help not in time. [they come forward.] mrs. ott: o, here are some of the gallants! go to, behave yourself distinctly, and with good morality: or, i protest, i will take away your exhibition. true: by your leave, fair mistress otter, i will be bold to enter these gentlemen in your acquaintance. mrs. ott: it shall not be obnoxious, or difficil, sir. true: how does my noble captain? is the bull, bear, and horse in rerum natura still? ott: sir, sic visum superis. mrs. ott: i would you would but intimate them, do. go your ways in, and get toasts and butter made for the woodcocks. that's a fit province for you. [drives him off.] cler: alas, what a tyranny is this poor fellow married to! true: o, but the sport will be anon, when we get him loose. daup: dares he ever speak? true: no anabaptist ever rail'd with the like license: but mark her language in the mean time, i beseech you. mrs. ott: gentlemen, you are very aptly come. my cousin, sir amorous, will be here briefly. true: in good time lady. was not sir john daw here, to ask for him, and the company? mrs. ott: i cannot assure you, master truewit. here was a very melancholy knight in a ruff, that demanded my subject for somebody, a gentleman, i think. cler: ay, that was he, lady. mrs. ott: but he departed straight, i can resolve you. daup: what an excellent choice phrase this lady expresses in. true: o, sir, she is the only authentical courtier, that is not naturally bred one, in the city. mrs. ott: you have taken that report upon trust, gentlemen. true: no, i assure you, the court governs it so, lady, in your behalf. mrs. ott: i am the servant of the court and courtiers, sir. true: they are rather your idolaters. mrs. ott: not so, sir. [enter cutbeard.] daup: how now, cutbeard? any cross? cut: o, no, sir, omnia bene. 'twas never better on the hinges; all's sure. i have so pleased him with a curate, that he's gone to't almost with the delight he hopes for soon. daup: what is he for a vicar? cut: one that has catch'd a cold, sir, and can scarce be heard six inches off; as if he spoke out of a bulrush that were not pick'd, or his throat were full of pith: a fine quick fellow, and an excellent barber of prayers. i came to tell you, sir, that you might omnem movere lapidem, as they say, be ready with your vexation. daup: gramercy, honest cutbeard! be thereabouts with thy key, to let us in. cut: i will not fail you, sir: ad manum. [exit.] true: well, i'll go watch my coaches. cler: do; and we'll send daw to you, if you meet him not. [exit truewit.] mrs. ott: is master truewit gone? daup: yes, lady, there is some unfortunate business fallen out. mrs. ott: so i adjudged by the physiognomy of the fellow that came in; and i had a dream last night too of a new pageant, and my lady mayoress, which is always very ominous to me. i told it my lady haughty t'other day; when her honour came hither to see some china stuffs: and she expounded it out of artemidorus, and i have found it since very true. it has done me many affronts. cler: your dream, lady? mrs. ott: yes, sir, any thing i do but dream of the city. it stain'd me a damasque table-cloth, cost me eighteen pound, at one time; and burnt me a black satin gown, as i stood by the fire, at my lady centaure's chamber in the college, another time. a third time, at the lord's masque, it dropt all my wire and my ruff with wax candle, that i could not go up to the banquet. a fourth time, as i was taking coach to go to ware, to meet a friend, it dash'd me a new suit all over (a crimson satin doublet, and black velvet skirts) with a brewer's horse, that i was fain to go in and shift me, and kept my chamber a leash of days for the anguish of it. daup: these were dire mischances, lady. cler: i would not dwell in the city, an 'twere so fatal to me. mrs. ott: yes sir, but i do take advice of my doctor to dream of it as little as i can. daup: you do well, mistress otter. mrs. ott: will it please you to enter the house farther, gentlemen? daup: and your favour, lady: but we stay to speak with a knight, sir john daw, who is here come. we shall follow you, lady. mrs. ott: at your own time, sir. it is my cousin sir amorous his feast- daup: i know it, lady. mrs. ott: and mine together. but it is for his honour, and therefore i take no name of it, more than of the place. daup: you are a bounteous kinswoman. mrs. ott: your servant, sir. [exit.] cler [coming forward with daw.]: why, do not you know it, sir john daw? daw: no, i am a rook if i do. cler: i'll tell you then, she's married by this time. and, whereas you were put in the head, that she was gone with sir dauphine, i assure you, sir dauphine has been the noblest, honestest friend to you, that ever gentleman of your quality could boast of. he has discover'd the whole plot, and made your mistress so acknowledging, and indeed so ashamed of her injury to you, that she desires you to forgive her, and but grace her wedding with your presence to-day--she is to be married to a very good fortune, she says, his uncle, old morose: and she will'd me in private to tell you, that she shall be able to do you more favours, and with more security now, than before. daw: did she say so, i'faith? cler: why, what do you think of me, sir john? ask sir dauphine. daup: nay, i believe you.--good sir dauphine, did she desire me to forgive her? cler: i assure you, sir john, she did. daw: nay, then, i do with all my heart, and i'll be jovial. cler: yes, for look you, sir, this was the injury to you. la-foole intended this feast to honour her bridal day, and made you the property to invite the college ladies, and promise to bring her: and then at the time she should have appear'd, as his friend, to have given you the dor. whereas now, sir dauphine has brought her to a feeling of it, with this kind of satisfaction, that you shall bring all the ladies to the place where she is, and be very jovial; and there, she will have a dinner, which shall be in your name: and so disappoint la-foole, to make you good again, and, as it were, a saver in the main. daw: as i am a knight, i honour her; and forgive her heartily. cler: about it then presently. truewit is gone before to confront the coaches, and to acquaint you with so much, if he meet you. join with him, and 'tis well.- [enter sir amorous lafoole.] see; here comes your antagonist, but take you no notice, but be very jovial. la-f: are the ladies come, sir john daw, and your mistress? [exit daw.] --sir dauphine! you are exceeding welcome, and honest master clerimont. where's my cousin? did you see no collegiates, gentlemen? daup: collegiates! do you not hear, sir amorous, how you are abus'd? la-f: how, sir! cler: will you speak so kindly to sir john daw, that has done you such an affront? la-f: wherein, gentlemen? let me be a suitor to you to know, i beseech you! cler: why, sir, his mistress is married to-day to sir dauphine's uncle, your cousin's neighbour, and he has diverted all the ladies, and all your company thither, to frustrate your provision, and stick a disgrace upon you. he was here now to have enticed us away from you too: but we told him his own, i think. la-f: has sir john daw wrong'd me so inhumanly? daup: he has done it, sir amorous, most maliciously and treacherously: but, if youll be ruled by us, you shall quit him, i'faith. la-f: good gentlemen, i'll make one, believe it. how, i pray? daup: marry sir, get me your pheasants, and your godwits, and your best meat, and dish it in silver dishes of your cousin's presently, and say nothing, but clap me a clean towel about you, like a sewer; and bare-headed, march afore it with a good confidence, ('tis but over the way, hard by,) and we'll second you, where you shall set it on the board, and bid them welcome to't, which shall shew 'tis yours, and disgrace his preparation utterly: and, for your cousin, whereas she should be troubled here at home with care of making and giving welcome, she shall transfer all that labour thither, and be a principal guest herself, sit rank'd with the college-honours, and be honour'd, and have her health drunk as often, as bare and as loud as the best of them. la-f: i'll go tell her presently. it shall be done, that's resolved. [exit.] cler: i thought he would not hear it out, but 'twould take him. daup: well, there be guests and meat now; how shall we do for music? cler: the smell of the venison, going through the street, will invite one noise of fiddlers or other. daup: i would it would call the trumpeters hither! cler: faith, there is hope: they have intelligence of all feasts. there's good correspondence betwixt them and the london cooks: 'tis twenty to one but we have them. daup: 'twill be a most solemn day for my uncle, and an excellent fit of mirth for us. cler: ay, if we can hold up the emulation betwixt foole and daw, and never bring them to expostulate. daup: tut, flatter them both, as truewit says, and you may take their understandings in a purse-net. they'll believe themselves to be just such men as we make them, neither more nor less. they have nothing, not the use of their senses, but by tradition. [re-enter la-foole, like a sewer.] cler: see! sir amorous has his towel on already. have you persuaded your cousin? la-f: yes, 'tis very feasible: she'll do any thing she says, rather than the la-fooles shall be disgraced. daup: she is a noble kinswoman. it will be such a pestling device, sir amorous; it will pound all your enemy's practices to powder, and blow him up with his own mine, his own train. la-f: nay, we'll give fire, i warrant you. cler: but you must carry it privately, without any noise, and take no notice by any means- [re-enter captain otter.] ott: gentlemen, my princess says you shall have all her silver dishes, festinate: and she's gone to alter her tire a little, and go with you- cler: and yourself too, captain otter? daup: by any means, sir. ott: yes, sir, i do mean it: but i would entreat my cousin sir amorous, and you, gentlemen, to be suitors to my princess, that i may carry my bull and my bear, as well as my horse. cler: that you shall do, captain otter. la-f: my cousin will never consent, gentlemen. daup: she must consent, sir amorous, to reason. la-f: why, she says they are no decorum among ladies. ott: but they are decora, and that's better, sir. cler: ay, she must hear argument. did not pasiphae, who was a queen, love a bull? and was not calisto, the mother of arcas, turn'd into a bear, and made a star, mistress ursula, in the heavens? ott: o lord! that i could have said as much! i will have these stories painted in the bear-garden, ex ovidii metamorphosi. daup: where is your princess, captain? pray, be our leader. ott: that i shall, sir. cler: make haste, good sir amorous. [exeunt.] scene 3.2. a room in morose's house. enter morose, epicoene, parson, and cutbeard. mor: sir, there is an angel for yourself, and a brace of angels for your cold. muse not at this manage of my bounty. it is fit we should thank fortune, double to nature, for any benefit she confers upon us; besides, it is your imperfection, but my solace. par [speaks as having a cold.] i thank your worship; so is it mine, now. mor: what says he, cutbeard? cut: he says, praesto, sir, whensoever your worship needs him, he can be ready with the like. he got this cold with sitting up late, and singing catches with cloth-workers. mor: no more. i thank him. par: god keep your worship, and give you much joy with your fair spouse.--[coughs.] uh! uh! uh! mor: o, o! stay cutbeard! let him give me five shillings of my money back. as it is bounty to reward benefits, so is it equity to mulct injuries. i will have it. what says he? cut: he cannot change it, sir. mor: it must be changed. cut [aside to parson.]: cough again. mor: what says he? cut: he will cough out the rest, sir. par: uh, uh, uh! mor: away, away with him! stop his mouth! away! i forgive it.- [exit cut. thrusting out the par.] epi: fie, master morose, that you will use this violence to a man of the church. mor: how! epi: it does not become your gravity, or breeding, as you pretend, in court, to have offer'd this outrage on a waterman, or any more boisterous creature, much less on a man of his civil coat. mor: you can speak then! epi: yes, sir. mor: speak out, i mean. epi: ay, sir. why, did you think you had married a statue, or a motion, only? one of the french puppets, with the eyes turn'd with a wire? or some innocent out of the hospital, that would stand with her hands thus, and a plaise mouth, and look upon you? mor: o immodesty! a manifest woman! what, cutbeard! epi: nay, never quarrel with cutbeard, sir; it is too late now. i confess it doth bate somewhat of the modesty i had, when i writ simply maid: but i hope, i shall make it a stock still competent to the estate and dignity of your wife. mor: she can talk! epi: yes, indeed, sir. [enter mute.] mor: what sirrah! none of my knaves there? where is this impostor, cutbeard? [mute makes signs.] epi: speak to him, fellow, speak to him! i'll have none of this coacted, unnatural dumbness in my house, in a family where i govern. [exit mute.] mor: she is my regent already! i have married a penthesilea, a semiramis, sold my liberty to a distaff. [enter truewit.] true: where's master morose? mor: is he come again! lord have mercy upon me! true: i wish you all joy, mistress epicoene, with your grave and honourable match. epi: i return you the thanks, master truewit, so friendly a wish deserves. mor: she has acquaintance, too! true: god save you, sir, and give you all contentment in your fair choice, here! before, i was the bird of night to you, the owl; but now i am the messenger of peace, a dove, and bring you the glad wishes of many friends to the celebration of this good hour. mor: what hour, sir? true: your marriage hour, sir. i commend your resolution, that, notwithstanding all the dangers i laid afore you, in the voice of a night-crow, would yet go on, and be yourself. it shews you are a man constant to your own ends, and upright to your purposes, that would not be put off with left-handed cries. mor: how should you arrive at the knowledge of so much! true: why, did you ever hope, sir, committing the secrecy of it to a barber, that less then the whole town should know it? you might as well have told it the conduit, or the bake-house, or the infantry that follow the court, and with more security. could your gravity forget so old and noted a remnant, as lippis et tonsoribus notum? well, sir, forgive it yourself now, the fault, and be communicable with your friends. here will be three or four fashionable ladies from the college to visit you presently, and their train of minions and followers. mor: bar my doors! bar my doors! where are all my eaters? my mouths now?- [enter servants.] bar up my doors, you varlets! epi: he is a varlet that stirs to such an office. let them stand open. i would see him that dares move his eyes toward it. shall i have a barricado made against my friends, to be barr'd of any pleasure they can bring in to me with their honourable visitation? [exeunt ser.] mor: o amazonian impudence! true: nay, faith, in this, sir, she speaks but reason: and, methinks, is more continent than you. would you go to bed so presently, sir, afore noon? a man of your head and hair should owe more to that reverend ceremony, and not mount the marriage-bed like a town-bull, or a mountain-goat; but stay the due season; and ascend it then with religion and fear. those delights are to be steeped in the humour and silence of the night; and give the day to other open pleasures, and jollities of feasting, of music, of revels, of discourse: we'll have all, sir, that may make your hymen high and happy. mor: o, my torment, my torment! true: nay, if you endure the first half hour, sir, so tediously, and with this irksomness; what comfort or hope can this fair gentlewoman make to herself hereafter, in the consideration of so many years as are to come- mor: of my affliction. good sir, depart, and let her do it alone. true: i have done, sir. mor: that cursed barber. true: yes, faith, a cursed wretch indeed, sir. mor: i have married his cittern, that's common to all men. some plague above the plague- true: all egypt's ten plagues. mor: revenge me on him! true: 'tis very well, sir. if you laid on a curse or two more, i'll assure you he'll bear them. as, that he may get the pox with seeking to cure it, sir; or, that while he is curling another man's hair, his own may drop off; or, for burning some male-bawd's lock, he may have his brain beat out with the curling-iron. mor: no, let the wretch live wretched. may he get the itch, and his shop so lousy, as no man dare come at him, nor he come at no man! true: ay, and if he would swallow all his balls for pills, let not them purge him. mor: let his warming pan be ever cold. true: a perpetual frost underneath it, sir. mor: let him never hope to see fire again. true: but in hell, sir. mor: his chairs be always empty, his scissors rust, and his combs mould in their cases. true: very dreadful that! and may he lose the invention, sir, of carving lanterns in paper. mor: let there be no bawd carted that year, to employ a bason of his: but let him be glad to eat his sponge for bread. true: and drink lotium to it, and much good do him. mor: or, for want of bread- true: eat ear-wax, sir. i'll help you. or, draw his own teeth, and add them to the lute-string. mor: no, beat the old ones to powder, and make bread of them. true: yes, make meal of the mill-stones. mor: may all the botches and burns that he has cured on others break out upon him. true: and he now forget the cure of them in himself, sir: or, if he do remember it, let him have scraped all his linen into lint for't, and have not a rag left him to set up with. mor: let him never set up again, but have the gout in his hands for ever! now, no more, sir. true: o, that last was too high set; you might go less with him, i'faith, and be revenged enough: as, that he be never able to new-paint his pole- mor: good sir, no more, i forgot myself. true: or, want credit to take up with a comb-maker- mor: no more, sir. true: or, having broken his glass in a former despair, fall now into a much greater, of ever getting another- mor: i beseech you, no more. true: or, that he never be trusted with trimming of any but chimney-sweepers- mor: sir- true: or, may he cut a collier's throat with his razor, by chance-medley, and yet be hanged for't. mor: i will forgive him, rather than hear any more. i beseech you, sir. [enter daw, introducing lady haughty, centaure, mavis, and trusty.] daw: this way, madam. mor: o, the sea breaks in upon me! another flood! an inundation! i shall be overwhelmed with noise. it beats already at my shores. i feel an earthquake in my self for't. daw: 'give you joy, mistress. mor: has she servants too! daw: i have brought some ladies here to see and know you. my lady haughty- [as he presents them severally, epi. kisses them.] this my lady centaure--mistress dol mavis--mistress trusty, my lady haughty's woman. where's your husband? let's see him: can he endure no noise? let me come to him. mor: what nomenclator is this! true: sir john daw, sir, your wife's servant, this. mor: a daw, and her servant! o, 'tis decreed, 'tis decreed of me, an she have such servants. true: nay sir, you must kiss the ladies; you must not go away, now: they come toward you to seek you out. hau: i'faith, master morose, would you steal a marriage thus, in the midst of so many friends, and not acquaint us? well, i'll kiss you, notwithstanding the justice of my quarrel: you shall give me leave, mistress, to use a becoming familiarity with your husband. epi: your ladyship does me an honour in it, to let me know he is so worthy your favour: as you have done both him and me grace to visit so unprepared a pair to entertain you. mor: compliment! compliment! epi: but i must lay the burden of that upon my servant here. hau: it shall not need, mistress morose, we will all bear, rather than one shall be opprest. mor: i know it: and you will teach her the faculty, if she be to learn it. [walks aside while the rest talk apart.] hau: is this the silent woman? cen: nay, she has found her tongue since she was married, master truewit says. hau: o, master truewit! 'save you. what kind of creature is your bride here? she speaks, methinks! true: yes, madam, believe it, she is a gentlewoman of very absolute behaviour, and of a good race. hau: and jack daw told us she could not speak! true: so it was carried in plot, madam, to put her upon this old fellow, by sir dauphine, his nephew, and one or two more of us: but she is a woman of an excellent assurance, and an extraordinary happy wit and tongue. you shall see her make rare sport with daw ere night. hau: and he brought us to laugh at her! true: that falls out often, madam, that he that thinks himself the master-wit, is the master-fool. i assure your ladyship, ye cannot laugh at her. hau: no, we'll have her to the college: an she have wit, she shall be one of us, shall she not centaure? we'll make her a collegiate. cen: yes faith, madam, and mistress mavis and she will set up a side. true: believe it, madam, and mistress mavis she will sustain her part. mav: i'll tell you that, when i have talk'd with her, and tried her. hau: use her very civilly, mavis. mav: so i will, madam. [whispers her.] mor: blessed minute! that they would whisper thus ever! [aside.] true: in the mean time, madam, would but your ladyship help to vex him a little: you know his disease, talk to him about the wedding ceremonies, or call for your gloves, or- hau: let me alone. centaure, help me. master bridegroom, where are you? mor: o, it was too miraculously good to last! [aside.] hau: we see no ensigns of a wedding here; no character of a bride-ale: where be our scarves and our gloves? i pray you, give them us. let us know your bride's colours, and yours at least. cen: alas, madam, he has provided none. mor: had i known your ladyship's painter, i would. hau: he has given it you, centaure, i'faith. but do you hear, master morose? a jest will not absolve you in this manner. you that have suck'd the milk of the court, and from thence have been brought up to the very strong meats and wine, of it; been a courtier from the biggen to the night-cap, as we may say, and you to offend in such a high point of ceremony as this, and let your nuptials want all marks of solemnity! how much plate have you lost to-day, (if you had but regarded your profit,) what gifts, what friends, through your mere rusticity! mor: madam- hau: pardon me, sir, i must insinuate your errors to you; no gloves? no garters? no scarves? no epithalamium? no masque? daw: yes, madam, i'll make an epithalamium, i promise my mistress; i have begun it already: will you ladyship hear it? hau: ay, good jack daw. mor: will it please your ladyship command a chamber, and be private with your friend? you shall have your choice of rooms to retire to after: my whole house is yours. i know it hath been your ladyship's errand into the city at other times, however now you have been unhappily diverted upon me: but i shall be loth to break any honourable custom of your ladyship's. and therefore, good madam- epi: come, you are a rude bridegroom, to entertain ladies of honour in this fashion. cen: he is a rude groom indeed. true: by that light you deserve to be grafted, and have your horns reach from one side of the island, to the other. do not mistake me, sir; i but speak this to give the ladies some heart again, not for any malice to you. mor: is this your bravo, ladies? true: as god [shall] help me, if you utter such another word, i'll take mistress bride in, and begin to you in a very sad cup; do you see? go to, know your friends, and such as love you. [enter clerimont, followed by a number of musicians.] cler: by your leave, ladies. do you want any music? i have brought you variety of noises. play, sirs, all of you. [aside to the musicians, who strike up all together.] mor: o, a plot, a plot, a plot, a plot, upon me! this day i shall be their anvil to work on, they will grate me asunder. 'tis worse then the noise of a saw. cler: no, they are hair, rosin, and guts. i can give you the receipt. true: peace, boys! cler: play! i say. true: peace, rascals! you see who's your friend now, sir: take courage, put on a martyr's resolution. mock down all their attemptings with patience: 'tis but a day, and i would suffer heroically. should an ass exceed me in fortitude? no. you betray your infirmity with your hanging dull ears, and make them insult: bear up bravely, and constantly. [la-foole passes over the stage as a sewer, followed by servants carrying dishes, and mistress otter.] --look you here, sir, what honour is done you unexpected, by your nephew; a wedding-dinner come, and a knight-sewer before it, for the more reputation: and fine mistress otter, your neighbour, in the rump, or tail of it. mor: is that gorgon, that medusa come! hide me, hide me. true: i warrant you, sir, she will not transform you. look upon her with a good courage. pray you entertain her, and conduct your guests in. no!--mistress bride, will you entreat in the ladies? your bride-groom is so shame-faced, here. epi: will it please your ladyship, madam? hau: with the benefit of your company, mistress. epi: servant, pray you perform your duties. daw: and glad to be commanded, mistress. cen: how like you her wit, mavis? mav: very prettily, absolutely well. mrs. ott: 'tis my place. mav: you shall pardon me, mistress otter. mrs. ott: why, i am a collegiate. mav: but not in ordinary. mrs. ott: but i am. mav: we'll dispute that within. [exeunt ladies.] cler: would this had lasted a little longer. true: and that they had sent for the heralds. [enter captain otter.] --captain otter! what news? ott: i have brought my bull, bear, and horse, in private, and yonder are the trumpeters without, and the drum, gentlemen. [the drum and trumpets sound within.] mor: o, o, o! ott: and we will have a rouse in each of them, anon, for bold britons, i'faith. [they sound again.] mor: o, o, o! [exit hastily.] omnes: follow, follow, follow! act 4. scene 4.1. a room in morose's house. enter truewit and clerimont. true: was there ever poor bridegroom so tormented? or man, indeed? cler: i have not read of the like in the chronicles of the land. true: sure, he cannot but go to a place of rest, after all this purgatory. cler: he may presume it, i think. true: the spitting, the coughing, the laughter, the neezing, the farting, dancing, noise of the music, and her masculine and loud commanding, and urging the whole family, makes him think he has married a fury. cler: and she carries it up bravely. true: ay, she takes any occasion to speak: that is the height on't. cler: and how soberly dauphine labours to satisfy him, that it was none of his plot! true: and has almost brought him to the faith, in the article. here he comes. [enter sir dauphine.] --where is he now? what's become of him, dauphine? daup: o, hold me up a little, i shall go away in the jest else. he has got on his whole nest of night-caps, and lock'd himself up in the top of the house, as high as ever he can climb from the noise. i peep'd in at a cranny, and saw him sitting over a cross-beam of the roof, like him on the sadler's horse in fleet-street, upright: and he will sleep there. cler: but where are your collegiates? daup: withdrawn with the bride in private. true: o, they are instructing her in the college-grammar. if she have grace with them, she knows all their secrets instantly. cler: methinks the lady haughty looks well to-day, for all my dispraise of her in the morning. i think, i shall come about to thee again, truewit. true: believe it, i told you right. women ought to repair the losses time and years have made in their features, with dressings. and an intelligent woman, if she know by herself the least defect, will be most curious to hide it: and it becomes her. if she be short, let her sit much, lest, when she stands, she be thought to sit. if she have an ill foot, let her wear her gown the longer, and her shoe the thinner. if a fat hand, and scald nails, let her carve the less, and act in gloves. if a sour breath, let her never discourse fasting, and always talk at her distance. if she have black and rugged teeth, let her offer the less at laughter, especially if she laugh wide and open. cler: o, you shall have some women, when they laugh, you would think they brayed, it is so rude, and- true: ay, and others, that will stalk in their gait like an estrich, and take huge strides. i cannot endure such a sight. i love measure in the feet, and number in the voice: they are gentlenesses, that oftentimes draw no less than the face. daup: how camest thou to study these creatures so exactly? i would thou would'st make me a proficient. true: yes, but you must leave to live in your chamber, then, a month together upon amadis de gaul, or don quixote, as you are wont; and come abroad where the matter is frequent, to court, to tiltings, public shows and feasts, to plays, and church sometimes: thither they come to shew their new tires too, to see, and to be seen. in these places a man shall find whom to love, whom to play with, whom to touch once, whom to hold ever. the variety arrests his judgment. a wench to please a man comes not down dropping from the ceiling, as he lies on his back droning a tobacco pipe. he must go where she is. daup: yes, and be never the nearer. true: out, heretic! that diffidence makes thee worthy it should be so. cler: he says true to you, dauphine. daup: why? true: a man should not doubt to overcome any woman. think he can vanquish them, and he shall: for though they deny, their desire is to be tempted. penelope herself cannot hold out long. ostend, you saw, was taken at last. you must persever, and hold to your purpose. they would solicit us, but that they are afraid. howsoever, they wish in their hearts we should solicit them. praise them, flatter them, you shall never want eloquence or trust: even the chastest delight to feel themselves that way rubb'd. with praises you must mix kisses too: if they take them, they'll take more--though they strive, they would be overcome. cler: o, but a man must beware of force. true: it is to them an acceptable violence, and has oft-times the place of the greatest courtesy. she that might have been forced, and you let her go free without touching, though then she seem to thank you, will ever hate you after; and glad in the face, is assuredly sad at the heart. cler: but all women are not to be taken all ways. true: 'tis true; no more than all birds, or all fishes. if you appear learned to an ignorant wench, or jocund to a sad, or witty to a foolish, why she presently begins to mistrust herself. you must approach them in their own height, their own line: for the contrary makes many, that fear to commit themselves to noble and worthy fellows, run into the embraces of a rascal. if she love wit, give verses, though you borrow them of a friend, or buy them, to have good. if valour, talk of your sword, and be frequent in the mention of quarrels, though you be staunch in fighting. if activity, be seen on your barbary often, or leaping over stools, for the credit of your back. if she love good clothes or dressing, have your learned council about you every morning, your french tailor, barber, linener, etc. let your powder, your glass, and your comb be your dearest acquaintance. take more care for the ornament of your head, than the safety: and wish the commonwealth rather troubled, than a hair about you. that will take her. then, if she be covetous and craving, do you promise any thing, and perform sparingly; so shall you keep her in appetite still. seem as you would give, but be like a barren field, that yields little, or unlucky dice to foolish and hoping gamesters. let your gifts be slight and dainty, rather than precious. let cunning be above cost. give cherries at time of year, or apricots; and say they were sent you out of the country, though you bought them in cheapside. admire her tires: like her in all fashions; compare her in every habit to some deity; invent excellent dreams to flatter her, and riddles; or, if she be a great one, perform always the second parts to her: like what she likes, praise whom she praises, and fail not to make the household and servants yours, yea the whole family, and salute them by their names: ('tis but light cost if you can purchase them so,) and make her physician your pensioner, and her chief woman. nor will it be out of your gain to make love to her too, so she follow, not usher her lady's pleasure. all blabbing is taken away, when she comes to be a part of the crime. daup: on what courtly lap hast thou late slept, to come forth so sudden and absolute a courtling? true: good faith, i should rather question you, that are so harkening after these mysteries. i begin to suspect your diligence, dauphine. speak, art thou in love in earnest? daup: yes, by my troth am i: 'twere ill dissembling before thee. true: with which of them, i prithee? daup: with all the collegiates. cler: out on thee! we'll keep you at home, believe it, in the stable, if you be such a stallion. true: no; i like him well. men should love wisely, and all women; some one for the face, and let her please the eye; another for the skin, and let her please the touch; a third for the voice, and let her please the ear; and where the objects mix, let the senses so too. thou would'st think it strange, if i should make them all in love with thee afore night! daup: i would say, thou had'st the best philtre in the world, and couldst do more than madam medea, or doctor foreman. true: if i do not, let me play the mountebank for my meat, while i live, and the bawd for my drink. daup: so be it, i say. [enter otter, with his three cups, daw, and la-foole.] ott: o lord, gentlemen, how my knights and i have mist you here! cler: why, captain, what service? what service? ott: to see me bring up my bull, bear, and horse to fight. daw: yes, faith, the captain says we shall be his dogs to bait them. daup: a good employment. true: come on, let's see a course, then. la-f: i am afraid my cousin will be offended, if she come. ott: be afraid of nothing. gentlemen, i have placed the drum and the trumpets, and one to give them the sign when you are ready. here's my bull for myself, and my bear for sir john daw, and my horse for sir amorous. now set your foot to mine, and yours to his, and- la-f: pray god my cousin come not. ott: saint george, and saint andrew, fear no cousins. come, sound, sound. [drum and trumpets sound.] et rauco strepuerunt cornua cantu. [they drink.] true: well said, captain, i'faith: well fought at the bull. cler: well held at the bear. true: low, low! captain. daup: o, the horse has kick'd off his dog already. la-f: i cannot drink it, as i am a knight. true: ods so! off with his spurs, somebody. la-f: it goes against my conscience. my cousin will be angry with it. daw: i have done mine. true: you fought high and fair, sir john. cler: at the head. daup: like an excellent bear-dog. cler: you take no notice of the business, i hope? daw: not a word, sir; you see we are jovial. ott: sir amorous, you must not equivocate. it must be pull'd down, for all my cousin. cler: 'sfoot, if you take not your drink, they will think you are discontented with something: you'll betray all, if you take the least notice. la-f: not i; i'll both drink and talk then. ott: you must pull the horse on his knees, sir amorous: fear no cousins. jacta est alea. true: o, now he's in his vein, and bold. the least hint given him of his wife now, will make him rail desperately. cler: speak to him of her. true: do you, and i will fetch her to the hearing of it. [exit.] daup: captain he-otter, your she-otter is coming, your wife. ott: wife! buz! titivilitium! there's no such thing in nature. i confess, gentlemen, i have a cook, a laundress, a house-drudge, that serves my necessary turns, and goes under that title: but he's an ass that will be so uxorious to tie his affections to one circle. come, the name dulls appetite. here, replenish again: another bout. [fills the cups again.] wives are nasty sluttish animalls. daup: o, captain. ott: as ever the earth bare, tribus verbis. where's master truewit? daw: he's slipt aside, sir. cler: but you must drink, and be jovial. daw: yes, give it me. la-f: and me too. daw: let's be jovial. la-f: as jovial as you will. ott: agreed. now you shall have the bear, cousin, and sir john daw the horse, and i will have the bull still. sound, tritons of the thames. [drum and trumpets sound again.] nunc est bibendum, nunc pede libero- mor [above]: villains, murderers, sons of the earth, and traitors, what do you there? cler: o, now the trumpets have waked him, we shall have his company. ott: a wife is a scurvy clogdogdo, an unlucky thing, a very foresaid bear-whelp, without any good fashion or breeding: mala bestia. [re-enter truewit behind, with mistress otter.] daup: why did you marry one then, captain? ott: a pox!--i married with six thousand pound, i. i was in love with that. i have not kissed my fury these forty weeks. cler: the more to blame you, captain. true: nay, mistress otter, hear him a little first. ott: she has a breath worse than my grandmother's, profecto. mrs. ott: o treacherous liar! kiss me, sweet master truewit, and prove him a slandering knave. true: i will rather believe you, lady. ott: and she has a peruke that's like a pound of hemp, made up in shoe-threads. mrs. ott: o viper, mandrake! ott: a most vile face! and yet she spends me forty pound a year in mercury and hogs-bones. all her teeth were made in the black-friars, both her eyebrows in the strand, and her hair in silver-street. every part of the town owns a piece of her. mrs. ott [comes forward.]: i cannot hold. ott: she takes herself asunder still when she goes to bed, into some twenty boxes; and about next day noon is put together again, like a great german clock: and so comes forth, and rings a tedious larum to the whole house, and then is quiet again for an hour, but for her quarters. have you done me right, gentlemen? mrs. ott [falls upon him, and beats him.]: no, sir, i will do you right with my quarters, with my quarters. ott: o, hold, good princess. true: sound, sound! [drum and trumpets sound.] cler: a battle, a battle! mrs. ott: you notorious stinkardly bearward, does my breath smell? ott: under correction, dear princess: look to my bear, and my horse, gentlemen. mrs. ott: do i want teeth, and eyebrows, thou bull-dog? true: sound, sound still. [they sound again.] ott: no, i protest, under correction- mrs. ott: ay, now you are under correction, you protest: but you did not protest before correction, sir. thou judas, to offer to betray thy princess! i will make thee an example- [beats him.] [enter morose with his long sword.] mor: i will have no such examples in my house, lady otter. mrs. ott: ah!- [mrs. otter, daw, and la-foole run off.] ott: mistress mary ambree, your examples are dangerous. rogues, hell-hounds, stentors! out of my doors, you sons of noise and tumult, begot on an ill may-day, or when the galley-foist is afloat to westminster! [drives out the musicians.] a trumpeter could not be conceived but then! daup: what ails you, sir? mor: they have rent my roof, walls, and all my windows asunder, with their brazen throats. [exit.] true: best follow him, dauphine. daup: so i will. [exit.] cler: where's daw and la-foole? ott: they are both run away, sir. good gentlemen, help to pacify my princess, and speak to the great ladies for me. now must i go lie with the bears this fortnight, and keep out of the way, till my peace be made, for this scandal she has taken. did you not see my bull-head, gentlemen? cler: is't not on, captain? true: no; but he may make a new one, by that is on. ott: o, here it is. an you come over, gentlemen, and ask for tom otter, we'll go down to ratcliff, and have a course i'faith, for all these disasters. there is bona spes left. true: away, captain, get off while you are well. [exit otter.] cler: i am glad we are rid of him. true: you had never been, unless we had put his wife upon him. his humour is as tedious at last, as it was ridiculous at first. [exeunt.] scene 4.2. a long open gallery in the same. enter lady haughty, mistress otter, mavis, daw, lafoole, centaure, and epicoene. hau: we wonder'd why you shriek'd so, mistress otter? mrs. ott: o lord, madam, he came down with a huge long naked weapon in both his hands, and look'd so dreadfully! sure he's beside himself. hau: why, what made you there, mistress otter? mrs. ott: alas, mistress mavis, i was chastising my subject, and thought nothing of him. daw: faith, mistress, you must do so too: learn to chastise. mistress otter corrects her husband so, he dares not speak but under correction. la-f: and with his hat off to her: 'twould do you good to see. hau: in sadness, 'tis good and mature counsel: practise it, morose. i'll call you morose still now, as i call centaure and mavis; we four will be all one. cen: and you will come to the college, and live with us? hau: make him give milk and honey. mav: look how you manage him at first, you shall have him ever after. cen: let him allow you your coach, and four horses, your woman, your chamber-maid, your page, your gentleman-usher, your french cook, and four grooms. hau: and go with us to bedlam, to the china-houses, and to the exchange. cen: it will open the gate to your fame. hau: here's centaure has immortalised herself, with taming of her wild male. mav: ay, she has done the miracle of the kingdom. [enter clerimont and truewit.] epi: but, ladies, do you count it lawful to have such plurality of servants, and do them all graces? hau: why not? why should women deny their favours to men? are they the poorer or the worse? daw: is the thames the less for the dyer's water, mistress? la-f: or a torch for lighting many torches? true: well said, la-foole; what a new one he has got! cen: they are empty losses women fear in this kind. hau: besides, ladies should be mindful of the approach of age, and let no time want his due use. the best of our days pass first. mav: we are rivers, that cannot be call'd back, madam: she that now excludes her lovers, may live to lie a forsaken beldame, in a frozen bed. cen: 'tis true, mavis: and who will wait on us to coach then? or write, or tell us the news then, make anagrams of our names, and invite us to the cockpit, and kiss our hands all the play-time, and draw their weapons for our honours? hau: not one. daw: nay, my mistress is not altogether unintelligent of these things; here be in presence have tasted of her favours. cler: what a neighing hobby-horse is this! epi: but not with intent to boast them again, servant. and have you those excellent receipts, madam, to keep yourselves from bearing of children? hau: o yes, morose: how should we maintain our youth and beauty else? many births of a woman make her old, as many crops make the earth barren. [enter morose and dauphine.] mor: o my cursed angel, that instructed me to this fate! daup: why, sir? mor: that i should be seduced by so foolish a devil as a barber will make! daup: i would i had been worthy, sir, to have partaken your counsel; you should never have trusted it to such a minister. mor: would i could redeem it with the loss of an eye, nephew, a hand, or any other member. daup: marry, god forbid, sir, that you should geld yourself, to anger your wife. mor: so it would rid me of her! and, that i did supererogatory penance in a belfry, at westminster-hall, in the cock-pit, at the fall of a stag; the tower-wharf (what place is there else?)- london-bridge, paris-garden, billinsgate, when the noises are at their height, and loudest. nay, i would sit out a play, that were nothing but fights at sea, drum, trumpet, and target. daup: i hope there shall be no such need, sir. take patience, good uncle. this is but a day, and 'tis well worn too now. mor: o, 'twill be so for ever, nephew, i foresee it, for ever. strife and tumult are the dowry that comes with a wife. true: i told you so, sir, and you would not believe me. mor: alas, do not rub those wounds, master truewit, to blood again: 'twas my negligence. add not affliction to affliction. i have perceived the effect of it, too late, in madam otter. epi: how do you, sir? mor: did you ever hear a more unnecessary question? as if she did not see! why, i do as you see, empress, empress. epi: you are not well, sir; you look very ill; something has distemper'd you. mor: o horrible, monstrous impertinencies! would not one of these have served, do you think, sir? would not one of these have served? true: yes, sir, but these are but notes of female kindness, sir; certain tokens that she has a voice, sir. mor: o, is it so? come, an't be no otherwise--what say you? epi: how do you feel yourself, sir? mor: again that! true: nay, look you, sir: you would be friends with your wife upon unconscionable terms; her silence- epi: they say you are run mad, sir. mor: not for love, i assure you, of you; do you see? epi: o lord, gentlemen! lay hold on him, for god's sake. what shall i do? who's his physician, can you tell, that knows the state of his body best, that i might send for him? good sir, speak; i'll send for one of my doctors else. mor: what, to poison me, that i might die intestate, and leave you possest of all? epi: lord, how idly he talks, and how his eyes sparkle! he looks green about the temples! do you see what blue spots he has? true: ay, 'tis melancholy. epi: gentlemen, for heaven's sake, counsel me. ladies;--servant, you have read pliny and paracelsus; ne'er a word now to comfort a poor gentlewoman? ay me, what fortune had i, to marry a distracted man! daw: i will tell you, mistress- true: how rarely she holds it up! [aside to cler.] mor: what mean you, gentlemen? epi: what will you tell me, servant? daw: the disease in greek is called mania, in latin insania, furor, vel ecstasis melancholica, that is, egressio, when a man ex melancholico evadit fanaticus. mor: shall i have a lecture read upon me alive? daw: but he may be but phreneticus yet, mistress? and phrenetis is only delirium, or so. epi: ay, that is for the disease, servant: but what is this to the cure? we are sure enough of the disease. mor: let me go. true: why, we'll entreat her to hold her peace, sir. mor: o no, labour not to stop her. she is like a conduit-pipe, that will gush out with more force when she opens again. hau: i will tell you, morose, you must talk divinity to him altogether, or moral philosophy. la-f: ay, and there's an excellent book of moral philosophy, madam, of raynard the fox, and all the beasts, called doni's philosophy. cen: there is, indeed, sir amorous la-foole. mor: o misery! la-f: i have read it, my lady centaure, all over, to my cousin, here. mrs. ott: ay, and 'tis a very good book as any is, of the moderns. daw: tut, he must have seneca read to him, and plutarch, and the ancients; the moderns are not for this disease. cler: why, you discommended them too, to-day, sir john. daw: ay, in some cases: but in these they are best, and aristotle's ethics. mav: say you so sir john? i think you are decived: you took it upon trust. hau: where's trusty, my woman? i'll end this difference. i prithee, otter, call her. her father and mother were both mad, when they put her to me. mor: i think so. nay, gentlemen, i am tame. this is but an exercise, i know, a marriage ceremony, which i must endure. hau: and one of them, i know not which, was cur'd with the sick man's salve; and the other with green's groat's-worth of wit. true: a very cheap cure, madam. [enter trusty.] hau: ay, 'tis very feasible. mrs. ott: my lady call'd for you, mistress trusty: you must decide a controversy. hau: o, trusty, which was it you said, your father, or your mother, that was cured with the sick man's salve? trus: my mother, madam, with the salve. true: then it was the sick woman's salve? trus: and my father with the groat's-worth of wit. but there was other means used: we had a preacher that would preach folk asleep still; and so they were prescribed to go to church, by an old woman that was their physician, thrice a week- epi: to sleep? trus: yes, forsooth: and every night they read themselves asleep on those books. epi: good faith, it stands with great reason. i would i knew where to procure those books. mor: oh! la-f: i can help you with one of them, mistress morose, the groat's-worth of wit. epi: but i shall disfurnish you, sir amorous: can you spare it? la-f: o, yes, for a week, or so; i'll read it myself to him. epi: no, i must do that, sir: that must be my office. mor: oh, oh! epi: sure he would do well enough, if he could sleep. mor: no, i should do well enough, if you could sleep. have i no friend that will make her drunk? or give her a little laudanum? or opium? true: why, sir, she talks ten times worse in her sleep. mor: how! cler: do you not know that, sir? never ceases all night. true: and snores like a porpoise. mor: o, redeem me, fate; redeem me, fate! for how many causes may a man be divorced, nephew? daup: i know not, truly, sir. true: some divine must resolve you in that, sir, or canon-lawyer. mor: i will not rest, i will not think of any other hope or comfort, till i know. [exit with dauphine.] cler: alas, poor man! true: you'll make him mad indeed, ladies, if you pursue this. hau: no, we'll let him breathe now, a quarter of an hour or so. cler: by my faith, a large truce! hau: is that his keeper, that is gone with him? daw: it is his nephew, madam. la-f: sir dauphine eugenie. hau: he looks like a very pitiful knight- daw: as can be. this marriage has put him out of all. la-f: he has not a penny in his purse, madam. daw: he is ready to cry all this day. la-f: a very shark; he set me in the nick t'other night at primero. true: how these swabbers talk! cler: ay, otter's wine has swell'd their humours above a spring-tide. hau: good morose, let us go in again. i like your couches exceeding well; we will go lie and talk there. [exeunt hau., cen., mav., trus., la-foole, and daw.] epi [following them.]: i wait on you, madam. true [stopping her.]: 'slight, i will have them as silent as signs, and their post too, ere i have done. do you hear, lady-bride? i pray thee now, as thou art a noble wench, continue this discourse of dauphine within; but praise him exceedingly: magnify him with all the height of affection thou canst;--i have some purpose in't: and but beat off these two rooks, jack daw and his fellow, with any discontentment, hither, and i'll honour thee for ever. epi: i was about it here. it angered me to the soul, to hear them begin to talk so malepert. true: pray thee perform it, and thou winn'st me an idolater to thee everlasting. epi: will you go in and hear me do't? true: no, i'll stay here. drive them out of your company, 'tis all i ask; which cannot be any way better done, than by extolling dauphine, whom they have so slighted. epi: i warrant you; you shall expect one of them presently. [exit.] cler: what a cast of kestrils are these, to hawk after ladies, thus! true: ay, and strike at such an eagle as dauphine. cler: he will be mad when we tell him. here he comes. [re-enter dauphine.] cler: o sir, you are welcome. true: where's thine uncle? daup: run out of doors in his night-caps, to talk with a casuist about his divorce. it works admirably. true: thou wouldst have said so, if thou hadst been here! the ladies have laugh'd at thee most comically, since thou went'st, dauphine. cler: and ask'd, if thou wert thine uncle's keeper. true: and the brace of baboons answer'd, yes; and said thou wert a pitiful poor fellow, and didst live upon posts: and hadst nothing but three suits of apparel, and some few benevolences that lords gave thee to fool to them, and swagger. daup: let me not live, i will beat them: i'll bind them both to grand-madam's bed-posts, and have them baited with monkies. true: thou shalt not need, they shall be beaten to thy hand, dauphine. i have an execution to serve upon them, i warrant thee, shall serve; trust my plot. daup: ay, you have many plots! so you had one to make all the wenches in love with me. true: why, if i do not yet afore night, as near as 'tis; and that they do not every one invite thee, and be ready to scratch for thee, take the mortgage of my wit. cler: 'fore god, i'll be his witness thou shalt have it, dauphine: thou shalt be his fool for ever, if thou doest not. true: agreed. perhaps 'twill be the better estate. do you observe this gallery, or rather lobby, indeed? here are a couple of studies, at each end one: here will i act such a tragi-comedy between the guelphs and the ghibellines, daw and la-foole--which of them comes out first, will i seize on:--you two shall be the chorus behind the arras, and whip out between the acts and speak--if i do not make them keep the peace for this remnant of the day, if not of the year, i have failed once--i hear daw coming: hide, [they withdraw] and do not laugh, for god's sake. [re-enter daw.] daw: which is the way into the garden trow? true: o, jack daw! i am glad i have met with you. in good faith, i must have this matter go no further between you. i must have it taken up. daw: what matter, sir? between whom? true: come, you disguise it: sir amorous and you. if you love me, jack, you shall make use of your philosophy now, for this once, and deliver me your sword. this is not the wedding the centaurs were at, though there be a she one here. [takes his sword.] the bride has entreated me i will see no blood shed at her bridal, you saw her whisper me erewhile. daw: as i hope to finish tacitus, i intend no murder. true: do you not wait for sir amorous? daw: not i, by my knighthood. true: and your scholarship too? daw: and my scholarship too. true: go to, then i return you your sword, and ask you mercy; but put it not up, for you will be assaulted. i understood that you had apprehended it, and walked here to brave him: and that you had held your life contemptible, in regard of your honour. daw: no, no; no such thing, i assure you. he and i parted now, as good friends as could be. true: trust not you to that visor. i saw him since dinner with another face: i have known many men in my time vex'd with losses, with deaths, and with abuses; but so offended a wight as sir amorous, did i never see, or read of. for taking away his guests, sir, to-day, that's the cause: and he declares it behind your back with such threatenings and contempts--he said to dauphine, you were the arrant'st ass- daw: ay, he may say his pleasure. true: and swears you are so protested a coward, that he knows you will never do him any manly or single right, and therefore he will take his course. daw: i'll give him any satisfaction, sir--but fighting. true: ay, sir: but who knows what satisfaction he'll take? blood he thirsts for, and blood he will have: and whereabouts on you he will have it, who knows but himself? daw: i pray you, master truewit, be you a mediator. true: well, sir, conceal yourself then in this study till i return. [puts him into the study.] nay, you must be content to be lock'd in: for, for mine own reputation, i would not have you seen to receive a public disgrace, while i have the matter in managing. ods so, here he comes; keep your breath close, that he do not hear you sigh. in good faith, sir amorous, he is not this way; i pray you be merciful, do not murder him; he is a christian, as good as you: you are arm'd as if you sought revenge on all his race. good dauphine, get him away from this place. i never knew a man's choler so high, but he would speak to his friends, he would hear reason.--jack daw, jack! asleep! daw [within]: is he gone, master truewit? true: ay; did you hear him? daw: o lord! yes. true: what a quick ear fear has! daw [comes out of the closet.]: but is he so arm'd, as you say? true: arm'd? did you ever see a fellow set out to take possession? daw: ay, sir. true: that may give you some light to conceive of him: but 'tis nothing to the principal. some false brother in the house has furnish'd him strangely; or, if it were out of the house, it was tom otter. daw: indeed he's a captain, and his wife is his kinswoman. true: he has got some body's old two-hand sword, to mow you off at the knees; and that sword hath spawn'd such a dagger!--but then he is so hung with pikes, halberds, petronels, calivers and muskets, that he looks like a justice of peace's hall: a man of two thousand a-year, is not cess'd at so many weapons as he has on. there was never fencer challenged at so many several foils. you would think he meant to murder all saint pulchre parish. if he could but victual himself for half a year in his breeches, he is sufficiently arm'd to over-run a country. daw: good lord! what means he, sir? i pray you, master truewit, be you a mediator. true: well, i 'll try if he will be appeased with a leg or an arm; if not you must die once. daw: i would be loth to lose my right arm, for writing madrigals. true: why, if he will be satisfied with a thumb or a little finger, all's one to me. you must think, i will do my best. [shuts him up again.] daw: good sir, do. [clerimont and dauphine come forward.] cler: what hast thou done? true: he will let me do nothing, he does all afore; he offers his left arm. cler: his left wing for a jack daw. daup: take it, by all means. true: how! maim a man for ever, for a jest? what a conscience hast thou! daup: 'tis no loss to him; he has no employment for his arms, but to eat spoon-meat. beside, as good maim his body as his reputation. true: he is a scholar, and a wit, and yet he does not think so. but he loses no reputation with us; for we all resolved him an ass before. to your places again. cler: i pray thee, let me be in at the other a little. true: look, you'll spoil all: these be ever your tricks. cler: no, but i could hit of some things that thou wilt miss, and thou wilt say are good ones. true: i warrant you. i pray forbear, i will leave it off, else. daup: come away, clerimont. [daup. and cler. withdraw as before.] [enter la-foole.] true: sir amorous! la-f: master truewit. true: whither were you going? la-f: down into the court to make water. true: by no means, sir; you shall rather tempt your breeches. la-f: why, sir? true: enter here, if you love your life. [opening the door of the other study.] la-f: why? why? true: question till you throat be cut, do: dally till the enraged soul find you. la-f: who is that? true: daw it is: will you in? la-f: ay, ay, i will in: what's the matter? true: nay, if he had been cool enough to tell us that, there had been some hope to atone you, but he seems so implacably enraged! la-f: 'slight, let him rage! i'll hide myself. true: do, good sir. but what have you done to him within, that should provoke him thus? you have broke some jest upon him, afore the ladies. la-f: not i, never in my life, broke jest upon any man. the bride was praising sir dauphine, and he went away in snuff, and i followed him, unless he took offence at me in his drink erewhile, that i would not pledge all the horse full. true: by my faith, and that may be, you remember well: but he walks the round up and down, through every room o' the house, with a towel in his hand, crying, where's la-foole? who saw la-foole? and when dauphine and i demanded the cause, we can force no answer from him, but--o revenge, how sweet art thou! i will strangle him in this towel--which leads us to conjecture that the main cause of his fury is, for bringing your meat to-day, with a towel about you, to his discredit. la-f: like enough. why, if he be angry for that, i'll stay here till his anger be blown over. true: a good becoming resolution, sir; if you can put it on o' the sudden. la-f: yes, i can put it on: or, i'll away into the country presently. true: how will you get out of the house, sir? he knows you are in the house, and he will watch you this se'ennight, but he'll have you. he'll outwait a serjeant for you. la-f: why, then i'll stay here. true: you must think how to victual yourself in time then. la-f: why, sweet master truewit, will you entreat my cousin otter to send me a cold venison pasty, a bottle or two of wine, and a chamber-pot? true: a stool were better, sir, of sir ajax his invention. la-f: ay, that will be better, indeed; and a pallet to lie on. true: o, i would not advise you to sleep by any means. la-f: would you not, sir? why, then i will not. true: yet, there's another fear- la-f: is there! what is't? true: no, he cannot break open this door with his foot, sure. la-f: i'll set my back against it, sir. i have a good back. true: but then if he should batter. la-f: batter! if he dare, i'll have an action of battery against him. true: cast you the worst. he has sent for powder already, and what he will do with it, no man knows: perhaps blow up the corner of the house where he suspects you are. here he comes; in quickly. [thrusts in la-foole and shuts the door.] i protest, sir john daw, he is not this way: what will you do? before god, you shall hang no petard here. i'll die rather. will you not take my word? i never knew one but would be satisfied.- sir amorous, [speaks through the key-hole,] there's no standing out: he has made a petard of an old brass pot, to force your door. think upon some satisfaction, or terms to offer him. la-f [within.]: sir, i will give him any satisfaction: i dare give any terms. true: you'll leave it to me, then? la-f: ay, sir. i'll stand to any conditions. true [beckoning forward clerimont and dauphine.]: how now, what think you, sirs? were't not a difficult thing to determine which of these two fear'd most. cler: yes, but this fears the bravest: the other a whiniling dastard, jack daw! but la-foole, a brave heroic coward! and is afraid in a great look and a stout accent; i like him rarely. true: had it not been pity these two should have been concealed? cler: shall i make a motion? true: briefly: for i must strike while 'tis hot. cler: shall i go fetch the ladies to the catastrophe? true: umph! ay, by my troth. daup: by no mortal means. let them continue in the state of ignorance, and err still; think them wits and fine fellows, as they have done. 'twere sin to reform them. true: well, i will have them fetch'd, now i think on't, for a private purpose of mine: do, clerimont, fetch them, and discourse to them all that's past, and bring them into the gallery here. daup: this is thy extreme vanity, now: thou think'st thou wert undone, if every jest thou mak'st were not publish'd. true: thou shalt see how unjust thou art presently. clerimont, say it was dauphine's plot. [exit clerimont.] trust me not, if the whole drift be not for thy good. there is a carpet in the next room, put it on, with this scarf over thy face, and a cushion on thy head, and be ready when i call amorous. away! [exit daup.] john daw! [goes to daw's closet and brings him out.] daw: what good news, sir? true: faith, i have followed and argued with him hard for you. i told him you were a knight, and a scholar, and that you knew fortitude did consist magis patiendo quam faciendo, magis ferendo quam feriendo. daw: it doth so indeed, sir. true: and that you would suffer, i told him: so at first he demanded by my troth, in my conceit, too much. daw: what was it, sir. true: your upper lip, and six of your fore-teeth. daw: 'twas unreasonable. true: nay, i told him plainly, you could not spare them all. so after long argument pro et con as you know, i brought him down to your two butter-teeth, and them he would have. daw: o, did you so? why, he shall have them. true: but he shall not, sir, by your leave. the conclusion is this, sir: because you shall be very good friends hereafter, and this never to be remembered or upbraided; besides, that he may not boast he has done any such thing to you in his own person: he is to come here in disguise, give you five kicks in private, sir, take your sword from you, and lock you up in that study during pleasure: which will be but a little while, we'll get it released presently. daw: five kicks! he shall have six, sir, to be friends. true: believe me, you shall not over-shoot yourself, to send him that word by me. daw: deliver it, sir: he shall have it with all my heart, to be friends. true: friends! nay, an he should not be so, and heartily too, upon these terms, he shall have me to enemy while i live. come, sir, bear it bravely. daw: o lord, sir, 'tis nothing. true: true: what's six kicks to a man that reads seneca? daw: i have had a hundred, sir. true: sir amorous! [re-enter dauphine, disguised.] no speaking one to another, or rehearsing old matters. daw [as dauphine kicks him.]: one, two, three, four, five. i protest, sir amorous, you shall have six. true: nay, i told you, you should not talk. come give him six, an he will needs. [dauphine kicks him again.] --your sword. [takes his sword.] now return to your safe custody: you shall presently meet afore the ladies, and be the dearest friends one to another. [puts daw into the study.] --give me the scarf now, thou shalt beat the other bare-faced. stand by: [dauphine retires, and truewit goes to the other closet, and releases la-foole.] --sir amorous! la-f: what's here? a sword? true: i cannot help it, without i should take the quarrel upon myself. here he has sent you his sword- la-f: i will receive none on't. true: and he wills you to fasten it against a wall, and break your head in some few several places against the hilts. la-f: i will not: tell him roundly. i cannot endure to shed my own blood. true: will you not? la-f: no. i'll beat it against a fair flat wall, if that will satisfy him: if not, he shall beat it himself, for amorous. true: why, this is strange starting off, when a man undertakes for you! i offer'd him another condition; will you stand to that? la-f: ay, what is't. true: that you will be beaten in private. la-f: yes, i am content, at the blunt. [enter, above, haughty, centaure, mavis, mistress otter, epicoene, and trusty.] true: then you must submit yourself to be hoodwinked in this scarf, and be led to him, where he will take your sword from you, and make you bear a blow over the mouth, gules, and tweaks by the nose, sans nombre. la-f: i am content. but why must i be blinded? true: that's for your good, sir: because, if he should grow insolent upon this, and publish it hereafter to your disgrace, (which i hope he will not do,) you might swear safely, and protest, he never beat you, to your knowledge. la-f: o, i conceive. true: i do not doubt but you will be perfect good friends upon't, and not dare to utter an ill thought one of another in future. la-f: not i, as god help me, of him. true: nor he of you, sir. if he should [blinds his eyes.] --come, sir. [leads him forward.] --all hid, sir john. [enter dauphine, and tweaks him by the nose.] la-f: o, sir john, sir john! oh, o--o--o--o--o--oh- true: good, sir john, leave tweaking, you'll blow his nose off. 'tis sir john's pleasure, you should retire into the study. [puts him up again.] --why, now you are friends. all bitterness between you, i hope, is buried; you shall come forth by and by, damon and pythias upon't, and embrace with all the rankness of friendship that can be. i trust, we shall have them tamer in their language hereafter. dauphine, i worship thee.--gods will the ladies have surprised us! [enter haughty, centaure, mavis, mistress otter, epicoene, and trusty, behind.] hau: centaure, how our judgments were imposed on by these adulterate knights! nay, madam, mavis was more deceived than we, 'twas her commendation utter'd them in the college. mav: i commended but their wits, madam, and their braveries. i never look'd toward their valours. hau: sir dauphine is valiant, and a wit too, it seems. mav: and a bravery too. hau: was this his project? mrs. ott: so master clerimont intimates, madam. hau: good morose, when you come to the college, will you bring him with you? he seems a very perfect gentleman. epi: he is so, madam, believe it. cen: but when will you come, morose? epi: three or four days hence, madam, when i have got me a coach and horses. hau: no, to-morrow, good morose; centaure shall send you her coach. mav: yes faith, do, and bring sir dauphine with you. hau: she has promised that, mavis. mav: he is a very worthy gentleman in his exteriors, madam. hau: ay, he shews he is judicial in his clothes. cen: and yet not so superlatively neat as some, madam, that have their faces set in a brake. hau: ay, and have every hair in form! mav: that wear purer linen then ourselves, and profess more neatness than the french hermaphrodite! epi: ay, ladies, they, what they tell one of us, have told a thousand; and are the only thieves of our fame: that think to take us with that perfume, or with that lace, and laugh at us unconscionably when they have done. hau: but, sir dauphine's carelessness becomes him. cen: i could love a man for such a nose. mav: or such a leg! cen: he has an exceeding good eye, madam. mav: and a very good lock. cen: good morose, bring him to my chamber first. mrs. ott: please your honours to meet at my house, madam. true: see how they eye thee, man! they are taken, i warrant thee. [haughty comes forward.] hau: you have unbraced our brace of knights here, master truewit. true: not i, madam; it was sir dauphine's ingine: who, if he have disfurnish'd your ladyship of any guard or service by it, is able to make the place good again, in himself. hau: there is no suspicion of that, sir. cen: god so, mavis, haughty is kissing. mav: let us go too, and take part. [they come forward.] hau: but i am glad of the fortune (beside the discovery of two such empty caskets) to gain the knowledge of so rich a mine of virtue as sir dauphine. cen: we would be all glad to style him of our friendship, and see him at the college. mav: he cannot mix with a sweeter society, i'll prophesy; and i hope he himself will think so. daup: i should be rude to imagine otherwise, lady. true: did not i tell thee, dauphine? why, all their actions are governed by crude opinion, without reason or cause; they know not why they do any thing: but, as they are inform'd, believe, judge, praise, condemn, love, hate, and in emulation one of another, do all these things alike. only they have a natural inclination sways them generally to the worst, when they are left to themselves. but pursue it, now thou hast them. hau: shall we go in again, morose? epi: yes, madam. cen: we'll entreat sir dauphine's company. true: stay, good madam, the interview of the two friends, pylades and orestes: i'll fetch them out to you straight. hau: will you, master truewit? daup: ay, but noble ladies, do not confess in your countenance, or outward bearing to them, any discovery of their follies, that we may see how they will bear up again, with what assurance and erection. hau: we will not, sir dauphine. cen. mav: upon our honours, sir dauphine. true [goes to the first closet.]: sir amorous, sir amorous! the ladies are here. la-f [within.]: are they? true: yes; but slip out by and by, as their backs are turn'd, and meet sir john here, as by chance, when i call you. [goes to the other.] --jack daw. daw: what say you, sir? true: whip out behind me suddenly, and no anger in your looks to your adversary. now, now! [la-foole and daw slip out of their respective closets, and salute each other.] la-f: noble sir john daw, where have you been? daw: to seek you, sir amorous. la-f: me! i honour you. daw: i prevent you, sir. cler: they have forgot their rapiers. true: o, they meet in peace, man. daup: where's your sword, sir john? cler: and yours, sir amorous? daw: mine! my boy had it forth to mend the handle, e'en now. la-f: and my gold handle was broke too, and my boy had it forth. daup: indeed, sir!--how their excuses meet! cler: what a consent there is in the handles! true: nay, there is so in the points too, i warrant you. [enter morose, with the two swords, drawn in his hands.] mrs. ott: o me! madam, he comes again, the madman! away! [ladies, daw, and la-foole, run off.] mor: what make these naked weapons here, gentlemen? true: o sir! here hath like to have been murder since you went; a couple of knights fallen out about the bride's favours! we were fain to take away their weapons; your house had been begg'd by this time else. mor: for what? cler: for manslaughter, sir, as being accessary. mor: and for her favours? true: ay, sir, heretofore, not present--clerimont, carry them their swords, now. they have done all the hurt they will do. [exit cler. with the two swords.] daup: have you spoke with the lawyer, sir? mor: o, no! there is such a noise in the court, that they have frighted me home with more violence then i went! such speaking and counter-speaking, with their several voices of citations, appellations, allegations, certificates, attachments, intergatories, references, convictions, and afflictions indeed, among the doctors and proctors, that the noise here is silence to't! a kind of calm midnight! true: why, sir, if you would be resolved indeed, i can bring you hither a very sufficient lawyer, and a learned divine, that shall enquire into every least scruple for you. mor: can you, master truewit? true: yes, and are very sober, grave persons, that will dispatch it in a chamber, with a whisper or two. mor: good sir, shall i hope this benefit from you, and trust myself into your hands? true: alas, sir! your nephew and i have been ashamed and oft-times mad, since you went, to think how you are abused. go in, good sir, and lock yourself up till we call you; we'll tell you more anon, sir. mor: do your pleasure with me gentlemen; i believe in you: and that deserves no delusion. [exit.] true: you shall find none, sir: but heap'd, heap'd plenty of vexation. daup: what wilt thou do now, wit? true: recover me hither otter and the barber, if you can, by any means, presently. daup: why? to what purpose? true: o, i'll make the deepest divine, and gravest lawyer, out of them two for him- daup: thou canst not, man; these are waking dreams. true: do not fear me. clap but a civil gown with a welt on the one; and a canonical cloak with sleeves on the other: and give them a few terms in their mouths, if there come not forth as able a doctor, and complete a parson, for this turn, as may be wish'd, trust not my election: and, i hope, without wronging the dignity of either profession, since they are but persons put on, and for mirth's sake, to torment him. the barber smatters latin, i remember. daup: yes, and otter too. true: well then, if i make them not wrangle out this case to his no comfort, let me be thought a jack daw or la-foole or anything worse. go you to your ladies, but first send for them. daup: i will. [exeunt.] act 5. scene 5.1. a room in morose's house. enter la-foole, clerimont, and daw. la-f: where had you our swords, master clerimont? cler: why, dauphine took them from the madman. la-f: and he took them from our boys, i warrant you. cler: very like, sir. la-f: thank you, good master clerimont. sir john daw and i are both beholden to you. cler: would i knew how to make you so, gentlemen! daw: sir amorous and i are your servants, sir. [enter mavis.] mav: gentlemen, have any of you a pen and ink? i would fain write out a riddle in italian, for sir dauphine, to translate. cler: not i, in troth lady; i am no scrivener. daw: i can furnish you, i think, lady. [exeunt daw and mavis.] cler: he has it in the haft of a knife, i believe. la-f: no, he has his box of instruments. cler: like a surgeon! la-f: for the mathematics: his square, his compasses, his brass pens, and black-lead, to draw maps of every place and person where he comes. cler: how, maps of persons! la-f: yes, sir, of nomentack when he was here, and of the prince of moldavia, and of his mistress, mistress epicoene. [re-enter daw.] cler: away! he hath not found out her latitude, i hope. la-f: you are a pleasant gentleman, sir. cler: faith, now we are in private, let's wanton it a little, and talk waggishly.--sir john, i am telling sir amorous here, that you two govern the ladies wherever you come; you carry the feminine gender afore you. daw: they shall rather carry us afore them, if they will, sir. cler: nay, i believe that they do, withal--but that you are the prime men in their affections, and direct all their actions- daw: not i: sir amorous is. la-f: i protest, sir john is. daw: as i hope to rise in the state, sir amorous, you have the person. la-f: sir john, you have the person, and the discourse too. daw: not i, sir. i have no discourse--and then you have activity beside. la-f: i protest, sir john, you come as high from tripoly as i do, every whit: and lift as many join'd stools, and leap over them, if you would use it. cler: well, agree on't together knights; for between you, you divide the kingdom or commonwealth of ladies' affections: i see it, and can perceive a little how they observe you, and fear you, indeed. you could tell strange stories, my masters, if you would, i know. daw: faith, we have seen somewhat, sir. la-f: that we have--velvet petticoats, and wrought smocks, or so. daw: ay, and- cler: nay, out with it, sir john: do not envy your friend the pleasure of hearing, when you have had the delight of tasting. daw: why--a--do you speak, sir amorous. la-f: no, do you, sir john daw. daw: i'faith, you shall. la-f: i'faith, you shall. daw: why, we have been- la-f: in the great bed at ware together in our time. on, sir john. daw: nay, do you, sir amorous. cler: and these ladies with you, knights? la-f: no, excuse us, sir. daw: we must not wound reputation. la-f: no matter--they were these, or others. our bath cost us fifteen pound when we came home. cler: do you hear, sir john? you shall tell me but one thing truly, as you love me. daw: if i can, i will, sir. cler: you lay in the same house with the bride, here? daw: yes, and conversed with her hourly, sir. cler: and what humour is she of? is she coming, and open, free? daw: o, exceeding open, sir. i was her servant, and sir amorous was to be. cler: come, you have both had favours from her: i know, and have heard so much. daw: o no, sir. la-f: you shall excuse us, sir: we must not wound reputation. cler: tut, she is married now, and you cannot hurt her with any report; and therefore speak plainly: how many times, i'faith? which of you led first? ha! la-f: sir john had her maidenhead, indeed. daw: o, it pleases him to say so, sir, but sir amorous knows what is what, as well. cler: dost thou i'faith, amorous? la-f: in a manner, sir. cler: why, i commend you lads. little knows don bridegroom of this. nor shall he, for me. daw: hang him, mad ox! cler: speak softly: here comes his nephew, with the lady haughty. he'll get the ladies from you, sirs, if you look not to him in time. la-f: why, if he do, we'll fetch them home again, i warrant you. [exit with daw. cler. walks aside.] [enter dauphine and haughty.] hau: i assure you, sir dauphine, it is the price and estimation of your virtue only, that hath embark'd me to this adventure; and i could not but make out to tell you so; nor can i repent me of the act, since it is always an argument of some virtue in our selves, that we love and affect it so in others. daup: your ladyship sets too high a price on my weakness. hau: sir, i can distinguish gems from pebbles- daup [aside.]: are you so skilful in stones? hau: and howsover i may suffer in such a judgment as yours, by admitting equality of rank or society with centaure or mavis- daup: you do not, madam; i perceive they are your mere foils. hau: then, are you a friend to truth, sir; it makes me love you the more. it is not the outward, but the inward man that i affect. they are not apprehensive of an eminent perfection, but love flat, and dully. cen [within.]: where are you, my lady haughty? hau: i come presently, centaure.--my chamber, sir, my page shall shew you; and trusty, my woman, shall be ever awake for you: you need not fear to communicate any thing with her, for she is a fidelia. i pray you wear this jewel for my sake, sir dauphine.- [enter centaure.] where is mavis, centaure? cen: within, madam, a writing. i'll follow you presently: [exit hau.] i'll but speak a word with sir dauphine. daup: with me, madam? cen: good sir dauphine, do not trust haughty, nor make any credit to her, whatever you do besides. sir dauphine, i give you this caution, she is a perfect courtier, and loves nobody but for her uses: and for her uses she loves all. besides, her physicians give her out to be none o' the clearest, whether she pay them or no, heaven knows: and she's above fifty too, and pargets! see her in a forenoon. here comes mavis, a worse face then she! you would not like this, by candle-light. [re-enter mavis.] if you'll come to my chamber one o' these mornings early, or late in an evening, i will tell you more. where's haughty, mavis? mav: within, centaure. cen: what have you, there? mav: an italian riddle for sir dauphine,--you shall not see it i'faith, centaure.- [exit cen.] good sir dauphine, solve it for me. i'll call for it anon. [exit.] cler [coming forward.]: how now, dauphine! how dost thou quit thyself of these females? daup: 'slight, they haunt me like fairies, and give me jewels here; i cannot be rid of them. cler: o, you must not tell though. daup: mass, i forgot that: i was never so assaulted. one loves for virtue, and bribes me with this; [shews the jewel.] --another loves me with caution, and so would possess me; a third brings me a riddle here: and all are jealous: and rail each at other. cler: a riddle! pray let me see it. [reads.] sir dauphine, i chose this way of intimation for privacy. the ladies here, i know, have both hope and purpose to make a collegiate and servant of you. if i might be so honoured, as to appear at any end of so noble a work, i would enter into a fame of taking physic to-morrow, and continue it four or five days, or longer, for your visitation. mavis. by my faith, a subtle one! call you this a riddle? what's their plain dealing, trow? daup: we lack truewit to tell us that. cler: we lack him for somewhat else too: his knights reformadoes are wound up as high and insolent as ever they were. daup: you jest. cler: no drunkards, either with wine or vanity, ever confess'd such stories of themselves. i would not give a fly's leg, in balance against all the womens' reputations here, if they could be but thought to speak truth: and for the bride, they have made their affidavit against her directly- daup: what, that they have lain with her? cler: yes; and tell times and circumstances, with the cause why, and the place where. i had almost brought them to affirm that they had done it to-day. daup: not both of them? cler: yes, faith: with a sooth or two more i had effected it. they would have set it down under their hands. daup: why, they will be our sport, i see, still, whether we will or no. [enter truewit.] true: o, are you here? come, dauphine; go call your uncle presently: i have fitted my divine, and my canonist, dyed their beards and all. the knaves do not know themselves, they are so exalted and altered. preferment changes any man. thou shalt keep one door and i another, and then clerimont in the midst, that he may have no means of escape from their cavilling, when they grow hot once again. and then the women, as i have given the bride her instructions, to break in upon him in the l'enuoy. o, 'twill be full and twanging! away! fetch him. [exit dauphine.] [enter otter disguised as a divine, and cutbeard as a canon lawyer.] come, master doctor, and master parson, look to your parts now, and discharge them bravely: you are well set forth, perform it as well. if you chance to be out, do not confess it with standing still, or humming, or gaping one at another: but go on, and talk aloud and eagerly; use vehement action, and only remember your terms, and you are safe. let the matter go where it will: you have many will do so. but at first be very solemn, and grave like your garments, though you loose your selves after, and skip out like a brace of jugglers on a table. here he comes: set your faces, and look superciliously, while i present you. [re-enter dauphine with morose.] mor: are these the two learned men? true: yes, sir; please you salute them. mor: salute them! i had rather do any thing, than wear out time so unfruitfully, sir. i wonder how these common forms, as god save you, and you are welcome, are come to be a habit in our lives: or, i am glad to see you! when i cannot see what the profit can be of these words, so long as it is no whit better with him whose affairs are sad and grievous, that he hears this salutation. true: 'tis true, sir; we'll go to the matter then.--gentlemen, master doctor, and master parson, i have acquainted you sufficiently with the business for which you are come hither; and you are not now to inform yourselves in the state of the question, i know. this is the gentleman who expects your resolution, and therefore, when you please, begin. ott: please you, master doctor. cut: please you, good master parson. ott: i would hear the canon-law speak first. cut: it must give place to positive divinity, sir. mor: nay, good gentlemen, do not throw me into circumstances. let your comforts arrive quickly at me, those that are. be swift in affording me my peace, if so i shall hope any. i love not your disputations, or your court-tumults. and that it be not strange to you, i will tell you: my father, in my education, was wont to advise me, that i should always collect and contain my mind, not suffering it to flow loosely; that i should look to what things were necessary to the carriage of my life, and what not; embracing the one and eschewing the other: in short, that i should endear myself to rest, and avoid turmoil: which now is grown to be another nature to me. so that i come not to your public pleadings, or your places of noise; not that i neglect those things that make for the dignity of the commonwealth: but for the mere avoiding of clamours and impertinencies of orators, that know not how to be silent. and for the cause of noise, am i now a suitor to you. you do not know in what a misery i have been exercised this day, what a torrent of evil! my very house turns round with the tumult! i dwell in a windmill: the perpetual motion is here, and not at eltham. true: well, good master doctor, will you break the ice? master parson will wade after. cut: sir, though unworthy, and the weaker, i will presume. ott: 'tis no presumption, domine doctor. mor: yet again! cut: your question is, for how many causes a man may have divortium legitimum, a lawful divorce? first, you must understand the nature of the word, divorce, a divertendo- mor: no excursions upon words, good doctor, to the question briefly. cut: i answer then, the canon-law affords divorce but in a few cases; and the principal is in the common case, the adulterous case: but there are duodecim impedimenta, twelve impediments, as we call them, all which do not dirimere contractum, but irritum reddere matrimonium, as we say in the canon-law, not take away the bond, but cause a nullity therein. mor: i understood you before: good sir, avoid your impertinency of translation. ott: he cannot open this too much, sir, by your favour. mor: yet more! true: o, you must give the learned men leave, sir.--to your impediments, master doctor. cut: the first is impedimentum erroris. ott: of which there are several species. cut: ay, as error personae. ott: if you contract yourself to one person, thinking her another. cut: then, error fortunae. ott: if she be a begger, and you thought her rich. cut: then, error qualitatis. ott: if she prove stubborn or head-strong, that you thought obedient. mor: how! is that, sir, a lawful impediment? one at once, i pray you gentlemen. ott: ay, ante copulam, but not post copulam, sir. cut: master parson says right. nec post nuptiarum benedictionem. it doth indeed but irrita reddere sponsalia, annul the contract: after marriage it is of no obstancy. true: alas, sir, what a hope are we fallen from by this time! cut: the next is conditio: if you thought her free born, and she prove a bond-woman, there is impediment of estate and condition. ott: ay, but, master doctor, those servitudes are sublatae now, among us christians. cut: by your favour, master parson- ott: you shall give me leave, master doctor. mor: nay, gentlemen, quarrel not in that question; it concerns not my case: pass to the third. cut: well then, the third is votum: if either party have made a vow of chastity. but that practice, as master parson said of the other, is taken away among us, thanks be to discipline. the fourth is cognatio: if the persons be of kin within the degrees. ott: ay: do you know what the degrees are, sir? mor: no, nor i care not, sir: they offer me no comfort in the question, i am sure. cut: but there is a branch of this impediment may, which is cognatio spiritualis: if you were her godfather, sir, then the marriage is incestuous. ott: that comment is absurd and superstitious, master doctor: i cannot endure it. are we not all brothers and sisters, and as much akin in that, as godfathers and god-daughters? mor: o me! to end the controversy, i never was a godfather, i never was a godfather in my life, sir. pass to the next. cut: the fifth is crimen adulterii; the known case. the sixth, cultus disparitas, difference of religion: have you ever examined her, what religion she is of? mor: no, i would rather she were of none, than be put to the trouble of it! ott: you may have it done for you, sir. mor: by no means, good sir; on to the rest: shall you ever come to an end, think you? true: yes, he has done half, sir. on, to the rest.--be patient, and expect, sir. cut: the seventh is, vis: if it were upon compulsion or force. mor: o no, it was too voluntary, mine; too voluntary. cut: the eight is, ordo; if ever she have taken holy orders. ott: that's supersitious too. mor: no matter, master parson: would she would go into a nunnery yet. cut: the ninth is, ligamen; if you were bound, sir, to any other before. mor: i thrust myself too soon into these fetters. cut: the tenth is, publica honestas: which is inchoata quaedam affinitas. ott: ay, or affinitas orta ex sponsalibus; and is but leve impedimentum. mor: i feel no air of comfort blowing to me, in all this. cut: the eleventh is, affinitas ex fornicatione. ott: which is no less vera affinitas, than the other, master doctor. cut: true, quae oritur ex legitimo matrimonio. ott: you say right, venerable doctor: and, nascitur ex eo, quod per conjugium duae personae efficiuntur una caro- mor: hey-day, now they begin! cut: i conceive you, master parson: ita per fornicationem aeque est verus pater, qui sic generat- ott: et vere filius qui sic generatur- mor: what's all this to me? cler: now it grows warm. cut: the twelfth, and last is, si forte coire nequibis. ott: ay, that is impedimentum gravissimum: it doth utterly annul, and annihilate, that. if you have manifestam frigiditatem, you are well, sir. true: why, there is comfort come at length, sir. confess yourself but a man unable, and she will sue to be divorced first. ott: ay, or if there be morbus perpetuus, et insanabilis; as paralysis, elephantiasis, or so- daup: o, but frigiditas is the fairer way, gentlemen. ott: you say troth, sir, and as it is in the canon, master doctor- cut: i conceive you, sir. cler: before he speaks! ott: that a boy, or child, under years, is not fit for marriage, because he cannot reddere debitum. so your omnipotentes- true [aside to ott.]: your impotentes, you whoreson lobster! ott: your impotentes, i should say, are minime apti ad contrahenda matrimonium. true: matrimonium! we shall have most unmatrimonial latin with you: matrimonia, and be hang'd. daup: you put them out, man. cut: but then there will arise a doubt, master parson, in our case, post matrimonium: that frigiditate praeditus--do you conceive me, sir? ott: very well, sir. cut: who cannot uti uxore pro uxore, may habere eam pro sorore. ott: absurd, absurd, absurd, and merely apostatical! cut: you shall pardon me, master parson, i can prove it. ott: you can prove a will, master doctor, you can prove nothing else. does not the verse of your own canon say, haec socianda vetant connubia, facta retractant? cut: i grant you; but how do they retractare, master parson? mor: o, this was it i feared. ott: in aeternum, sir. cut: that's false in divinity, by your favour. ott: 'tis false in humanity to say so. is he not prorsus inutilis ad thorum? can he praestare fidem datam? i would fain know. cut: yes; how if he do convalere? ott: he cannot convalere, it is impossible. true: nay, good sir, attend the learned men, they will think you neglect them else. cut: or, if he do simulare himself frigidum, odio uxoris, or so? ott: i say, he is adulter manifestus then. daup: they dispute it very learnedly, i'faith. ott: and prostitutor uxoris; and this is positive. mor: good sir, let me escape. true: you will not do me that wrong, sir? ott: and, therefore, if he be manifeste frigidus, sir- cut: ay, if he be manifeste frigidus, i grant you- ott: why, that was my conclusion. cut: and mine too. true: nay, hear the conclusion, sir. ott: then, frigiditatis causa- cut: yes, causa frigiditatis- mor: o, mine ears! ott: she may have libellum divortii against you. cut: ay, divortii libellum she will sure have. mor: good echoes, forbear. ott: if you confess it. cut: which i would do, sir- mor: i will do any thing. ott: and clear myself in foro conscientiae- cut: because you want indeed- mor: yet more? ott: exercendi potestate. [epicoene rushes in, followed by haughty, centaure, mavis, mistress otter, daw, and la-foole.] epi: i will not endure it any longer. ladies, i beseech you, help me. this is such a wrong as never was offered to poor bride before: upon her marriage day, to have her husband conspire against her, and a couple of mercenary companions to be brought in for form's sake, to persuade a separation! if you had blood or virtue in you, gentlemen, you would not suffer such ear-wigs about a husband, or scorpions to creep between man and wife. mor: o the variety and changes of my torment! hau: let them be cudgell'd out of doors, by our grooms. cen: i'll lend you my foot-man. mav: we'll have our men blanket them in the hall. mrs. ott: as there was one at our house, madam, for peeping in at the door. daw: content, i'faith. true: stay, ladies and gentlemen; you'll hear, before you proceed? mav: i'd have the bridegroom blanketted too. cen: begin with him first. hau: yes, by my troth. mor: o mankind generation! daup: ladies, for my sake forbear. hau: yes, for sir dauphine's sake. cen: he shall command us. la-f: he is as fine a gentleman of his inches, madam, as any is about the town, and wears as good colours when he lists. true: be brief, sir, and confess your infirmity, she'll be a-fire to be quit of you, if she but hear that named once, you shall not entreat her to stay: she'll fly you like one that had the marks upon him. mor: ladies, i must crave all your pardons- true: silence, ladies. mor: for a wrong i have done to your whole sex, in marrying this fair, and virtuous gentlewoman- cler: hear him, good ladies. mor: being guilty of an infirmity, which, before i conferred with these learned men, i thought i might have concealed- true: but now being better informed in his conscience by them, he is to declare it, and give satisfaction, by asking your public forgiveness. mor: i am no man, ladies. all: how! mor: utterly unabled in nature, by reason of frigidity, to perform the duties, or any the least office of a husband. mav: now out upon him, prodigious creature! cen: bridegroom uncarnate! hau: and would you offer it to a young gentlewoman? mrs. ott: a lady of her longings? epi: tut, a device, a device, this, it smells rankly, ladies. a mere comment of his own. true: why, if you suspect that, ladies, you may have him search'd- daw: as the custom is, by a jury of physicians. la-f: yes faith, 'twill be brave. mor: o me, must i undergo that? mrs. ott: no, let women search him, madam: we can do it ourselves. mor: out on me! worse. epi: no, ladies, you shall not need, i will take him with all his faults. mor: worst of all! cler: why then, 'tis no divorce, doctor, if she consent not? cut: no, if the man be frigidus, it is de parte uxoris, that we grant libellum divortii, in the law. ott: ay, it is the same in theology. mor: worse, worse than worst! true: nay, sir, be not utterly disheartened; we have yet a small relic of hope left, as near as our comfort is blown out. clerimont, produce your brace of knights. what was that, master parson, you told me in errore qualitatis, e'en now?- [aside.] dauphine, whisper the bride, that she carry it as if she were guilty, and ashamed. ott: marry, sir, in errore qualitatis (which master doctor did forbear to urge,) if she be found corrupta, that is, vitiated or broken up, that was pro virgine desponsa, espoused for a maid- mor: what then, sir? ott: it doth dirimere contractum, and irritum reddere too. true: if this be true, we are happy again, sir, once more. here are an honourable brace of knights, that shall affirm so much. daw: pardon us, good master clerimont. la-f: you shall excuse us, master clerimont. cler: nay, you must make it good now, knights, there is no remedy; i'll eat no words for you, nor no men: you know you spoke it to me. daw: is this gentleman-like, sir? true [aside to daw.]: jack daw, he's worse then sir amorous; fiercer a great deal. [aside to la-foole.]--sir amorous, beware, there be ten daws in this clerimont. la-f: i'll confess it, sir. daw: will you, sir amorous, will you wound reputation? la-f: i am resolved. true: so should you be too, jack daw: what should keep you off? she's but a woman, and in disgrace: he'll be glad on't. daw: will he? i thought he would have been angry. cler: you will dispatch, knights, it must be done, i'faith. true: why, an it must, it shall, sir, they say: they'll ne'er go back. [aside to them.] --do not tempt his patience. daw: it is true indeed, sir? la-f: yes, i assure you, sir. mor: what is true gentlemen? what do you assure me? daw: that we have known your bride, sir- la-f: in good fashion. she was our mistress, or so- cler: nay, you must be plain, knights, as you were to me. ott: ay, the question is, if you have carnaliter, or no? la-f: carnaliter! what else, sir? ott: it is enough: a plain nullity. epi: i am undone, i am undone! mor: o, let me worship and adore you, gentlemen! epi [weeps.]: i am undone! mor: yes, to my hand, i thank these knights. master parson, let me thank you otherwise. [gives him money.] hau: and have they confess'd? mav: now out upon them, informers! true: you see what creatures you may bestow your favours on, madams. hau: i would except against them as beaten knights, wench, and not good witnesses in law. mrs. ott: poor gentlewoman, how she takes it! hau: be comforted, morose, i love you the better for't. cen: so do i, i protest. cut: but, gentlemen, you have not known her since matrimonium? daw: not to-day, master doctor. la-f: no, sir, not to-day. cut: why, then i say, for any act before, the matrimonium is good and perfect: unless the worshipful bridegroom did precisely, before witness, demand, if she were virgo ante nuptias. epi: no, that he did not, i assure you, master doctor. cut: if he cannot prove that, it is ratum conjugium, notwithstanding the premisses. and they do no way impedire. and this is my sentence, this i pronounce. ott: i am of master doctor's resolution too, sir: if you made not that demand, ante nuptias. mor: o my heart! wilt thou break? wilt thou break? this is worst of all worst worsts that hell could have devised! marry a whore, and so much noise! daup: come, i see now plain confederacy in this doctor and this parson, to abuse a gentleman. you study his affliction. i pray be gone companions.--and, gentlemen, i begin to suspect you for having parts with them.--sir, will it please you hear me? mor: o do not talk to me, take not from me the pleasure of dying in silence, nephew. daup: sir, i must speak to you. i have been long your poor despised kinsman, and many a hard thought has strengthened you against me: but now it shall appear if either i love you or your peace, and prefer them to all the world beside. i will not be long or grievous to you, sir. if i free you of this unhappy match absolutely, and instantly, after all this trouble, and almost in your despair, now- mor: it cannot be. daup: sir, that you be never troubled with a murmur of it more, what shall i hope for, or deserve of you? mor: o, what thou wilt, nephew! thou shalt deserve me, and have me. daup: shall i have your favour perfect to me, and love hereafter? mor: that, and any thing beside. make thine own conditions. my whole estate is thine; manage it, i will become thy ward. daup: nay, sir, i will not be so unreasonable. epi: will sir dauphine be mine enemy too? daup: you know i have been long a suitor to you, uncle, that out of your estate, which is fifteen hundred a-year, you would allow me but five hundred during life, and assure the rest upon me after: to which i have often, by myself and friends tendered you a writing to sign, which you would never consent or incline to. if you please but to effect it now- mor: thou shalt have it, nephew: i will do it, and more. daup: if i quit you not presently, and for ever of this cumber, you shall have power instantly, afore all these, to revoke your act, and i will become whose slave you will give me to, for ever. mor: where is the writing? i will seal to it, that, or to a blank, and write thine own conditions. epi: o me, most unfortunate, wretched gentlewoman! hau: will sir dauphine do this? epi: good sir, have some compassion on me. mor: o, my nephew knows you, belike; away, crocodile! hau: he does it not sure without good ground. daup: here, sir. [gives him the parchments.] mor: come, nephew, give me the pen. i will subscribe to any thing, and seal to what thou wilt, for my deliverance. thou art my restorer. here, i deliver it thee as my deed. if there be a word in it lacking, or writ with false orthography, i protest before [heaven] i will not take the advantage. [returns the writings.] daup: then here is your release, sir. [takes off epicoene's peruke and other disguises.] you have married a boy, a gentleman's son, that i have brought up this half year at my great charges, and for this composition, which i have now made with you.--what say you, master doctor? this is justum impedimentum, i hope, error personae? ott: yes sir, in primo gradu. cut: in primo gradu. daup: i thank you, good doctor cutbeard, and parson otter. [pulls their false beards and gowns off.] you are beholden to them, sir, that have taken this pains for you; and my friend, master truewit, who enabled them for the business. now you may go in and rest; be as private as you will, sir. [exit morose.] i'll not trouble you, till you trouble me with your funeral, which i care not how soon it come. --cutbeard, i'll make your lease good. "thank me not, but with your leg, cutbeard." and tom otter, your princess shall be reconciled to you.--how now, gentlemen, do you look at me? cler: a boy! daup: yes, mistress epicoene. true: well, dauphine, you have lurch'd your friends of the better half of the garland, by concealing this part of the plot: but much good do it thee, thou deserv'st it, lad. and, clerimont, for thy unexpected bringing these two to confession, wear my part of it freely. nay, sir daw, and sir la-foole, you see the gentlewoman that has done you the favours! we are all thankful to you, and so should the woman-kind here, specially for lying on her, though not with her! you meant so, i am sure? but that we have stuck it upon you to-day, in your own imagined persons, and so lately, this amazon, the champion of the sex, should beat you now thriftily, for the common slanders which ladies receive from such cuckoos as you are. you are they that, when no merit or fortune can make you hope to enjoy their bodies, will yet lie with their reputations, and make their fame suffer. away, you common moths of these, and all ladies' honours. go, travel to make legs and faces, and come home with some new matter to be laugh'd at: you deserve to live in an air as corrupted as that wherewith you feed rumour. [exeunt daw and la-foole.] madams, you are mute, upon this new metamorphosis! but here stands she that has vindicated your fames. take heed of such insectae hereafter. and let it not trouble you, that you have discovered any mysteries to this young gentleman: he is almost of years, and will make a good visitant within this twelvemonth. in the mean time, we'll all undertake for his secrecy, that can speak so well of his silence. [coming forward.] --spectators, if you like this comedy, rise cheerfully, and now morose is gone in, clap your hands. it may be, that noise will cure him, at least please him. [exeunt.] glossary abate, cast down, subdue. abhorring, repugnant (to), at variance. abject, base, degraded thing, outcast. abrase, smooth, blank. absolute(ly), faultless(ly). abstracted, abstract, abstruse. abuse, deceive, insult, dishonour, make ill use of. acater, caterer. acates, cates. acceptive, willing, ready to accept, receive. accommodate, fit, befitting. (the word was a fashionable one and used on all occasions. see "henry iv.," pt. 2, iii. 4). accost, draw near, approach. acknown, confessedly acquainted with. acme, full maturity. adalantado, lord deputy or governor of a spanish province. adjection, addition. admiration, astonishment. admire, wonder, wonder at. adrop, philosopher's stone, or substance from which obtained. adscrive, subscribe. adulterate, spurious, counterfeit. advance, lift. advertise, inform, give intelligence. advertised, "be --," be it known to you. advertisement, intelligence. advise, consider, bethink oneself, deliberate. advised, informed, aware; "are you --?" have you found that out? affect, love, like; aim at; move. affected, disposed; beloved. affectionate, obstinate; prejudiced. affects, affections. affront, "give the --," face. affy, have confidence in; betroth. after, after the manner of. again, against, in anticipation of. aggravate, increase, magnify, enlarge upon. agnomination. see paranomasie. aiery, nest, brood. aim, guess. all hid, children's cry at hide-and-seek. all-to, completely, entirely ("all-to-be-laden"). allowance, approbation, recognition. alma-cantaras (astronomy), parallels of altitude. almain, name of a dance. almuten, planet of chief influence in the horoscope. alone, unequalled, without peer. aludels, subliming pots. amazed, confused, perplexed. amber, ambre, ambergris. ambree, mary, a woman noted for her valour at the siege of ghent, 1458. ames-ace, lowest throw at dice. amphibolies, ambiguities. amused, bewildered, amazed. an, if. anatomy, skeleton, or dissected body. andirons, fire-dogs. angel, gold coin worth 10 shillings, stamped with the figure of the archangel michael. annesh cleare, spring known as agnes le clare. answer, return hit in fencing. antic, antique, clown, buffoon. antic, like a buffoon. antiperistasis, an opposition which enhances the quality it opposes. apozem, decoction. apperil, peril. apple-john, apple-squire, pimp, pander. apply, attach. apprehend, take into custody. apprehensive, quick of perception; able to perceive and appreciate. approve, prove, confirm. apt, suit, adapt; train, prepare; dispose, incline. apt(ly), suitable(y), opportune(ly). aptitude, suitableness. arbor, "make the --," cut up the game (gifford). arches, court of arches. archie, archibald armstrong, jester to james i. and charles i. argaile, argol, crust or sediment in wine casks. argent-vive, quicksilver. argument, plot of a drama; theme, subject; matter in question; token, proof. arride, please. arsedine, mixture of copper and zinc, used as an imitation of gold-leaf. arthur, prince, reference to an archery show by a society who assumed arms, etc., of arthur's knights. article, item. artificially, artfully. ascension, evaporation, distillation. aspire, try to reach, obtain, long for. assalto (italian), assault. assay, draw a knife along the belly of the deer, a ceremony of the hunting-field. assoil, solve. assure, secure possession or reversion of. athanor, a digesting furnace, calculated to keep up a constant heat. atone, reconcile. attach, attack, seize. audacious, having spirit and confidence. authentic(al), of authority, authorised, trustworthy, genuine. avisement, reflection, consideration. avoid, begone! get rid of. away with, endure. azoch, mercurius philosophorum. babion, baboon. baby, doll. back-side, back premises. baffle, treat with contempt. bagatine, italian coin, worth about the third of a farthing. baiard, horse of magic powers known to old romance. baldrick, belt worn across the breast to support bugle, etc. bale (of dice), pair. balk, overlook, pass by, avoid. ballace, ballast. balloo, game at ball. balneum (bain marie), a vessel for holding hot water in which other vessels are stood for heating. banbury, "brother of --," puritan. bandog, dog tied or chained up. bane, woe, ruin. banquet, a light repast; dessert. barb, to clip gold. barbel, fresh-water fish. bare, meer; bareheaded; it was "a particular mark of state and grandeur for the coachman to be uncovered" (gifford). barley-break, game somewhat similar to base. base, game of prisoner's base. bases, richly embroidered skirt reaching to the knees, or lower. basilisk, fabulous reptile, believed to slay with its eye. basket, used for the broken provision collected for prisoners. bason, basons, etc., were beaten by the attendant mob when bad characters were "carted." bate, be reduced; abate, reduce. batoon, baton, stick. batten, feed, grow fat. bawson, badger. beadsman, prayer-man, one engaged to pray for another. beagle, small hound; fig. spy. bear in hand, keep in suspense, deceive with false hopes. bearward, bear leader. bedphere. see phere. bedstaff, (?) wooden pin in the side of the bedstead for supporting the bedclothes (johnson); one of the sticks or "laths"; a stick used in making a bed. beetle, heavy mallet. beg, "i'd -him," the custody of minors and idiots was begged for; likewise property fallen forfeit to the crown ("your house had been begged"). bell-man, night watchman. benjamin, an aromatic gum. berlina, pillory. bescumber, defile. beslave, beslabber. besogno, beggar. bespawle, bespatter. bethlehem gabor, transylvanian hero, proclaimed king of hungary. bever, drinking. bevis, sir, knight of romance whose horse was equally celebrated. bewray, reveal, make known. bezant, heraldic term: small gold circle. bezoar's stone, a remedy known by this name was a supposed antidote to poison. bid-stand, highwayman. biggin, cap, similar to that worn by the beguines; nightcap. bilive (belive), with haste. bilk, nothing, empty talk. bill, kind of pike. billet, wood cut for fuel, stick. birding, thieving. black sanctus, burlesque hymn, any unholy riot. blank, originally a small french coin. blank, white. blanket, toss in a blanket. blaze, outburst of violence. blaze, (her.) blazon; publish abroad. blazon, armorial bearings; fig. all that pertains to good birth and breeding. blin, "withouten --," without ceasing. blow, puff up. blue, colour of servants' livery, hence "-order," "-waiters." blushet, blushing one. bob, jest, taunt. bob, beat, thump. bodge, measure. bodkin, dagger, or other short, pointed weapon; long pin with which the women fastened up their hair. bolt, roll (of material). bolt, dislodge, rout out; sift (boulting-tub). bolt's-head, long, straight-necked vessel for distillation. bombard slops, padded, puffed-out breeches. bona roba, "good, wholesome, plum-cheeked wench" (johnson) -not always used in compliment. bonny-clabber, sour butter-milk. bookholder, prompter. boot, "to --," into the bargain; "no --," of no avail. borachio, bottle made of skin. bordello, brothel. borne it, conducted, carried it through. bottle (of hay), bundle, truss. bottom, skein or ball of thread; vessel. bourd, jest. bovoli, snails or cockles dressed in the italian manner (gifford). bow-pot, flower vase or pot. boys, "terrible --," "angry --," roystering young bucks. (see nares). brabbles (brabblesh), brawls. brach, bitch. bradamante, a heroine in "orlando furioso." bradley, arthur of, a lively character commemorated in ballads. brake, frame for confining a horse's feet while being shod, or strong curb or bridle; trap. branched, with "detached sleeve ornaments, projecting from the shoulders of the gown" (gifford). brandish, flourish of weapon. brash, brace. brave, bravado, braggart speech. brave (adv.), gaily, finely (apparelled). braveries, gallants. bravery, extravagant gaiety of apparel. bravo, bravado, swaggerer. brazen-head, speaking head made by roger bacon. breathe, pause for relaxation; exercise. breath upon, speak dispraisingly of. brend, burn. bride-ale, wedding feast. brief, abstract; (mus.) breve. brisk, smartly dressed. brize, breese, gadfly. broad-seal, state seal. brock, badger (term of contempt). broke, transact business as a broker. brook, endure, put up with. broughton, hugh, an english divine and hebrew scholar. bruit, rumour. buck, wash. buckle, bend. buff, leather made of buffalo skin, used for military and serjeants' coats, etc. bufo, black tincture. bugle, long-shaped bead. bulled, (?) bolled, swelled. bullions, trunk hose. bully, term of familiar endearment. bungy, friar bungay, who had a familiar in the shape of a dog. burden, refrain, chorus. burgonet, closely-fitting helmet with visor. burgullion, braggadocio. burn, mark wooden measures ("--ing of cans"). burrough, pledge, security. buskin, half-boot, foot gear reaching high up the leg. butt-shaft, barbless arrow for shooting at butts. butter, nathaniel ("staple of news"), a compiler of general news. (see cunningham). buttery-hatch, half-door shutting off the buttery, where provisions and liquors were stored. buy, "he bought me," formerly the guardianship of wards could be bought. buz, exclamation to enjoin silence. buzzard, simpleton. by and by, at once. by(e), "on the __," incidentally, as of minor or secondary importance; at the side. by-chop, by-blow, bastard. caduceus, mercury's wand. caliver, light kind of musket. callet, woman of ill repute. callot, coif worn on the wigs of our judges or serjeants-at-law (gifford). calvered, crimped, or sliced and pickled. (see nares). camouccio, wretch, knave. camused, flat. can, knows. candle-rent, rent from house property. candle-waster, one who studies late. canter, sturdy beggar. cap of maintence, an insignia of dignity, a cap of state borne before kings at their coronation; also an heraldic term. capable, able to comprehend, fit to receive instruction, impression. capaneus, one of the "seven against thebes." caract, carat, unit of weight for precious stones, etc.; value, worth. caranza, spanish author of a book on duelling. carcanet, jewelled ornament for the neck. care, take care; object. carosh, coach, carriage. carpet, table-cover. carriage, bearing, behaviour. carwhitchet, quip, pun. casamate, casemate, fortress. case, a pair. case, "in --," in condition. cassock, soldier's loose overcoat. cast, flight of hawks, couple. cast, throw dice; vomit; forecast, calculate. cast, cashiered. casting-glass, bottle for sprinkling perfume. castril, kestrel, falcon. cat, structure used in sieges. catamite, old form of "ganymede." catastrophe, conclusion. catchpole, sheriff's officer. cates, dainties, provisions. catso, rogue, cheat. cautelous, crafty, artful. censure, criticism; sentence. censure, criticise; pass sentence, doom. ceruse, cosmetic containing white lead. cess, assess. change, "hunt --," follow a fresh scent. chapman, retail dealer. character, handwriting. charge, expense. charm, subdue with magic, lay a spell on, silence. charming, exercising magic power. chartel, challenge. cheap, bargain, market. chear, cheer, comfort, encouragement; food, entertainment. check at, aim reproof at. chequin, gold italian coin. chevril, from kidskin, which is elastic and pliable. chiaus, turkish envoy; used for a cheat, swindler. childermass day, innocents' day. choke-bail, action which does not allow of bail. chrysopoeia, alchemy. chrysosperm, ways of producing gold. cibation, adding fresh substances to supply the waste of evaporation. cimici, bugs. cinoper, cinnabar. cioppini, chopine, lady's high shoe. circling boy, "a species of roarer; one who in some way drew a man into a snare, to cheat or rob him" (nares). circumstance, circumlocution, beating about the bush; ceremony, everything pertaining to a certain condition; detail, particular. citronise, turn citron colour. cittern, kind of guitar. city-wires, woman of fashion, who made use of wires for hair and dress. civil, legal. clap, clack, chatter. clapper-dudgeon, downright beggar. claps his dish, a clap, or clack, dish (dish with a movable lid) was carried by beggars and lepers to show that the vessel was empty, and to give sound of their approach. claridiana, heroine of an old romance. clarissimo, venetian noble. clem, starve. clicket, latch. clim o' the cloughs, etc., wordy heroes of romance. climate, country. close, secret, private; secretive. closeness, secrecy. cloth, arras, hangings. clout, mark shot at, bull's eye. clown, countryman, clodhopper. coach-leaves, folding blinds. coals, "bear no --," submit to no affront. coat-armour, coat of arms. coat-card, court-card. cob-herring, herring-cob, a young herring. cob-swan, male swan. cock-a-hoop, denoting unstinted jollity; thought to be derived from turning on the tap that all might drink to the full of the flowing liquor. cockatrice, reptile supposed to be produced from a cock's egg and to kill by its eye -used as a term of reproach for a woman. cock-brained, giddy, wild. cocker, pamper. cockscomb, fool's cap. cockstone, stone said to be found in a cock's gizzard, and to possess particular virtues. codling, softening by boiling. coffin, raised crust of a pie. cog, cheat, wheedle. coil, turmoil, confusion, ado. cokely, master of a puppet-show (whalley). cokes, fool, gull. cold-conceited, having cold opinion of, coldly affected towards. cole-harbour, a retreat for people of all sorts. collection, composure; deduction. collop, small slice, piece of flesh. colly, blacken. colour, pretext. colours, "fear no --," no enemy (quibble). colstaff, cowlstaff, pole for carrying a cowl=tub. come about, charge, turn round. comfortable bread, spiced gingerbread. coming, forward, ready to respond, complaisant. comment, commentary; "sometime it is taken for a lie or fayned tale" (bullokar, 1616). commodity, "current for --," allusion to practice of money-lenders, who forced the borrower to take part of the loan in the shape of worthless goods on which the latter had to make money if he could. communicate, share. compass, "in --," within the range, sphere. complement, completion, completement; anything required for the perfecting or carrying out of a person or affair; accomplishment. complexion, natural disposition, constitution. compliment, see complement. complimentaries, masters of accomplishments. composition, constitution; agreement, contract. composure, composition. compter, counter, debtors' prison. concealment, a certain amount of church property had been retained at the dissolution of the monasteries; elizabeth sent commissioners to search it out, and the courtiers begged for it. conceit, idea, fancy, witty invention, conception, opinion. conceit, apprehend. conceited, fancifully, ingeniously devised or conceived; possessed of intelligence, witty, ingenious (hence well conceited, etc.); disposed to joke; of opinion, possessed of an idea. conceive, understand. concent, harmony, agreement. conclude, infer, prove. concoct, assimilate, digest. conden't, probably conducted. conduct, escort, conductor. coney-catch, cheat. confect, sweetmeat. confer, compare. congies, bows. connive, give a look, wink, of secret intelligence. consort, company, concert. constancy, fidelity, ardour, persistence. constant, confirmed, persistent, faithful. constantly, firmly, persistently. contend, strive. continent, holding together. control (the point), bear or beat down. convent, assembly, meeting. convert, turn (oneself). convey, transmit from one to another. convince, evince, prove; overcome, overpower; convict. cop, head, top; tuft on head of birds; "a cop" may have reference to one or other meaning; gifford and others interpret as "conical, terminating in a point." cope-man, chapman. copesmate, companion. copy (lat. copia), abundance, copiousness. corn ("powder --"), grain. corollary, finishing part or touch. corsive, corrosive. cortine, curtain, (arch.) wall between two towers, etc. coryat, famous for his travels, published as "coryat's crudities." cosset, pet lamb, pet. costard, head. costard-monger, apple-seller, coster-monger. costs, ribs. cote, hut. cothurnal, from "cothurnus," a particular boot worn by actors in greek tragedy. cotquean, hussy. counsel, secret. countenance, means necessary for support; credit, standing. counter. see compter. counter, pieces of metal or ivory for calculating at play. counter, "hunt --," follow scent in reverse direction. counterfeit, false coin. counterpane, one part or counterpart of a deed or indenture. counterpoint, opposite, contrary point. court-dish, a kind of drinking-cup (halliwell); n.e.d. quotes from bp. goodman's "court of james i.": "the king...caused his carver to cut him out a court-dish, that is, something of every dish, which he sent him as part of his reversion," but this does not sound like short allowance or small receptacle. court-dor, fool. courteau, curtal, small horse with docked tail. courtship, courtliness. covetise, avarice. cowshard, cow dung. coxcomb, fool's cap, fool. coy, shrink; disdain. coystrel, low varlet. cozen, cheat. crack, lively young rogue, wag. crack, crack up, boast; come to grief. crambe, game of crambo, in which the players find rhymes for a given word. cranch, craunch. cranion, spider-like; also fairy appellation for a fly (gifford, who refers to lines in drayton's "nimphidia"). crimp, game at cards. crincle, draw back, turn aside. crisped, with curled or waved hair. crop, gather, reap. cropshire, a kind of herring. (see n.e.d.) cross, any piece of money, many coins being stamped with a cross. cross and pile, heads and tails. crosslet, crucible. crowd, fiddle. crudities, undigested matter. crump, curl up. crusado, portuguese gold coin, marked with a cross. cry ("he that cried italian"), "speak in a musical cadence," intone, or declaim (?); cry up. cucking-stool, used for the ducking of scolds, etc. cucurbite, a gourd-shaped vessel used for distillation. cuerpo, "in --," in undress. cullice, broth. cullion, base fellow, coward. cullisen, badge worn on their arm by servants. culverin, kind of cannon. cunning, skill. cunning, skilful. cunning-man, fortune-teller. cure, care for. curious(ly), scrupulous, particular; elaborate, elegant(ly), dainty(ly) (hence "in curious"). curst, shrewish, mischievous. curtal, dog with docked tail, of inferior sort. custard, "quaking --," " -politic," reference to a large custard which formed part of a city feast and afforded huge entertainment, for the fool jumped into it, and other like tricks were played. (see "all's well, etc." ii. 5, 40.) cutwork, embroidery, open-work. cypres (cyprus) (quibble), cypress (or cyprus) being a transparent material, and when black used for mourning. dagger (" -frumety"), name of tavern. dargison, apparently some person known in ballad or tale. dauphin my boy, refrain of old comic song. daw, daunt. dead lift, desperate emergency. dear, applied to that which in any way touches us nearly. decline, turn off from; turn away, aside. defalk, deduct, abate. defend, forbid. degenerous, degenerate. degrees, steps. delate, accuse. demi-culverin, cannon carrying a ball of about ten pounds. denier, the smallest possible coin, being the twelfth part of a sou. depart, part with. dependance, ground of quarrel in duello language. desert, reward. designment, design. desperate, rash, reckless. detect, allow to be detected, betray, inform against. determine, terminate. detract, draw back, refuse. device, masque, show; a thing moved by wires, etc., puppet. devise, exact in every particular. devised, invented. diapasm, powdered aromatic herbs, made into balls of perfumed paste. (see pomander.) dibble, (?) moustache (n.e.d.); (?) dagger (cunningham). diffused, disordered, scattered, irregular. dight, dressed. dildo, refrain of popular songs; vague term of low meaning. dimble, dingle, ravine. dimensum, stated allowance. disbase, debase. discern, distinguish, show a difference between. discharge, settle for. discipline, reformation; ecclesiastical system. disclaim, renounce all part in. discourse, process of reasoning, reasoning faculty. discourtship, discourtesy. discover, betray, reveal; display. disfavour, disfigure. disparagement, legal term applied to the unfitness in any way of a marriage arranged for in the case of wards. dispense with, grant dispensation for. display, extend. dis'ple, discipline, teach by the whip. disposed, inclined to merriment. disposure, disposal. disprise, depreciate. dispunct, not punctilious. disquisition, search. dissolved, enervated by grief. distance, (?) proper measure. distaste, offence, cause of offence. distaste, render distasteful. distempered, upset, out of humour. division (mus.), variation, modulation. dog-bolt, term of contempt. dole, given in dole, charity. dole of faces, distribution of grimaces. doom, verdict, sentence. dop, dip, low bow. dor, beetle, buzzing insect, drone, idler. dor, (?) buzz; "give the --," make a fool of. dosser, pannier, basket. dotes, endowments, qualities. dotterel, plover; gull, fool. double, behave deceitfully. doxy, wench, mistress. drachm, greek silver coin. dress, groom, curry. dressing, coiffure. drift, intention. dryfoot, track by mere scent of foot. ducking, punishment for minor offences. duill, grieve. dumps, melancholy, originally a mournful melody. durindana, orlando's sword. dwindle, shrink away, be overawed. ean, yean, bring forth young. easiness, readiness. ebolition, ebullition. edge, sword. eech, eke. egregious, eminently excellent. eke, also, moreover. e-la, highest note in the scale. eggs on the spit, important business on hand. elf-lock, tangled hair, supposed to be the work of elves. emmet, ant. engage, involve. enghle. see ingle. enghle, cajole; fondle. engin(e), device, contrivance; agent; ingenuity, wit. enginer, engineer, deviser, plotter. enginous, crafty, full of devices; witty, ingenious. engross, monopolise. ens, an existing thing, a substance. ensigns, tokens, wounds. ensure, assure. entertain, take into service. entreat, plead. entreaty, entertainment. entry, place where a deer has lately passed. envoy, denouement, conclusion. envy, spite, calumny, dislike, odium. ephemerides, calendars. equal, just, impartial. erection, elevation in esteem. eringo, candied root of the sea-holly, formerly used as a sweetmeat and aphrodisiac. errant, arrant. essentiate, become assimilated. estimation, esteem. estrich, ostrich. ethnic, heathen. euripus, flux and reflux. even, just equable. event, fate, issue. event(ed), issue(d). evert, overturn. exacuate, sharpen. exampless, without example or parallel. excalibur, king arthur's sword. exemplify, make an example of. exempt, separate, exclude. exequies, obsequies. exhale, drag out. exhibition, allowance for keep, pocket-money. exorbitant, exceeding limits of propriety or law, inordinate. exornation, ornament. expect, wait. expiate, terminate. explicate, explain, unfold. extemporal, extempore, unpremeditated. extraction, essence. extraordinary, employed for a special or temporary purpose. extrude, expel. eye, "in --," in view. eyebright, (?) a malt liquor in which the herb of this name was infused, or a person who sold the same (gifford). eye-tinge, least shade or gleam. face, appearance. faces about, military word of command. facinorous, extremely wicked. fackings, faith. fact, deed, act, crime. factious, seditious, belonging to a party, given to party feeling. faeces, dregs. fagioli, french beans. fain, forced, necessitated. faithful, believing. fall, ruff or band turned back on the shoulders; or, veil. falsify, feign (fencing term). fame, report. familiar, attendant spirit. fantastical, capricious, whimsical. farce, stuff. far-fet. see fet. farthingal, hooped petticoat. faucet, tapster. fault, lack; loss, break in line of scent; "for --," in default of. fautor, partisan. fayles, old table game similar to backgammon. fear(ed), affright(ed). feat, activity, operation; deed, action. feat, elegant, trim. fee, "in --" by feudal obligation. feize, beat, belabour. fellow, term of contempt. fennel, emblem of flattery. fere, companion, fellow. fern-seed, supposed to have power of rendering invisible. fet, fetched. fetch, trick. feuterer (fr. vautrier), dog-keeper. fewmets, dung. fico, fig. figgum, (?) jugglery. figment, fiction, invention. firk, frisk, move suddenly, or in jerks; "-up," stir up, rouse; "firks mad," suddenly behaves like a madman. fit, pay one out, punish. fitness, readiness. fitton (fitten), lie, invention. five-and-fifty, "highest number to stand on at primero" (gifford). flag, to fly low and waveringly. flagon chain, for hanging a smelling-bottle (fr. flacon) round the neck (?). (see n.e.d.). flap-dragon, game similar to snap-dragon. flasket, some kind of basket. flaw, sudden gust or squall of wind. flawn, custard. flea, catch fleas. fleer, sneer, laugh derisively. flesh, feed a hawk or dog with flesh to incite it to the chase; initiate in blood-shed; satiate. flicker-mouse, bat. flight, light arrow. flitter-mouse, bat. flout, mock, speak and act contemptuously. flowers, pulverised substance. fly, familiar spirit. foil, weapon used in fencing; that which sets anything off to advantage. foist, cut-purse, sharper. fond(ly), foolish(ly). foot-cloth, housings of ornamental cloth which hung down on either side a horse to the ground. footing, foothold; footstep; dancing. foppery, foolery. for, "-failing," for fear of failing. forbear, bear with; abstain from. force, "hunt at --," run the game down with dogs. forehead, modesty; face, assurance, effrontery. foreslow, delay. forespeak, bewitch; foretell. foretop, front lock of hair which fashion required to be worn upright. forged, fabricated. form, state formally. formal, shapely; normal; conventional. forthcoming, produced when required. founder, disable with over-riding. fourm, form, lair. fox, sword. frail, rush basket in which figs or raisins were packed. frampull, peevish, sour-tempered. frapler, blusterer, wrangler. fraying, "a stag is said to fray his head when he rubs it against a tree to...cause the outward coat of the new horns to fall off" (gifford). freight (of the gazetti), burden (of the newspapers). frequent, full. fricace, rubbing. fricatrice, woman of low character. frippery, old clothes shop. frock, smock-frock. frolics, (?) humorous verses circulated at a feast (n.e.d.); couplets wrapped round sweetmeats (cunningham). frontless, shameless. froted, rubbed. frumety, hulled wheat boiled in milk and spiced. frump, flout, sneer. fucus, dye. fugeand, (?) figent: fidgety, restless (n.e.d.). fullam, false dice. fulmart, polecat. fulsome, foul, offensive. furibund, raging, furious. galley-foist, city-barge, used on lord mayor's day, when he was sworn into his office at westminster (whalley). galliard, lively dance in triple time. gape, be eager after. garagantua, rabelais' giant. garb, sheaf (fr. gerbe); manner, fashion, behaviour. gard, guard, trimming, gold or silver lace, or other ornament. garded, faced or trimmed. garnish, fee. gavel-kind, name of a land-tenure existing chiefly in kent; from 16th century often used to denote custom of dividing a deceased man's property equally among his sons (n.e.d.). gazette, small venetian coin worth about three-farthings. geance, jaunt, errand. gear (geer), stuff, matter, affair. gelid, frozen. gemonies, steps from which the bodies of criminals were thrown into the river. general, free, affable. genius, attendant spirit. gentry, gentlemen; manners characteristic of gentry, good breeding. gib-cat, tom-cat. gigantomachize, start a giants' war. giglot, wanton. gimblet, gimlet. ging, gang. glass ("taking in of shadows, etc."), crystal or beryl. gleek, card game played by three; party of three, trio; side glance. glick (gleek), jest, gibe. glidder, glaze. gloriously, of vain glory. godwit, bird of the snipe family. gold-end-man, a buyer of broken gold and silver. goll, hand. gonfalionier, standard-bearer, chief magistrate, etc. good, sound in credit. good-year, good luck. goose-turd, colour of. (see turd). gorcrow, carrion crow. gorget, neck armour. gossip, godfather. gowked, from "gowk," to stand staring and gaping like a fool. grannam, grandam. grass, (?) grease, fat. grateful, agreeable, welcome. gratify, give thanks to. gratitude, gratuity. gratulate, welcome, congratulate. gravity, dignity. gray, badger. grice, cub. grief, grievance. gripe, vulture, griffin. gripe's egg, vessel in shape of. groat, fourpence. grogran, coarse stuff made of silk and mohair, or of coarse silk. groom-porter, officer in the royal household. grope, handle, probe. ground, pit (hence "grounded judgments"). guard, caution, heed. guardant, heraldic term: turning the head only. guilder, dutch coin worth about 4d. gules, gullet, throat; heraldic term for red. gull, simpleton, dupe. gust, taste. hab nab, by, on, chance. habergeon, coat of mail. haggard, wild female hawk; hence coy, wild. halberd, combination of lance and battle-axe. hall, "a --!" a cry to clear the room for the dancers. handsel, first money taken. hanger, loop or strap on a sword-belt from which the sword was suspended. hap, fortune, luck. happily, haply. happiness, appropriateness, fitness. happy, rich. harbour, track, trace (an animal) to its shelter. hard-favoured, harsh-featured. harpocrates, horus the child, son of osiris, figured with a finger pointing to his mouth, indicative of silence. harrington, a patent was granted to lord h. for the coinage of tokens (q.v.). harrot, herald. harry nicholas, founder of a community called the "family of love." hay, net for catching rabbits, etc. hay! (ital. hai!), you have it (a fencing term). hay in his horn, ill-tempered person. hazard, game at dice; that which is staked. head, "first --," young deer with antlers first sprouting; fig. a newly-ennobled man. headborough, constable. hearken after, inquire; "hearken out," find, search out. hearten, encourage. heaven and hell ("alchemist"), names of taverns. hectic, fever. hedge in, include. helm, upper part of a retort. her'nsew, hernshaw, heron. hieronimo (jeronimo), hero of kyd's "spanish tragedy." hobby, nag. hobby-horse, imitation horse of some light material, fastened round the waist of the morrice-dancer, who imitated the movements of a skittish horse. hoddy-doddy, fool. hoiden, hoyden, formerly applied to both sexes (ancient term for leveret? gifford). holland, name of two famous chemists. hone and honero, wailing expressions of lament or discontent. hood-wink'd, blindfolded. horary, hourly. horn-mad, stark mad (quibble). horn-thumb, cut-purses were in the habit of wearing a horn shield on the thumb. horse-bread-eating, horses were often fed on coarse bread. horse-courser, horse-dealer. hospital, christ's hospital. howleglas, eulenspiegel, the hero of a popular german tale which relates his buffooneries and knavish tricks. huff, hectoring, arrogance. huff it, swagger. huisher (fr. huissier), usher. hum, beer and spirits mixed together. humanitian, humanist, scholar. humorous, capricious, moody, out of humour; moist. humour, a word used in and out of season in the time of shakespeare and ben jonson, and ridiculed by both. humours, manners. humphrey, duke, those who were dinnerless spent the dinner-hour in a part of st. paul's where stood a monument said to be that of the duke's; hence "dine with duke humphrey," to go hungry. hurtless, harmless. idle, useless, unprofitable. ill-affected, ill-disposed. ill-habited, unhealthy. illustrate, illuminate. imbibition, saturation, steeping. imbrocata, fencing term: a thrust in tierce. impair, impairment. impart, give money. imparter, any one ready to be cheated and to part with his money. impeach, damage. impertinencies, irrelevancies. impertinent(ly), irrelevant(ly), without reason or purpose. imposition, duty imposed by. impotently, beyond power of control. impress, money in advance. impulsion, incitement. in and in, a game played by two or three persons with four dice. incense, incite, stir up. inceration, act of covering with wax; or reducing a substance to softness of wax. inch, "to their --es," according to their stature, capabilities. inch-pin, sweet-bread. inconvenience, inconsistency, absurdity. incony, delicate, rare (used as a term of affection). incubee, incubus. incubus, evil spirit that oppresses us in sleep, nightmare. incurious, unfastidious, uncritical. indent, enter into engagement. indifferent, tolerable, passable. indigested, shapeless, chaotic. induce, introduce. indue, supply. inexorable, relentless. infanted, born, produced. inflame, augment charge. ingenious, used indiscriminantly for ingenuous; intelligent, talented. ingenuity, ingenuousness. ingenuous, generous. ingine. see engin. inginer, engineer. (see enginer). ingle, or enghle, bosom friend, intimate, minion. inhabitable, uninhabitable. injury, insult, affront. in-mate, resident, indwelling. innate, natural. innocent, simpleton. inquest, jury, or other official body of inquiry. inquisition, inquiry. instant, immediate. instrument, legal document. insure, assure. integrate, complete, perfect. intelligence, secret information, news. intend, note carefully, attend, give ear to, be occupied with. intendment, intention. intent, intention, wish. intention, concentration of attention or gaze. intentive, attentive. interessed, implicated. intrude, bring in forcibly or without leave. invincibly, invisibly. inward, intimate. irpe (uncertain), "a fantastic grimace, or contortion of the body: (gifford). jack, jack o' the clock, automaton figure that strikes the hour; jack-a-lent, puppet thrown at in lent. jack, key of a virginal. jacob's staff, an instrument for taking altitudes and distances. jade, befool. jealousy, jealous, suspicion, suspicious. jerking, lashing. jew's trump, jew's harp. jig, merry ballad or tune; a fanciful dialogue or light comic act introduced at the end or during an interlude of a play. joined (joint)-stool, folding stool. joll, jowl. jolthead, blockhead. jump, agree, tally. just year, no one was capable of the consulship until he was forty-three. kell, cocoon. kelly, an alchemist. kemb, comb. kemia, vessel for distillation. kibe, chap, sore. kilderkin, small barrel. kill, kiln. kind, nature; species; "do one's --," act according to one's nature. kirtle, woman's gown of jacket and petticoat. kiss or drink afore me, "this is a familiar expression, employed when what the speaker is just about to say is anticipated by another" (gifford). kit, fiddle. knack, snap, click. knipper-doling, a well-known anabaptist. knitting cup, marriage cup. knocking, striking, weighty. knot, company, band; a sandpiper or robin snipe (tringa canutus); flower-bed laid out in fanciful design. kursined, kyrsin, christened. laboured, wrought with labour and care. lade, load(ed). lading, load. laid, plotted. lance-knight (lanzknecht), a german mercenary foot-soldier. lap, fold. lar, household god. lard, garnish. large, abundant. larum, alarum, call to arms. lattice, tavern windows were furnished with lattices of various colours. launder, to wash gold in aqua regia, so as imperceptibly to extract some of it. lave, ladle, bale. law, "give --," give a start (term of chase). laxative, loose. lay aboard, run alongside generally with intent to board. leaguer, siege, or camp of besieging army. leasing, lying. leave, leave off, desist. leer, leering or "empty, hence, perhaps, leer horse, a horse without a rider; leer is an adjective meaning uncontrolled, hence 'leer drunkards'" (halliwell); according to nares, a leer (empty) horse meant also a led horse; leeward, left. leese, lose. legs, "make --," do obeisance. leiger, resident representative. leigerity, legerdemain. lemma, subject proposed, or title of the epigram. lenter, slower. let, hinder. let, hindrance. level coil, a rough game...in which one hunted another from his seat. hence used for any noisy riot (halliwell). lewd, ignorant. leystalls, receptacles of filth. liberal, ample. lieger, ledger, register. lift(ing), steal(ing); theft. light, alight. lightly, commonly, usually, often. like, please. likely, agreeable, pleasing. lime-hound, leash-, blood-hound. limmer, vile, worthless. lin, leave off. line, "by --," by rule. linstock, staff to stick in the ground, with forked head to hold a lighted match for firing cannon. liquid, clear. list, listen, hark; like, please. livery, legal term, delivery of the possession, etc. logget, small log, stick. loose, solution; upshot, issue; release of an arrow. lose, give over, desist from; waste. louting, bowing, cringing. luculent, bright of beauty. ludgathians, dealers on ludgate hill. lurch, rob, cheat. lute, to close a vessel with some kind of cement. mack, unmeaning expletive. madge-howlet or owl, barn-owl. maim, hurt, injury. main, chief concern (used as a quibble on heraldic term for "hand"). mainprise, becoming surety for a prisoner so as to procure his release. maintenance, giving aid, or abetting. make, mate. make, made, acquaint with business, prepare(d), instruct(ed). mallanders, disease of horses. malt horse, dray horse. mammet, puppet. mammothrept, spoiled child. manage, control (term used for breaking-in horses); handling, administration. mango, slave-dealer. mangonise, polish up for sale. maniples, bundles, handfuls. mankind, masculine, like a virago. mankind, humanity. maple face, spotted face (n.e.d.). marchpane, a confection of almonds, sugar, etc. mark, "fly to the --," "generally said of a goshawk when, having 'put in' a covey of partridges, she takes stand, marking the spot where they disappeared from view until the falconer arrives to put them out to her" (harting, bibl. accip. gloss. 226). marle, marvel. marrow-bone man, one often on his knees for prayer. marry! exclamation derived from the virgin's name. marry gip, "probably originated from by mary gipcy = st. mary of egypt, (n.e.d.). martagan, turk's cap lily. maryhinchco, stringhalt. masoreth, masora, correct form of the scriptural text according to hebrew tradition. mass, abb. for master. maund, beg. mauther, girl, maid. mean, moderation. measure, dance, more especially a stately one. meat, "carry -in one's mouth," be a source of money or entertainment. meath, metheglin. mechanical, belonging to mechanics, mean, vulgar. mediterraneo, middle aisle of st. paul's, a general resort for business and amusement. meet with, even with. melicotton, a late kind of peach. menstrue, solvent. mercat, market. merd, excrement. mere, undiluted; absolute, unmitigated. mess, party of four. metheglin, fermented liquor, of which one ingredient was honey. metoposcopy, study of physiognomy. middling gossip, go-between. migniard, dainty, delicate. mile-end, training-ground of the city. mine-men, sappers. minion, form of cannon. minsitive, (?) mincing, affected (n.e.d.). miscellany madam, "a female trader in miscellaneous articles; a dealer in trinkets or ornaments of various kinds, such as kept shops in the new exchange" (nares). miscelline, mixed grain; medley. misconceit, misconception. misprise, misprision, mistake, misunderstanding. mistake away, carry away as if by mistake. mithridate, an antidote against poison. moccinigo, small venetian coin, worth about ninepence. modern, in the mode; ordinary, commonplace. moment, force or influence of value. montanto, upward stroke. month's mind, violent desire. moorish, like a moor or waste. morglay, sword of bevis of southampton. morrice-dance, dance on may day, etc., in which certain personages were represented. mortality, death. mort-mal, old sore, gangrene. moscadino, confection flavoured with musk. mother, hysterica passio. motion, proposal, request; puppet, puppet-show; "one of the small figures on the face of a large clock which was moved by the vibration of the pendulum" (whalley). motion, suggest, propose. motley, parti-coloured dress of a fool; hence used to signify pertaining to, or like, a fool. motte, motto. mournival, set of four aces or court cards in a hand; a quartette. mow, setord hay or sheaves of grain. much! expressive of irony and incredulity. muckinder, handkerchief. mule, "born to ride on --," judges or serjeants-at-law formerly rode on mules when going in state to westminster (whally). mullets, small pincers. mum-chance, game of chance, played in silence. mun, must. murey, dark crimson red. muscovy-glass, mica. muse, wonder. musical, in harmony. muss, mouse; scramble. myrobolane, foreign conserve, "a dried plum, brought from the indies." mystery, art, trade, profession. nail, "to the --" (ad unguem), to perfection, to the very utmost. native, natural. neat, cattle. neat, smartly apparelled; unmixed; dainty. neatly, neatly finished. neatness, elegance. neis, nose, scent. neuf (neaf, neif), fist. neuft, newt. niaise, foolish, inexperienced person. nice, fastidious, trivial, finical, scrupulous. niceness, fastidiousness. nick, exact amount; right moment; "set in the --," meaning uncertain. nice, suit, fit; hit, seize the right moment, etc., exactly hit on, hit off. noble, gold coin worth 6s. 8d. nocent, harmful. nil, not will. noise, company of musicians. nomentack, an indian chief from virginia. nones, nonce. notable, egregious. note, sign, token. nought, "be --," go to the devil, be hanged, etc. nowt-head, blockhead. number, rhythm. nupson, oaf, simpleton. oade, woad. obarni, preparation of mead. object, oppose; expose; interpose. oblatrant, barking, railing. obnoxious, liable, exposed; offensive. observance, homage, devoted service. observant, attentive, obsequious. observe, show deference, respect. observer, one who shows deference, or waits upon another. obstancy, legal phrase, "juridical opposition." obstreperous, clamorous, vociferous. obstupefact, stupefied. odling, (?) "must have some relation to tricking and cheating" (nares). ominous, deadly, fatal. once, at once; for good and all; used also for additional emphasis. only, pre-eminent, special. open, make public; expound. oppilation, obstruction. oppone, oppose. opposite, antagonist. oppress, suppress. originous, native. ort, remnant, scrap. out, "to be --," to have forgotten one's part; not at one with each other. outcry, sale by auction. outrecuidance, arrogance, presumption. outspeak, speak more than. overparted, given too difficult a part to play. owlspiegel. see howleglass. oyez! (o yes!), hear ye! call of the public crier when about to make a proclamation. packing penny, "give a --," dismiss, send packing. pad, highway. pad-horse, road-horse. pained (paned) slops, full breeches made of strips of different colour and material. painful, diligent, painstaking. paint, blush. palinode, ode of recantation. pall, weaken, dim, make stale. palm, triumph. pan, skirt of dress or coat. pannel, pad, or rough kind of saddle. pannier-ally, inhabited by tripe-sellers. pannier-man, hawker; a man employed about the inns of court to bring in provisions, set the table, etc. pantofle, indoor shoe, slipper. paramentos, fine trappings. paranomasie, a play upon words. parantory, (?) peremptory. parcel, particle, fragment (used contemptuously); article. parcel, part, partly. parcel-poet, poetaster. parerga, subordinate matters. parget, to paint or plaster the face. parle, parley. parlous, clever, shrewd. part, apportion. partake, participate in. parted, endowed, talented. particular, individual person. partizan, kind of halberd. partrich, partridge. parts, qualities, endowments. pash, dash, smash. pass, care, trouble oneself. passado, fencing term: a thrust. passage, game at dice. passingly, exceedingly. passion, effect caused by external agency. passion, "in --," in so melancholy a tone, so pathetically. patoun, (?) fr. paton, pellet of dough; perhaps the "moulding of the tobacco...for the pipe" (gifford); (?) variant of petun, south american name of tobacco. patrico, the recorder, priest, orator of strolling beggars or gipsies. patten, shoe with wooden sole; "go --," keep step with, accompany. pauca verba, few words. pavin, a stately dance. peace, "with my master's --," by leave, favour. peculiar, individual, single. pedant, teacher of the languages. peel, baker's shovel. peep, speak in a small or shrill voice. peevish(ly), foolish(ly), capricious(ly); childish(ly). pelican, a retort fitted with tube or tubes, for continuous distillation. pencil, small tuft of hair. perdue, soldier accustomed to hazardous service. peremptory, resolute, bold; imperious; thorough, utter, absolute(ly). perimeter, circumference of a figure. period, limit, end. perk, perk up. perpetuana, "this seems to be that glossy kind of stuff now called everlasting, and anciently worn by serjeants and other city officers" (gifford). perspective, a view, scene or scenery; an optical device which gave a distortion to the picture unless seen from a particular point; a relief, modelled to produce an optical illusion. perspicil, optic glass. perstringe, criticise, censure. persuade, inculcate, commend. persway, mitigate. pertinacy, pertinacity. pestling, pounding, pulverising, like a pestle. petasus, broad-brimmed hat or winged cap worn by mercury. petitionary, supplicatory. petronel, a kind of carbine or light gun carried by horsemen. petulant, pert, insolent. phere. see fere. phlegma, watery distilled liquor (old chem. "water"). phrenetic, madman. picardil, stiff upright collar fastened on to the coat (whalley). pict-hatch, disreputable quarter of london. piece, person, used for woman or girl; a gold coin worth in jonson's time 20s. or 22s. pieces of eight, spanish coin: piastre equal to eight reals. pied, variegated. pie-poudres (fr. pied-poudreux, dusty-foot), court held at fairs to administer justice to itinerant vendors and buyers. pilcher, term of contempt; one who wore a buff or leather jerkin, as did the serjeants of the counter; a pilferer. piled, pilled, peeled, bald. pill'd, polled, fleeced. pimlico, "sometimes spoken of as a person -perhaps master of a house famous for a particular ale" (gifford). pine, afflict, distress. pink, stab with a weapon; pierce or cut in scallops for ornament. pinnace, a go-between in infamous sense. pismire, ant. pistolet, gold coin, worth about 6s. pitch, height of a bird of prey's flight. plague, punishment, torment. plain, lament. plain song, simple melody. plaise, plaice. planet, "struck with a --," planets were supposed to have powers of blasting or exercising secret influences. plausible, pleasing. plausibly, approvingly. plot, plan. ply, apply oneself to. poesie, posy, motto inside a ring. point in his device, exact in every particular. points, tagged laces or cords for fastening the breeches to the doublet. point-trusser, one who trussed (tied) his master's points (q.v.). poise, weigh, balance. poking-stick, stick used for setting the plaits of ruffs. politic, politician. politic, judicious, prudent, political. politician, plotter, intriguer. poll, strip, plunder, gain by extortion. pomander, ball of perfume, worn or hung about the person to prevent infection, or for foppery. pommado, vaulting on a horse without the aid of stirrups. pontic, sour. popular, vulgar, of the populace. populous, numerous. port, gate; print of a deer's foot. port, transport. portague, portuguese gold coin, worth over 3 or 4 pounds. portcullis, "-of coin," some old coins have a portcullis stamped on their reverse (whalley). portent, marvel, prodigy; sinister omen. portentous, prophesying evil, threatening. porter, references appear "to allude to parsons, the king's porter, who was...near seven feet high" (whalley). possess, inform, acquaint. post and pair, a game at cards. posy, motto. (see poesie). potch, poach. poult-foot, club-foot. pounce, claw, talon. practice, intrigue, concerted plot. practise, plot, conspire. pragmatic, an expert, agent. pragmatic, officious, conceited, meddling. precedent, record of proceedings. precept, warrant, summons. precisian(ism), puritan(ism), preciseness. prefer, recommend. presence, presence chamber. present(ly), immediate(ly), without delay; at the present time; actually. press, force into service. prest, ready. pretend, assert, allege. prevent, anticipate. price, worth, excellence. prick, point, dot used in the writing of hebrew and other languages. prick, prick out, mark off, select; trace, track; "-away," make off with speed. primero, game of cards. princox, pert boy. print, "in --," to the letter, exactly. pristinate, former. private, private interests. private, privy, intimate. proclive, prone to. prodigious, monstrous, unnatural. prodigy, monster. produced, prolonged. profess, pretend. projection, the throwing of the "powder of projection" into the crucible to turn the melted metal into gold or silver. prolate, pronounce drawlingly. proper, of good appearance, handsome; own, particular. properties, stage necessaries. property, duty; tool. prorumped, burst out. protest, vow, proclaim (an affected word of that time); formally declare non-payment, etc., of bill of exchange; fig. failure of personal credit, etc. provant, soldier's allowance -hence, of common make. provide, foresee. providence, foresight, prudence. publication, making a thing public of common property (n.e.d.). puckfist, puff-ball; insipid, insignificant, boasting fellow. puff-wing, shoulder puff. puisne, judge of inferior rank, a junior. pulchritude, beauty. pump, shoe. pungent, piercing. punto, point, hit. purcept, precept, warrant. pure, fine, capital, excellent. purely, perfectly, utterly. purl, pleat or fold of a ruff. purse-net, net of which the mouth is drawn together with a string. pursuivant, state messenger who summoned the persecuted seminaries; warrant officer. pursy, pursiness, shortwinded(ness). put, make a push, exert yourself (n.e.d.). put off, excuse, shift. put on, incite, encourage; proceed with, take in hand, try. quacksalver, quack. quaint, elegant, elaborated, ingenious, clever. quar, quarry. quarried, seized, or fed upon, as prey. quean, hussy, jade. queasy, hazardous, delicate. quell, kill, destroy. quest, request; inquiry. question, decision by force of arms. questman, one appointed to make official inquiry. quib, quiblin, quibble, quip. quick, the living. quiddit, quiddity, legal subtlety. quirk, clever turn or trick. quit, requite, repay; acquit, absolve; rid; forsake, leave. quitter-bone, disease of horses. quodling, codling. quoit, throw like a quoit, chuck. quote, take note, observe, write down. rack, neck of mutton or pork (halliwell). rake up, cover over. ramp, rear, as a lion, etc. rapt, carry away. rapt, enraptured. rascal, young or inferior deer. rash, strike with a glancing oblique blow, as a boar with its tusk. ratsey, gomaliel, a famous highwayman. raven, devour. reach, understand. real, regal. rebatu, ruff, turned-down collar. rector, rectress, director, governor. redargue, confute. reduce, bring back. reed, rede, counsel, advice. reel, run riot. refel, refute. reformadoes, disgraced or disbanded soldiers. regiment, government. regression, return. regular ("tale of a tub"), regular noun (quibble) (n.e.d.). religion, "make -of," make a point of, scruple of. relish, savour. remnant, scrap of quotation. remora, species of fish. render, depict, exhibit, show. repair, reinstate. repetition, recital, narration. reremouse, bat. resiant, resident. residence, sediment. resolution, judgment, decision. resolve, inform; assure; prepare, make up one's mind; dissolve; come to a decision, be convinced; relax, set at ease. respective, worthy of respect; regardful, discriminative. respectively, with reverence. respectless, regardless. respire, exhale; inhale. responsible, correspondent. rest, musket-rest. rest, "set up one's --," venture one's all, one's last stake (from game of primero). rest, arrest. restive, resty, dull, inactive. retchless(ness), reckless(ness). retire, cause to retire. retricato, fencing term. retrieve, rediscovery of game once sprung. returns, ventures sent abroad, for the safe return of which so much money is received. reverberate, dissolve or blend by reflected heat. reverse, reverso, back-handed thrust, etc., in fencing. revise, reconsider a sentence. rheum, spleen, caprice. ribibe, abusive term for an old woman. rid, destroy, do away with. rifling, raffling, dicing. ring, "cracked within the --," coins so cracked were unfit for currency. risse, risen, rose. rivelled, wrinkled. roarer, swaggerer. rochet, fish of the gurnet kind. rock, distaff. rodomontado, braggadocio. rogue, vagrant, vagabond. rondel, "a round mark in the score of a public-house" (nares); roundel. rook, sharper; fool, dupe. rosaker, similar to ratsbane. rosa-solis, a spiced spirituous liquor. roses, rosettes. round, "gentlemen of the --," officers of inferior rank. round trunks, trunk hose, short loose breeches reaching almost or quite to the knees. rouse, carouse, bumper. rover, arrow used for shooting at a random mark at uncertain distance. rowly-powly, roly-poly. rude, rudeness, unpolished, rough(ness), coarse(ness). ruffle, flaunt, swagger. rug, coarse frieze. rug-gowns, gown made of rug. rush, reference to rushes with which the floors were then strewn. rusher, one who strewed the floor with rushes. russet, homespun cloth of neutral or reddish-brown colour. sack, loose, flowing gown. sadly, seriously, with gravity. sad(ness), sober, serious(ness). saffi, bailiffs. st. thomas a waterings, place in surrey where criminals were executed. saker, small piece of ordnance. salt, leap. salt, lascivious. sampsuchine, sweet marjoram. saraband, a slow dance. saturnals, began december 17. sauciness, presumption, insolence. saucy, bold, impudent, wanton. sauna (lat.), a gesture of contempt. savour, perceive; gratify, please; to partake of the nature. say, sample. say, assay, try. scald, word of contempt, implying dirt and disease. scallion, shalot, small onion. scanderbag, "name which the turks (in allusion to alexander the great) gave to the brave castriot, chief of albania, with whom they had continual wars. his romantic life had just been translated" (gifford). scape, escape. scarab, beetle. scartoccio, fold of paper, cover, cartouch, cartridge. sconce, head. scope, aim. scot and lot, tax, contribution (formerly a parish assessment). scotomy, dizziness in the head. scour, purge. scourse, deal, swap. scratches, disease of horses. scroyle, mean, rascally fellow. scruple, doubt. seal, put hand to the giving up of property or rights. sealed, stamped as genuine. seam-rent, ragged. seaming laces, insertion or edging. sear up, close by searing, burning. searced, sifted. secretary, able to keep a secret. secular, worldly, ordinary, commonplace. secure, confident. seelie, happy, blest. seisin, legal term: possession. sellary, lewd person. semblably, similarly. seminary, a romish priest educated in a foreign seminary. senseless, insensible, without sense or feeling. sensibly, perceptibly. sensive, sensitive. sensual, pertaining to the physical or material. serene, harmful dew of evening. sericon, red tincture. servant, lover. services, doughty deeds of arms. sesterce, roman copper coin. set, stake, wager. set up, drill. sets, deep plaits of the ruff. sewer, officer who served up the feast, and brought water for the hands of the guests. shape, a suit by way of disguise. shift, fraud, dodge. shifter, cheat. shittle, shuttle; "shittle-cock," shuttlecock. shot, tavern reckoning. shot-clog, one only tolerated because he paid the shot (reckoning) for the rest. shot-free, scot-free, not having to pay. shove-groat, low kind of gambling amusement, perhaps somewhat of the nature of pitch and toss. shot-sharks, drawers. shrewd, mischievous, malicious, curst. shrewdly, keenly, in a high degree. shrive, sheriff; posts were set up before his door for proclamations, or to indicate his residence. shroving, shrovetide, season of merriment. sigilla, seal, mark. silenced brethern, ministers, those of the church or nonconformists who had been silenced, deprived, etc. silly, simple, harmless. simple, silly, witless; plain, true. simples, herbs. single, term of chase, signifying when the hunted stag is separated from the herd, or forced to break covert. single, weak, silly. single-money, small change. singular, unique, supreme. si-quis, bill, advertisement. skeldring, getting money under false pretences; swindling. skill, "it --s not," matters not. skink(er), pour, draw(er), tapster. skirt, tail. sleek, smooth. slice, fire shovel or pan (dial.). slick, sleek, smooth. 'slid, 'slight, 'sprecious, irreverent oaths. slight, sleight, cunning, cleverness; trick. slip, counterfeit coin, bastard. slippery, polished and shining. slops, large loose breeches. slot, print of a stag's foot. slur, put a slur on; cheat (by sliding a die in some way). smelt, gull, simpleton. snorle, "perhaps snarl, as puppy is addressed" (cunningham). snotterie, filth. snuff, anger, resentment; "take in --," take offence at. snuffers, small open silver dishes for holding snuff, or receptacle for placing snuffers in (halliwell). sock, shoe worn by comic actors. sod, seethe. soggy, soaked, sodden. soil, "take --," said of a hunted stag when he takes to the water for safety. sol, sou. soldadoes, soldiers. solicit, rouse, excite to action. sooth, flattery, cajolery. soothe, flatter, humour. sophisticate, adulterate. sort, company, party; rank, degree. sort, suit, fit; select. souse, ear. soused ("devil is an ass"), fol. read "sou't," which dyce interprets as "a variety of the spelling of "shu'd": to "shu" is to scare a bird away." (see his "webster," page 350). sowter, cobbler. spagyrica, chemistry according to the teachings of paracelsus. spar, bar. speak, make known, proclaim. speculation, power of sight. sped, to have fared well, prospered. speece, species. spight, anger, rancour. spinner, spider. spinstry, lewd person. spittle, hospital, lazar-house. spleen, considered the seat of the emotions. spleen, caprice, humour, mood. sprunt, spruce. spurge, foam. spur-ryal, gold coin worth 15s. squire, square, measure; "by the --," exactly. staggering, wavering, hesitating. stain, disparagement, disgrace. stale, decoy, or cover, stalking-horse. stale, make cheap, common. stalk, approach stealthily or under cover. stall, forestall. standard, suit. staple, market, emporium. stark, downright. starting-holes, loopholes of escape. state, dignity; canopied chair of state; estate. statuminate, support vines by poles or stakes; used by pliny (gifford). stay, gag. stay, await; detain. stickler, second or umpire. stigmatise, mark, brand. still, continual(ly), constant(ly). stinkard, stinking fellow. stint, stop. stiptic, astringent. stoccata, thrust in fencing. stock-fish, salted and dried fish. stomach, pride, valour. stomach, resent. stoop, swoop down as a hawk. stop, fill, stuff. stopple, stopper. stote, stoat, weasel. stoup, stoop, swoop=bow. straight, straightway. stramazoun (ital. stramazzone), a down blow, as opposed to the thrust. strange, like a stranger, unfamiliar. strangeness, distance of behaviour. streights, or bermudas, labyrinth of alleys and courts in the strand. strigonium, grau in hungary, taken from the turks in 1597. strike, balance (accounts). stringhalt, disease of horses. stroker, smoother, flatterer. strook, p.p. of "strike." strummel-patched, strummel is glossed in dialect dicts. as "a long, loose and dishevelled head of hair." studies, studious efforts. style, title; pointed instrument used for writing on wax tablets. subtle, fine, delicate, thin; smooth, soft. subtlety (subtility), subtle device. suburb, connected with loose living. succubae, demons in form of women. suck, extract money from. sufferance, suffering. summed, term of falconry: with full-grown plumage. super-negulum, topers turned the cup bottom up when it was empty. superstitious, over-scrupulous. supple, to make pliant. surbate, make sore with walking. surcease, cease. sur-reverence, save your reverence. survise, peruse. suscitability, excitability. suspect, suspicion. suspend, suspect. suspended, held over for the present. sutler, victualler. swad, clown, boor. swath bands, swaddling clothes. swinge, beat. taberd, emblazoned mantle or tunic worn by knights and heralds. table(s), "pair of --," tablets, note-book. tabor, small drum. tabret, tabor. taffeta, silk; "tuft-taffeta," a more costly silken fabric. taint, "-a staff," break a lance at tilting in an unscientific or dishonourable manner. take in, capture, subdue. take me with you, let me understand you. take up, obtain on credit, borrow. talent, sum or weight of greek currency. tall, stout, brave. tankard-bearers, men employed to fetch water from the conduits. tarleton, celebrated comedian and jester. tartarous, like a tartar. tavern-token, "to swallow a --," get drunk. tell, count. tell-troth, truth-teller. temper, modify, soften. tender, show regard, care for, cherish; manifest. tent, "take --," take heed. terse, swept and polished. tertia, "that portion of an army levied out of one particular district or division of a country" (gifford). teston, tester, coin worth 6d. thirdborough, constable. thread, quality. threaves, droves. three-farthings, piece of silver current under elizabeth. three-piled, of finest quality, exaggerated. thriftily, carefully. thrums, ends of the weaver's warp; coarse yarn made from. thumb-ring, familiar spirits were supposed capable of being carried about in various ornaments or parts of dress. tibicine, player on the tibia, or pipe. tick-tack, game similar to backgammon. tightly, promptly. tim, (?) expressive of a climax of nonentity. timeless, untimely, unseasonable. tincture, an essential or spiritual principle supposed by alchemists to be transfusible into material things; an imparted characteristic or tendency. tink, tinkle. tippet, "turn --," change behaviour or way of life. tipstaff, staff tipped with metal. tire, head-dress. tire, feed ravenously, like a bird of prey. titillation, that which tickles the senses, as a perfume. tod, fox. toiled, worn out, harassed. token, piece of base metal used in place of very small coin, when this was scarce. tonnels, nostrils. top, "parish --," large top kept in villages for amusement and exercise in frosty weather when people were out of work. toter, tooter, player on a wind instrument. touse, pull, rend. toward, docile, apt; on the way to; as regards; present, at hand. toy, whim; trick; term of contempt. tract, attraction. train, allure, entice. transitory, transmittable. translate, transform. tray-trip, game at dice (success depended on throwing a three) (nares). treachour (trecher), traitor. treen, wooden. trencher, serving-man who carved or served food. trendle-tail, trundle-tail, curly-tailed. trick (tricking), term of heraldry: to draw outline of coat of arms, etc., without blazoning. trig, a spruce, dandified man. trill, trickle. trillibub, tripe, any worthless, trifling thing. tripoly, "come from --," able to perform feats of agility, a "jest nominal," depending on the first part of the word (gifford). trite, worn, shabby. trivia, three-faced goddess (hecate). trojan, familiar term for an equal or inferior; thief. troll, sing loudly. tromp, trump, deceive. trope, figure of speech. trow, think, believe, wonder. trowle, troll. trowses, breeches, drawers. truchman, interpreter. trundle, john, well-known printer. trundle, roll, go rolling along. trundling cheats, term among gipsies and beggars for carts or coaches (gifford). trunk, speaking-tube. truss, tie the tagged laces that fastened the breeches to the doublet. tubicine, trumpeter. tucket (ital. toccato), introductory flourish on the trumpet. tuition, guardianship. tumbler, a particular kind of dog so called from the mode of his hunting. tumbrel-slop, loose, baggy breeches. turd, excrement. tusk, gnash the teeth (century dict.). twire, peep, twinkle. twopenny room, gallery. tyring-house, attiring-room. ulenspiegel. see howleglass. umbratile, like or pertaining to a shadow. umbre, brown dye. unbated, unabated. unbored, (?) excessively bored. uncarnate, not fleshly, or of flesh. uncouth, strange, unusual. undertaker, "one who undertook by his influence in the house of commons to carry things agreeably to his majesty's wishes" (whalley); one who becomes surety for. unequal, unjust. unexcepted, no objection taken at. unfeared, unaffrighted. unhappily, unfortunately. unicorn's horn, supposed antidote to poison. unkind(ly), unnatural(ly). unmanned, untamed (term in falconry). unquit, undischarged. unready, undressed. unrude, rude to an extreme. unseasoned, unseasonable, unripe. unseeled, a hawk's eyes were "seeled" by sewing the eyelids together with fine thread. untimely, unseasonably. unvaluable, invaluable. upbraid, make a matter of reproach. upsee, heavy kind of dutch beer (halliwell); "-dutch," in the dutch fashion. uptails all, refrain of a popular song. urge, allege as accomplice, instigator. urshin, urchin, hedgehog. use, interest on money; part of sermon dealing with the practical application of doctrine. use, be in the habit of, accustomed to; put out to interest. usquebaugh, whisky. usure, usury. utter, put in circulation, make to pass current; put forth for sale. vail, bow, do homage. vails, tips, gratuities. vall. see vail. vallies (fr. valise), portmanteau, bag. vapour(s) (n. and v.), used affectedly, like "humour," in many senses, often very vaguely and freely ridiculed by jonson; humour, disposition, whims, brag(ging), hector(ing), etc. varlet, bailiff, or serjeant-at-mace. vaut, vault. veer (naut.), pay out. vegetal, vegetable; person full of life and vigour. vellute, velvet. velvet custard. cf. "taming of the shrew," iv. 3, 82, "custard coffin," coffin being the raised crust over a pie. vent, vend, sell; give outlet to; scent, snuff up. venue, bout (fencing term). verdugo (span.), hangman, executioner. verge, "in the --," within a certain distance of the court. vex, agitate, torment. vice, the buffoon of old moralities; some kind of machinery for moving a puppet (gifford). vie and revie, to hazard a certain sum, and to cover it with a larger one. vincent against york, two heralds-at-arms. vindicate, avenge. virge, wand, rod. virginal, old form of piano. virtue, valour. vively, in lifelike manner, livelily. vizard, mask. vogue, rumour, gossip. voice, vote. void, leave, quit. volary, cage, aviary. volley, "at --," "o' the volee," at random (from a term of tennis). vorloffe, furlough. wadloe, keeper of the devil tavern, where jonson and his friends met in the 'apollo' room (whalley). waights, waits, night musicians, "band of musical watchmen" (webster), or old form of "hautboys." wannion, "vengeance," "plague" (nares). ward, a famous pirate. ward, guard in fencing. watchet, pale, sky blue. weal, welfare. weed, garment. weft, waif. weights, "to the gold --," to every minute particular. welkin, sky. well-spoken, of fair speech. well-torned, turned and polished, as on a wheel. welt, hem, border of fur. wher, whether. whetstone, george, an author who lived 1544(?) to 1587(?). whiff, a smoke, or drink; "taking the --," inhaling the tobacco smoke or some such accomplishment. whigh-hies, neighings, whinnyings. whimsy, whim, "humour." whiniling, (?) whining, weakly. whit, (?) a mere jot. whitemeat, food made of milk or eggs. wicked, bad, clumsy. wicker, pliant, agile. wilding, esp. fruit of wild apple or crab tree (webster). wine, "i have the -for you," prov.: i have the perquisites (of the office) which you are to share (cunningham). winny, "same as old word "wonne," to stay, etc." (whalley). wise-woman, fortune-teller. wish, recommend. wiss (wusse), "i --," certainly, of a truth. without, beyond. witty, cunning, ingenious, clever. wood, collection, lot. woodcock, term of contempt. woolsack ("-pies"), name of tavern. wort, unfermented beer. woundy, great, extreme. wreak, revenge. wrought, wrought upon. wusse, interjection. (see wiss). yeanling, lamb, kid. zany, an inferior clown, who attended upon the chief fool and mimicked his tricks. among the brigands by prof. james de mille h. m. caldwell company publishers new york and boston entered according to the act of congress, in the year 1871, by lee and shepard in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington. among the brigands contents chapter i. stranger in a strange land.--a citadel of trunks.--besieged.--retreat in good order.--a most tremendous uproar.--kicks! thumps!--smash of chairs!--crash of tables!--a general row!--the cry for help!--the voice of david!--the revelation of the darkness!--the fiery eyes!--the unseen!--the revelation of the mystery.--a general flight. chapter ii. how in the world did it get there?--a joyous ride.--hark! hark! the dogs-do bark! beggars come to town; some in rags, some in tags, and some in a tattered gown!--a pleasant meditation on a classic past very rudely, unexpectedly, tad even savagely interrupted, and likely to terminate in a tragedy!--perilous position of david and clive. chapter iii. out into the country.--the drive.--the glorious land.--sorrento and eternal summer.--the cave of polyphemus.--the cathedral--the mysterious image.--what is it?--david relic-hunting.--a catastrophe.--chased by a virago.--the town roused.--besieged.--a desperate onset--flight--last of the virago. chapter iv. salerno and the sulky driver.--paestum and its temples.--a great sensation.--an unpleasant predicament--is the driver a traitor?--is he in league--with bandits?--arguments about the situation, and what each thought about it. chapter v. they discuss the situation.--they prepare to foot it--a toilsome walk, and a happy discovery.--the language of signs once more.--the mountain cavalcade.--bob's ambition.--its results.--bob vanishes.--consternation of the donkey boy.--consternation of the cavalcade.--"e perduto!". chapter vi. flight of both--difference between a tame donkey and a wild ass.--carried off to the mountains.--the headlong course.--the mountain pass.--the journey's end.--ill-omened place.--confounded by a new terror.--the brigands. chapter vii. the lurking-place of the brigands.--the captive boy.--the hideous household.--the horrible old hag.--the slattern woman.--the dirty children.--the old crone and the evil eye.--despondency of bob. --is escape possible?--night.--imprisoned.--the bed of straw. --outlook into the night from the prison windows. chapter viii. the worn-out captive.--light slumbers.--fearful wakening.--the stealthy step.--the overmastering horror.--the lone boy confronted by his enemy.--the hungry eyes.--is it real, or a nightmare?--the supreme moment. chapter ix. the cavalcade in pursuit--hopes and fears.--theories about the lost boy.--a new turn to affairs.--explanations.--on to salerno.--inquiries.--baffled.--fresh consternation and despondency.--the last hope. chapter x. the captive boy and his grisly visitant--the hand on his head.-denouement.--the brigand family.--the old crone.--the robber wife.--the brigand children.--a revolution of feeling.--the main road.--the carriage.--in search of bob. chapter xi. the return.--the tender adieus.--back to salerno.--on to castellamare.--a pleasant scene.--an unpleasant discovery.--david among the missing.--woes of uncle moses.--deliberations over the situation.--various theories.--the vengeance of the enemy.--back to sorrento in search of the lost one. chapter xii. the waking of david.--a glorious scene.--a temptation.--david embarks upon the wide, wide sea.--youth at the prow and pleasure at the helm.--a daring navigator.--a baffled and confounded navigator.--lost! lost! lost!--despair of david.--at the mercy of wind and sea.--the isle of the brigands.--the brigand chief. chapter xiii. david captured.--the big, bluff, burly, brusque, bearded, broad-shouldered, beetle-browed bully of a brigand.--a terrific inquisition.--david's plea for mercy.--the hard-hearted captor and the trembling captive.--a direful threat--david carried off helpless and despairing.--the robber's hold. chapter xiv. on the way to sorrento again.--a mournful ride.--a despairing search.--a fearful discovery.--the old virago again.--in a trap.--sorrento aroused.--besieged.--all lost--a raging crowd.--the howling hag.--harried consultation.--the last forlorn hope.--disguise, flight, and concealment. chapter xv. in the robber's hold.--the brigand's bride.--sudden, amazing, overwhelming, bewildering, tremendous, astounding, overpowering, and crashing discovery.--the situation.--everybody confounded.--the crowd at sorrento.--the landlord's prayers.--the virago calls for vengeance. chapter xvi. more troubles for poor david.--onset of four women.--seized by an old crone and three peasant girls.--fresh horror of david.--a new uproar in the yard of the inn.--uncle moses bent double. chapter xvii. vesuvius.--ponies and sticks.--sand and lava.--the rocky steps.--the rolling, wrathful, smoke-clouds.--the volcano warns them off.--the lost boy.--a fearful search.--a desperate effort.--the sulphurous vapors.--over die sliding sands. chapter xviii. pompeii, the city of the dead.--the monuments of the past.--temples, towers, and palaces.--tombs and monuments.--theatres and amphitheatres.--streets and squares. chapter xix. lofty classical enthusiasm of david, and painful lack of feeling on the part of frank.--david, red-hot with the flow of the past, is suddenly confronted with the present.--the present dashes cold water upon his glowing enthusiasm.--the gates.--minos, aeacus, and rhadamanthus.--the culprits. chapter xx. the glories of naples.--the museum.--the curiosities.--how they unroll the charred manuscripts exhumed from herculaneum and pompeii.--on to rome.--capua.--the tomb of cicero.--terracina. --the pontine marshes.--the appii forum. chapter xxi. the pontine marshes.--a change comes over the party.--the foul exhalations.--the sleep of death.--dreadful accident.--despair of frank.--a breakdown.--ingenuity of the driver.--resumption of the journey. chapter xxii. the march ended.--a lonely inn.--evil faces.--beetling brows.--sinister glances.--suspicions of the party.--they put their heads together.--conferences of the party.--a threatening prospect--barricades.--in time of peace prepare for war.--the garrison arm themselves. chapter xxiii. the sleepless watch.--the mysterious steps.--the low whispers.--they come! they come!--the garrison roused.--to arms! to arms!--the beleaguered party.--at bay.--the decisive moment--the scaling ladders.--onset of the brigands.--end of troubles. chapter xxiv. a beautiful country.--magnificent scenery.--the approach to albano.--enthusiasm of the boys.--archaeology versus appetite.--the separation of the boys.--the story of the alban lake and the ancient subterranean. chapter xxv. the lonely path.--the sequestered vale.--the old house.--a feudal castle.--a baronial windmill.--a mysterious sound.--a terrible discovery.--at bay.--the wild beast's lair!--what is it?--a great bore. chapter xxvi. despair of uncle moses.--frank and bob endeavor to offer consolation.--the search.--the discovery at the convent--the guide.--the old house.--the captives.--the alarm given.--flight of uncle moses and his party.--albans! to the rescue!--the delivering host! chapter xxvii. arma virumque cano!--the chase of the wild boar!--the prisoners at the window.--the alban army.--wild uproar.--three hundred and sixty-five pocket handkerchiefs.--flame.--smoking out the monster.--a salamander. chapter xxviii. the salamander inaccessible to fire.--the last appeal--frank takes action.--he fires.--casualty to frank and bob.--onset of the monster.--flight.--tremendous sensation.--the guide's story.--another legend of albano.--on to rome. the young dodge club. among the brigands. chapter i. _stranger in a strange land.--a citadel of trunks.--besieged.--retreat in good order.--a most tremendous uproar.--kicks! thumps!--smash of chain!--crash of tables!--a general row!--the cry for help!--the voice of david!--the revelation of the darkness!--the fiery eyes!--the unseen!--the revelation of the mystery.--a general fight._ mr. moses v. sprole had passed the greater part of his life in his native village, and being anxious to see the world, resolved upon a tour in europe. as he did not care to go alone, he offered to take with him his four nephews, who were great favorites with their bachelor uncle, and his chief associates. this offer met with an eager response from the boys, and a willing assent from their parents, who fully believed that a tour of this description would be of immense benefit to them. this brief explanation will serve to account for the appearance of uncle moses in naples, where he landed on a mellow day in february, _en route_ for switzerland, bowed down with the responsibility of several heavy trunks, and the still heavier responsibility of four fine lumps of boys, of whose troubles, trials, tribulations, and manifold adventures, he seemed, on the present occasion, to have a mournful presentiment. these troubles began at once; for scarcely had they landed when they found themselves surrounded by the lazzaroni, and the air was filled with a babel of exclamations. "_signori!_" "_signo!_" "_moosoo!_" "_meestaire!_" "_sare!_" "_carra ze baggage!_" "_tek ze loggage!_" "_show ze hotel!_" "_hotel della europa!_" "_hotel dell' inghelterra!_" "_hotel dell' america!_" "_eccelenza, you wanta good, naisy, rosbif, you comma longsida me!_" "_come long!_" "_hurrah!_" "_bravo!_" "_o, yais._" "_ver nais._" "_o, yais. you know me. american meestaire!_" all this, and ever so much more, together with scraps of french, german, bohemian, hungarian, russian, and several other languages which the lazzaroni had picked up for the purpose of making themselves agreeable to foreigners. they surrounded uncle moses and his four boys in a dense crowd--grinning, chattering, gesticulating, dancing, pushing, jumping, and grimacing, as only neapolitan lazzaroni can; and they tried to get hold of the luggage that lay upon the wharf. bagged, hatless, shirtless, blessed with but one pair of trousers per man; bearded, dirty, noisy; yet fat and good-natured withal; the lazzaroni produced a startling effect upon the newly arrived travellers. uncle moses soon grew utterly bewildered by the noise and disorder. one idea, however, was prominent in his mind, and that was his luggage. he had heard of italian brigands. at the sight of this crowd, all that he had beard on that subject came back before him. "rinaldo rinaldini," a charming brigand book, which had been the delight of his childhood, now stood out clear in his recollection. the lazzaroni seemed to be a crowd of bandits, filled with but one purpose, and that was to seize the luggage. the efforts of the lazzaroni to get the trunks roused him to action. springing forward, he struck their hands away with a formidable cotton umbrella, and drew the trunks together in a pile. three lay in a row, and one was on the top of these. the pile was a small pyramid. "here, boys," he cried; "you keep by me, don't let these varmints get the trunks. sit down on 'em, and keep 'em off." saying this, uncle moses put the two clark boys on a trunk on one side, and the two wilmot boys on a trunk on the other; and mounting himself upon the middle trunk, he sat down and glared defiantly at the enemy. this action was greeted by the lazzaroni with a burst of laughter and a shout of,-"br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-ra-vo!" to which uncle moses and the boys made no reply. in fact, it would have been a little difficult for them to do so, as not one of them understood a word of any language spoken among men except their own. so they said nothing; but constituting themselves into a beleaguered garrison, they intrenched themselves within their citadel, and bade defiance to the foe. the foe, on the other hand, pressed round them, bombarding the garrison with broken english, broken french, and broken german, and sometimes made an assault upon the trunks. time passed on, and the garrison sat there, holding their own. at length they all became aware of the fact that they were excessively hungry. it was very evident that this kind of thing could not last much longer. meanwhile uncle moses had recovered his presence of mind. he was naturally cool and self-possessed, and after mounting the trunks, and gathering the boys about him, he quickly rallied from his confusion, and looked eagerly around to find some way by which he might be extricated from his difficulty. at last a way appeared. around him, in his immediate neighborhood, stood the lazzaroni, as urgent, as patient, and as aggressive as ever, with their offers of assistance. beyond these were people passing up and down the wharf, all of whom were foreigners, and therefore inaccessible. beyond these again was a wide space, and in the distance a busy street, with carriages driving to and fro. uncle moses looked for a long time, hoping to see something like a cab. in vain. they all seemed to him to be "one-hoss shays," and what was worse, all seemed to be filled. "boys," said he at last, "i'm goin' to make a move. you jest sit here, and hold on to the trunks. i'll go an hunt up one of them one-hoss shays. there ain't nothin' else that i can do. hold on now, hard and fast, till i come back." with these words off went uncle moses, and the boys remained behind, waiting. a very fine-looking set of boys they were too. there was frank wilmot, about fifteen years of age, tall, stout, with fine, frank face, and crisp, curly hair. there was clive wilmot, about fourteen, tall and slight, with large eyes and dark hair. there was david clark, about frank's age, rather pale, with serious face, and quiet, thoughtful manner. and there was robert, or, as he was always called, bob clark--an odd-looking boy, with a bullet head, pug nose, comical face, brown eyes, and short shingled hair. uncle moses was not gone long. by some wonderful means or other he had succeeded in procuring a vehicle of that kind which is universal in this city, and he now reappeared to the delighted boys, coming at a tearing pace towards them, seated in a neapolitan caleche. the neapolitan caleche is a wonderful machine, quite unequalled among wheeled vehicles. the wheels are far back, the shafts are long, and horse draws it. but in the caleche it is a very common thing for any quantity of people to pile themselves. there is a seat for two, which is generally occupied by the most, worthy, perhaps; but all around them cluster others,--behind them, before them, and on each side of them,--clinging to the shafts, standing on the axle, hanging on the springs. indeed, i have heard of babies being slung underneath, in baskets; but i don't believe that. at any rate, uncle moses and his party all tumbled in triumphantly. two trunks were put in front, one behind, and one suspended underneath. david and clive sat behind, frank and uncle moses on the seat, while bob sat on the trunk in front, with the driver. the lazzaroni looked on with mournful faces, but still proffered their services. in patient perseverance few people can equal them. the driver saw at once the purpose of the americans, though they could not tell him what they wanted. so he drove them to a hotel in the strada toledo, where he left them, after having been paid by uncle moses the largest fare he had ever received in his life; for uncle moses gave him about five dollars, and felt grateful to him besides. their apartments were very nice rooms in the sixth story. the hotel was a quadrangular edifice, with a spacious court-yard. around this court-yard ran galleries, opening into each story, and communicating with one another by stairways, which were used by all the occupants of the house. from the gallery in the sixth story a door opened into their parlor. on the left side of this was a snug bedroom, of which uncle moses took possession; on the right side was another, which was appropriated by david and clive; while the third, which was on the other side, and looked out into the street, was taken by frank and bob. thus the four boys paired off, and made themselves very comfortable.. that night they all went to bed early. uncle moses retired last. all slept soundly, for they were very much fatigued. but just before daybreak, and in the dim morning twilight, frank and bob were suddenly roused by a most tremendous uproar in the parlor--kicks, thumps, tables upsetting, chairs breaking, and a general row going on; in the midst of which din arose the voice of david, calling frantically upon themselves and uncle moses. this was certainly enough to rouse anybody. up jumped frank, and rushed to the door. up jumped bob, and sprang after him. the noise outside was outrageous. what was it? could it be robbers? no. robbers would prefer to do their work in silence. what was it? slowly and cautiously frank opened the door, and looked forth into the parlor. it was as yet quite dark, and the room into which he peered was wrapped in the shades of night. what little he could see he saw but indistinctly. yet he saw something. he saw a dark, shadowy figure in rapid motion backward and forward, and at every movement some article of furniture would go with a crash to the floor. sometimes the figure seemed to be on the table, at other times it was leaping in the air. suddenly, as he looked, the door, which opened out into the parlor, was banged back with a violent blow, and shut again. frank was nearly knocked down. "what is it?" asked bob. "i don't know," said frank, "unless it's a madman." "what shall we do?" "if we were all together," said frank, "we might make a rush at him, and secure him. i've a great mind to make a start, as it is." "it must be a brigand!" said bob; for his mind, like the minds of the rest of the party, was largely filled with images of italian bandits. "perhaps so," said frank; "but at any rate let's make a rush at him. will you do it?" "of course," said bob. at this frank carefully opened the door again, and looked forth. the noise had ceased for the time. bob poked his head forth also. they looked eagerly into the room. suddenly frank touched bob. "look!" he whispered, "by the table." bob looked. it was certainly a singular sight that met their view. in the midst of the gloom they could see two balls of light that seemed like eyes, though there was no form visible to which these glaring, fiery eyes might belong. and the eyes seemed to glare out of the darkness directly at them. all was still now; but the very stillness gave additional horror to that unseen being, whose dread gaze seemed to be fastened upon them. suddenly david's voice was heard from the next room,-"frank! bob!" "hallo!" cried both boys. "what shall we do? can't you do something?" "i'll see," cried frank. "bob, light the lamp." "i haven't any matches," said bob. "what a pity!" said david. "can't you wake uncle moses? your room is next to his." at this bob went to the wall between his room and that of uncle moses, and began to pound with all his might. uncle moses did not respond, but there came a response from another quarter. it was from the thing in the parlor. once more the fearful uproar began. crash! went the chairs. bang! went the tables. a rapid racket of hard footfalls succeeded, mingled with the smash of the furniture. frank closed the door. "if i only had a light," said he, "i should know what to do. but what can a fellow do in the dark?" "i wonder what's the matter with uncle moses." "he? o, he would sleep through anything." "i wonder if it is a brigand, after all," said bob. "i don't know. i still think it may be a madman." "i don't like those glaring eyes." "if i only had a fair chance, and could see," said frank, fiercely, "i'd soon find out what is behind those glaring eyes." louder grew the din while they were speaking--the rattle, the bang, the smash, the general confusion of deafening sounds. "i should like to know," said frank, coolly, "how much longer this sort of thing is going to last." for some time longer the boys kept the door shut, and the noise at length ceased as suddenly as it had begun. it had now grown much lighter, for in these southern countries twilight, whether in the morning or the evening, is but of short duration, and light advances or retires with a rapidity which is startling to the natives of more northern latitudes. this increase of light gave fresh courage to frank, who, even in the dark, and in the face of the mystery, had behaved very well; and he began to arrange a plan of action. his arrangements were soon completed. he simply drew a jackknife from his pocket, and opened it. "now, bob," said he, "you follow me." "all right," said bob, cheerily. frank quietly opened the door, and looked forth, while bob, in eager curiosity, looked out the same instant. there was now sufficient light for them to see every object in the room. a scene of wild disorder revealed itself. all the furniture was turned topsy-turvy. the door leading to the gallery was open, and there, before their eyes, standing on the sofa, was the being that had created such excitement. one look was enough. one cry escaped both the boys:-"a billy goat! a miserable billy goat!" cried they. and the next moment both of them sprang forward and seized the animal by the horns. then began a struggle. the goat was strong. he was also excited by the singularity of his surroundings and the suddenness of the attack. so he showed fight, and resisted desperately. frank and bob, however, clung most tenaciously to the horns which they had seized. backward and forward the combatants pushed and dragged one another, with a new uproar as loud as the previous one. in the midst of this they were interrupted by the appearance of uncle moses. the door of his room opened, and that venerable personage made his appearance in a long night-gown, which reached to his heels, and wearing a long, starched night-cap, which nearly touched the ceiling. "wal, i never!" was his ejaculation. "what's this, boys? why, whatever _air_ you doin' with that thar goat?" the boys returned no answer, for they were struggling with their enemy. by this time david and clive made their appearance, and each seized one of the goat's hind legs. this additional help decided the contest. the animal was thrown down and held there, still kicking and struggling violently. scarcely had they taken breath when there was another interruption. this time it was at the outside door. a burly italian made his appearance there--very brown, very bearded, very dirty, and very unsavory. for some time he stood without saying one word, staring into the room, and fixing his eyes now on the goat as it was held down by the boys, again on the broken furniture, and finally on the long, and somewhat ghostly figure of uncle moses. "_santissima madre!_" this was the exclamation that at last burst from the big, burly, brown, bearded, dirty, and unsavory italian. at this the boys looked up, unconsciously loosening their grasp as they did so. the goat, feeling the grasp relax, made a mighty effort, and rolled over. then he leaped to his feet. then he made a wild bound to the door, over the prostrate forms of david and clive. the big, burly, brown, bearded, dirty, and unsavory italian made an effort to evade the animal's charge. he was not quick enough. down he went, struck full in the breast, and away went the goat into the gallery, and down the stairs, and so into the outer world. chapter ii. _how in the world did it get there?--a joyous ride.--hark! hark! the dogs do bark! beggars come to town; some in rags, some in tags, and some in a tattered gown!--a pleasant meditation on a classic past very rudely, unexpectedly, and even savagely interrupted, and likely to terminate in a tragedy!--perilous position of david and clive._ fortunately, no bones were broken. the italian slowly picked himself up, and casting a stupid look at the boys, moved slowly away, leaving the occupants of the standing there in their night-clothes, and earnestly discussing the question,--how in the world did the goat get there? this was indeed a knotty question, till at length it was unravelled by uncle moses. "wal, i declar," said he, "ef i didn't go an leave the door open." "you!" cried all. "yes," said he. "you see it was dreadful close an suffocatin last night; so when you went to bed, i jest left that door open to cool off. then i went off to bed, and forgot all about it." that was clear enough as far as it went, but still it did not account for the presence of a goat in the sixth story of a hotel. this they found out afterwards. that very day they saw flocks of goats being driven about from house to house. at other times they saw goats in their own hotel. they were hoisted up to the various stories, milked, and left to find their way down themselves. the fashion of using goat's milk was universal, and this was the simple way in which families were supplied. as to their visitor, the billy goat, he was undoubtedly the patriarch of some flock, who had wandered up stairs himself, perhaps in a fit of idle curiosity. "if it hadn't been dark," said frank. "if it hadn't been so abominably dark!" "we were like ajax," said david,--who was a bit of a pedant, and dealt largely in classical allusions,--"we were like ajax, you know:- 'give as but light, and let as _see_ our foes, we'll bravely fall, though jove himself oppose.'" "o, that's all very well," said uncle moses; "but who's goin to pay for all that thar furnitoor? the goat can't." "uncle moses," said bob, gravely, "there's a great deal in what you say." uncle moses turned away with a look of concern in his mild face, and retreated into his room. (it may as well be stated here, that uncle moses had to pay for that furniture. the landlord called up an interpreter, and they had a long and somewhat exciting interview. it ended in the landlord's recovering a sum of money which was sufficient to furnish a whole suit of apartments in another part of the house.) being now fairly introduced to naples, the boys were all eager to see the place and its surroundings, and uncle moses was quite willing to gratify them in any way. so they hired a carriage, found a guide, named michael angelo, who could speak english, and, thus equipped, they set out first for baiae. through the city they went, through the crowded streets; past the palaces, cathedrals, gardens; past the towers, castles, and quays; till at last there arose before them the mighty grotto of posilipo. through this they drove, looking in astonishment at its vast dimensions, and also at the crowds of people who were passing through it, on foot, on horseback, and on wheels. then they came to pozzuoli, the place where st. paul once landed, and which is mentioned in the new testament under its ancient name--puteoli. here they were beset by beggars. the sight of this produced strange effects upon the little party. uncle moses, filled with pity, lavished money upon them, in spite of the remonstrances of the guide. clive's sensitive nature shuddered at the spectacle. frank tried to speak a few words of italian to them, which he had caught from michael angelo. david muttered something about the ancient romans, while bob kept humming to himself these elegant verses:- "hark! hark! the dogs do bark! beggars come to town, some in rags, some in tags, some in a tattered gown!" the beggars followed them as far as they could, and when they left them, reinforcements always arrived. thus they were beset by them at the crater of the extinct volcano of solfatura. they encountered them at the gateway of cumae, at the grotto of the comaean sibyl, at nero's baths, at the lucrine lake, at baiae, at misenum, in fact everywhere. still, they enjoyed themselves very well, and kept up their pursuit of sights until late in the day. they were then at baiae; and here the party stopped at a little inn, where they proposed to dine. here the beggars beset them, in fresh crowds, till uncle hoses was compelled to close his purse, and tear himself away from his clamorous visitants. frank and bob went off to see if they could find some donkeys, ponies, or horses, so as to have a ride after dinner; while david and clive strolled off towards the country. "come, clive," said david, "let frank and bob enjoy their jackasses. for my part, i want to get to some place where i can sit down, and see this glorious land. it's the most classic spot in all the world." "it's the most beautiful and poetic," said clive, who was given to sentiment. walking on, they came to a place which projected into the sea, and here they sat down. "o, what a glorious sight!" exclaimed clive. "look at this wonderful bay of naples! how intensely blue the water is! how intensely blue the sky is! and look at vesuvius opposite. what an immense amount of smoke is coming from the crater!" "yes," said david, clearing his throat, "this is the place that the elder pliny sailed from at the time of the destruction of herculaneum and pompeii. and look all around. that little town was once the luxurious baiae. over yonder is lake lucrine, which virgil sings about. on that side is misenum, where the roman navy lay. there is caligula's bridge. what a glorious place! everything that we have ever read of in classic story gathers about us here. cicero, caesar, horace, virgil, tiberius, and juvenal, seem to live here yet. nero and agrippina, caligula and claudius,--every old roman, good or bad. and look, clive, that is land out there. as i live, that is capraea! and see,--o, see, clive,--that must be the--" "_datemi un carlino, signori, per l'amor di dio. sono povero--molto povero!_" it was in the middle of david's rather incoherent rhapsody that these words burst upon his ears. he and clive started to their feet, and found close behind them a half dozen of those miserable beggars. two of them were old men, whose bleary eyes and stooping frames indicated extreme age. one was a woman on, crutches. number four was a thin, consumptive-looking man. number five and number six were strong-limbed fellows, with very villanous faces. it was with one universal whine that these unwelcome visitors addressed the boys. "_datemi un carlino, signori, per l'amor di dio._" david shook his head. "_sono miserabile_," said number five. "i don't understand," said david. "_noi abbiam fame_," said number six. "_non capisco_," said clive, who had learned that much italian from michael angelo. "_o, signori nobilissime!_" "i tell you, i don't understand," cried david. "non capisco," repeated clive. "_siamo desperati_," said number six, with a sinister gleam in his eyes, which neither of the boys liked. "come, clive," said david, "let's go back. dinner must be ready by this time." and they turned to go. but as they turned, number five and number six placed themselves in the way. "_date qualche cosa_," they whined; and each of them seized a boy by the arm. the boys tried to jerk their arms away, but could not. "let us go," cried david, "or it will be the worse for you." the two beggars now talked in italian without relaxing their hold. then they tried to pull the boys away; but the boys resisted bravely, and began to shout for help. at this the other beggars came forward menacingly, and number five and number six put their arms round the boys, and their hands over their mouths. neither david nor clive could now utter a cry. they could scarcely breathe. they were at the mercy of these miscreants! it was, in truth, a perilous position in which david and clive found themselves. those ragged rascals, the beggars, were as remorseless as they were ragged. they had the boys at their mercy. the place was sufficiently far from the town to be out of hearing; and though the road was near, yet there were no people living in the vicinity. it was, therefore, sufficiently solitary to permit of any deed of violence being done with impunity. david and clive gave themselves up for lost with a last frantic effort, david tore his head loose, dashed his fist into the face of beggar number six, who was holding him, and tried to escape. "_scelerate!_" cried number six; and he threw david to the ground, and held him down, while he caught him by the throat. but though thus overpowered, david still struggled, and it was with some difficulty that the big brute who held him was able to keep him under. suddenly, at this moment, when all hope seemed lost, a loud cry was heard. there was a rush of two figures upon the scene; and the next instant number six was torn away, and rolled over on his back. a firm grasp was fixed on his throat, and a tremendous blow descended on his head from a stout stick, which was wielded by the youthful but sinewy arm of frank wilmot. at the same instant, also, bob clark had bounded at number five, leaped on his back, and began beating him about the head. the attack had been so sudden, and so utterly unexpected, that it carried all before it. away, with a wild cry of terror, fled the four decrepit beggars, leaving number five and number six on the field to themselves and the four boys. number six groaned with pain, and struggled furiously. he wrenched himself from beneath his assailants, but they again got the upper hand, and held on firmly. but number six was too strong to be easily grappled with, and it went hard with his assailants. meanwhile clive, relieved by bob, had become an assailant also. snatching up a stone, he dashed it full in the face of number five. the man staggered back and fell, and bob narrowly escaped falling under him. but number five sprang up instantly, and before bob or clive could close with him again, darted off without attempting to help number six, and ran for his life. cowardly by nature, the beggars did not think of the size of their assailants; their fears magnified the boys to men; and they only thought of safety in a panic flight but number six was there yet, with frank wilmot's sinewy arms about him, and bob and clive now rushed to take part in that struggle. this addition to the attacking force turned the scale completely. the struggle that now followed was most violent, the italian making the most furious efforts to free himself; but frank was very large and strong for his years; he was possessed of bull-dog tenacity and high-strung courage, and was strenuously assisted by the other three; so that the union of all their forces formed something to which one man was scarcely equal. in a very short time, therefore, after the arrival of bob and clive, the would-be robber was lying on his face, held firmly down by the four boys. "boys," said frank, who was sitting on his shoulders, "fold his arms over his back." as they did this, he twisted his handkerchief tightly, and then bound it around the man's hands as firmly as if it had been a rope. bob and clive held him down by sitting on his legs, while david sat on his neck. frank now asked for their hand, kerchiefs, twisted them, tied them together, and then directed bob to fasten the man's feet. this was bob's task, and he did it as neatly as though he had been brought up to that particular business exclusively. the man was now bound hard and fast, and lay on his face without a word, and only an occasional struggle. the weight of the boys was so disposed that it was not possible for him to get rid of them, and frank watched all his attempted movements so vigilantly, that every effort was baffled at the outset. frank also watched bob as he tied the knots, and then, seeing that the work was well done, he started up. "come, boys," said he, "let's give the rascal a chance to breathe." at this the boys all got up, and the italian, relieved from their weight, rolled over on his back, and then on his side, staring all around, and making desperate efforts to free himself. he was like the immortal gulliver when bound by the lilliputians, except that one of his assailants, at least, was no lilliputian, for in brawn, and sinew, and solid muscle, frank, boy though he might be, was not very much, if at all, his inferior. as he struggled, and stared, and rolled about, the boys looked on; and frank watched him carefully, ready to spring at him at the first sign of the bonds giving way. but the knots had been too carefully tied, and this the italian soon found out. he therefore ceased his useless efforts, and sat up; then, drawing up his feet, he leaned his chin on his knees, and stared sulkily at the ground. "and now," said david, "what are we to do?" "i don't know," said frank. "let's go for uncle moses," said bob, "or michael angelo." "we'd better hunt up a policeman," said clive. "no," said frank, "let's get uncle moses here first. you go, bob; and be quick, or else those other beggars'll be back here and release him." upon this bob set out, and the others guarded the prisoner. bob was not gone long, however, but soon returned in company with uncle moses. bob had found him at the inn, and in a breathless way had told him all, but he had scarcely understood it; and as he now came upon the scene, he looked around in wonder, and seemed utterly bewildered. had he found his beloved boys captured by bandits, he would have been shocked, but not very much surprised--for that was the one terror of his life; but to find the tables turned, and a bandit captured by his boys, was a thing which was so completely opposed to all his ordinary thoughts, that he stood for a moment fairly stupefied. nor was it until david had told the whole story, and thus given him a second and davidian edition of it, that he began to master the situation. "dear! dear! dear!" he cried, looking slowly at each of the boys in succession, and then at their silent and sulky captive, "and so you railly and truly were attacked and made prisoners by bandits. dear! dear! dear!" he looked inexpressibly shocked, and for some time stood in silence amid the loud clatter of the boys. "well, uncle moses," said frank, at last, "what are we to do with him?" to this uncle moses made no reply. it was certainly a somewhat puzzling inquiry; and his own life had been so peaceful and uneventful, that the question of the best way of dealing with a captured bandit was, very naturally, a somewhat perplexing one to answer. he stood, therefore, with his head bent forward, his right hand supporting his left elbow, and his left hand supporting his forehead, while his mild eyes regarded the captive robber with a meek and almost paternal glance, and his mind occupied itself in weighing that captives destiny. "well, uncle moses," said frank a second time, somewhat impatiently, "what, are we to do with him? we must do something,--and be quick about it too,--or else the other beggars'll be back." "wal," said uncle moses, slowly and thoughtfully, "that's the very identical pint that i'm a meditatin on. an the long an the short of it is, that i'm beginnin to think, that the very best thing you can do is to take your handkerchees back, and come back with me to the inn, and get some dinner. for i've every reason to believe that dinner's ready about this time, bein as i remember hearin a bell a ringin jest before bob came for me." at this the boys stared in amazement at uncle moses, not knowing what in the world to make of this. "what do you mean," said frank, "about our handkerchiefs, when we've tied up the bandit with them?" "why," said uncle moses, "i think if you come you may as well bring yer handkerchees with you--as i s'pose you prefer havin em." "but we'd have to untie them," said bob. "wal, yes," said uncle moses, dryly; "that follers as a nat'ral consequence." "what!" cried frank, in an indignant voice, "untie him? let him go? and after he has nearly killed david and clive?" "wal, he didn't _quite_ kill em," said uncle moses, turning his eyes benignantly upon the two boys. "they seem to me jest now to be oncommon spry--arter it all. they don't look very nigh death, as far as appearances go. no harm's done, i guess; an so, i dare say, we'd best jest let em go." at this frank looked ineffably disgusted. "you see, boys," said uncle moses, "here we air, in a very peculiar situation. what air we? strangers and sojourners in a strange land; don't know a word of the outlandish lingo; surrounded by beggars and philistines. air there any law courts here? air there any lawyers? air there any judges? i pause for a reply. there ain't one. no. an if we keep this man tied up, what can we do with him? we can't take him back with us in the coach. we can't keep him and feed him at the hotel like a pet animule. i don't know whar the lock-up is, an hain't seen a policeman in the whole place. besides, if we do hand this bandit over to the _po_lice, do you think it's goin to end there? no, sir. not it. if this man's arrested, we'll be arrested too. we'll have to be witnesses agin him. an that's what i don't want to do, if i can help it. my idee an aim allus is to keep clear of the lawyers; i'd rather be imposed on; i'd rather pay out money unjustly, be cheated, humbugged, and do any thin, than put myself in the power of lawyers. depend upon it, they're as bad here as they air home. they'd have us all in jail, as witnesses. now, i don't want to go to jail." the words of uncle moses produced a strong impression upon the boys. even frank saw that handing the man over to the authorities would involve some trouble, at least, on their part. he hated what he called "bother." besides, he had no vengeful feelings against the italian, nor had bob. as for david and clive, they were the only ones who had been really wronged by the fellow; but they were the last in the world to harbor resentment or think of revenge. their victory had also made them merciful. so the end of it was, that they did according to uncle moses' suggestion, and untied the bonds. number six was evidently amazed. he rose to his feet, looked warily at the party, as though expecting some new attack, then looked all around, and then, with a bound, he sprang away, and running towards the road, soon disappeared. the rest did not delay much longer, but returned as soon as possible to the inn, where they found their dinner ready. this they ate, and then drove back to naples. the opportune arrival of frank and bob was soon explained. they had been riding on donkeys, and had seen the crowd around david and clive, and the struggle. fearing some danger for their companions, they had hastened to the spot, and reached it in time to be of service. the adventure might have been most serious to david and clive; but as it happened, the results were of no very grave character. they felt a little sore; that is all. bob, also had a bad bruise on his left arm; but on the whole, very little harm had been done, nor did the boys regret afterwards that they had let the scoundrel go free. as for their guide, michael angelo, he had been busy in another direction, during this adventure, and when he heard of it, he was very anxious to have them arrested; but uncle moses, for reasons already stated, declined to do anything. chapter iii. _out into the country.--the drive.--the glorious land.--sorrento and eternal summer.--the cave of polyphemus.--the cathedral.--the mysterious image.--what is it?--david relic-hunting.--a catastrophe. --chased by a virago.--the town roused.--besieged.--a desperate onset.--plight.--last of the virago._ a few days after the affair related in the last chapter, our party set out from naples on an excursion round the environs. with the assistance of their landlord they were able to get a carriage, which they hired for the excursion, the driver of which went with them, and was to pay all their expenses for a certain given sum. they expected to be gone several days, and to visit many places of surpassing interest; for naples is a city whose charms, great as they are, do not surpass the manifold loveliness with which it is environed, and the whole party would have been sorry indeed if they had missed any one of those scenes of enchantment that lay so invitingly near them. as they drove along the shore they were all in the highest spirits. the sky was cloudless, and of that deep blue color which is common to this climate; and the sun shone with dazzling brightness, being only warm enough to be pleasant, and not in any way oppressive. for many miles the way seemed nothing else than a street. houses arose on each side; crowds of people, and multitudes of wagons, and droves of cattle constantly met their eyes. caleches dashed about in all directions. the street itself was paved with the large lava blocks which prevail throughout the city; and in fact it seemed as though naples was prolonging itself indefinitely. at length they emerged from the close-built city, and entered the country. all the way the scenery was exquisite. on the left extended green fields, and orchards, and vineyards; spreading away for miles, they rose up the sides of high mountains. upon these were small villas and hamlets, while occasionally a castle perched upon some inaccessible height threw an air of romantic attraction about the scene. they passed several villages, and at length reached castellamare, a town on the shore of the bay. passing beyond this, they found a change in the scenery. the road wound along cliffs which overhung the sea, and was ornamented by trees. the road itself was a magnificent one, as smooth as a floor, and by its circuitous course afforded a perpetual variety. the far white houses of naples, the towers that dotted the shore on every side, the islands that rose from oat the waters, the glorious bay, the gloomy form of vesuvius, with its smoke clouds overhanging, all united to form a scene which called forth the most unbounded admiration. besides all these general features there were others of a more special character, as from time to time they came to some recess in the shore; and the road running in brought them to some little hamlet, which, nestling here, seemed the abode of peace, and innocence, and happiness. through such variations of scenery they passed, and at length arrived at sorrento. this little town is most beautifully situated near the month of the bay of naples, and around it arise high, encircling hills which protect it from the cold blasts of winter and the hot winds of summer. sorrento has a perfect climate, all the seasons are blended together here, and in the orange groves, that surround the town, there may be seen at the same time the strange spectacle of trees in blossom side by side with trees that are loaded with fruit fully ripe. it was evening when they arrived, and they had not much time to spare; so they at once procured a guide from the hotel, and set forth to see what they could before dark. first, the guide took them to a deep chasm, which was so wild and abrupt, so deep and gloomy, that it looked like the work of a recent earthquake. not far from this were some ancient reservoirs, the work of the times of imperial rome. the arches were yet perfect, and over the reservoir was a garden of orange trees. not far distant was a ruined temple, in the enclosure of which was a myrtle plant, five hundred years old, and so large that it formed a respectable tree. after showing them these things and several others, the guide took them to the sea-shore, to a place which goes by the name of the cave of polyphemus. this is a large cavern in the cliff, in front of which is a huge fragment of rock. here the boys recalled the story of ulysses; and david volunteered to give it in full to uncle moses. so david told how ulysses ventured to this place with his companions; how the one-eyed cyclops caught them; how he imprisoned them in the cabin, shutting up its mouth by means of a huge rock, which david thought might have been that very fragment that now lay on the shore before their eyes; how the monster began to devour them; how ulysses devised a plan of escape, and succeeded in putting out the eye of the monster; how he then effected his escape from the cave, and regaining his vessel, put forth to sea. then they went to visit the house in which tasso was born. they were not able to enter it, and as it was now dark, they retreated to their hotel. oh the following morning they all set oat without the guide, to see the town for themselves. a festival of some kind was going on, which attracted many people, and the cathedral was filled. the boys, haying nothing else to do, wandered away towards the common centre of attraction. they soon lost one another in the crowd, and one by one they worked their way into the interior of the place. the organ was sounding forth, the priests were intoning service, on the altar candles were burning, and far on high, through the lofty vaulted nave, there rolled "the smoke of incense and the wail of song!" david found himself a little distance away from a side chapel, which was evidently the chief attraction to the worshippers within the sacred edifice. a dense crowd assembled about it, and in front of it. through these david managed to make his way, full of curiosity about the cause of their interest. he at length forced himself far enough forward to see inside the chapel. he saw a structure, in the centre of the chapel, covered with drapery, upon which was a cushion. lying on this cushion was the image of a child, clothed in rich attire, and spangled with jewels, and adorned with gold and silver. whether it was made of wood or wax he could not tell, but thought it was the former. the sight of it only tempted his curiosity the more, and he longed to look at it more closely. it was evidently considered by the surrounding crowd to be an object of great sanctity, for they regarded it with the utmost reverence, and those nearest were on their knees. upon the altar, at the end of this chapel, lights were burning, and a priest was engaged in religious ceremonies. david's desire to go closer was so strong, that he waited patiently in this one spot for the opportunity of gratifying his curiosity. he had to wait for a long time; but at length he had the satisfaction of seeing a movement among the people, which showed that they were on the point of dispersing. after this the crowd lessened, and the people began to take their departure. at length but a few remained, some of whom were still on their knees around the image. david now, in a slow and unassuming manner, advanced towards the image. he could go close to it, and was able to see it perfectly. an iron rail surrounded the structure on which it was laid, preventing too close an approach; but standing here, outside of the rail, david saw that the image was very rudely carved out of wood, and was intended to represent a child. why such an image should be the object of such interest and devotion he could not for the life of him imagine. he could only postpone any investigation into this until he could find out from some one. and now there came over him an overwhelming desire to obtain a fragment from some portion of this image, or, its dress, or its surroundings, to serve as a relic. his relic-hunting propensities had never been stronger than they were at this moment, and no sooner did the idea suggest itself than he looked all around to see what were the chances. as he looked around he saw that the cathedral was nearly empty: a priest was near the high altar, two boys were in the middle of the nave, by the chief entrance was a little group just preparing to leave. nearer him, and close by the image, were two women. they were on their knees, and appeared to be absorbed in their devotions. it seemed to david that it would be quite easy to possess himself of some small and unimportant portion of the drapery. he was quite unobserved, for the two women who were nearest were not regarding him, the drapery was within easy reach, and a row of tassels, upon which he could lay his hand, offered an irresistible temptation. if he could but get one of those tassels, what an addition it would be to his little stock of treasures! david once more looked all around. the priests were still at the altar; but the boys had gone from the nave, and those who had been near the door had departed. the women seemed as intent as ever upon their devotions. david looked at the drapery once more, and upon one of the tassels which was nearest him. once more he looked all around, and then, stretching forward his hand, he touched the coveted tassel. then he drew back his hand, and putting it in his pocket, he drew forth his knife, which he opened. then he looked around once more. then, for the last time, he put his hand forward, holding the knife so as to cut the tassel. but the cord which bound the tassel to the drapery was strong, and the knife was very dull, and david found that it was not so easy as he had supposed. but he was determined to get it, and so he sawed away, with his dull old knife, at the cord, severing one by one the filaments that composed it, but doing this so slowly that he began to grow impatient. the women were not looking. there was no danger. to work with one hand was useless, and so he reached forth both hands, and began sawing away more vigorously than ever. but his impatience, and his vehement pulls and tugs, produced an effect which he had not expected. the heavy drapery, which had been loosely thrown over, began to slide off towards him as he pulled. david did not notice this, but continued his work, looking around to see whether the women were noticing him or not. at length he had sawed the cord almost through, and gave a quick pull at it to break it. the next moment the heavy drapery came sliding down towards him, and, to his horror, the wooden image came with it, falling with a crash on the marble pavement. in an instant the two women started to their feet, staring with wild eyes at the image and the drapery. then their wild eyes caught sight of david, whose frightened face would have revealed him as the guilty cause of this catastrophe, even if it had not been shown by the tassel and the knife, which were in his hands. with a sharp, shrill scream, one of the women sprang towards him. david instinctively leaped back, and eluded her. the woman chased. david dodged her around a pillar. the woman followed. david dodged behind another pillar. the woman cried out, "_o scellerato! birbone! furbo! ladrone!_" and though david's knowledge of the italian language was but slight, yet it sufficed to show him that these names which she yelled after him had a very direful signification. thus david fled, dodging, the woman behind pillar after pillar, until at length he came near to the door. had the other woman taken part in the chase, david would certainly have been captured. but the other woman did not. she stood as if petrified--motionless and mute, staring at the fallen sanctuary, and overwhelmed with horror. so the flight went on, until at length, reaching the door, david made a rush for it, dashed through, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. the woman followed, but at a slower rate of speed, and saw him go into the hotel. then she returned to the church, after which she went abroad with the story of the horrible desecration through all sorrento. on reaching the hotel, david found the rest of the party there, at dinner. he said nothing of his recent adventure, but took his seat at the table. before long, the party became conscious of a great tumult and uproar in the street in front of the house. frank and bob went to the windows, and looked out. a sudden exclamation of surprise brought clive and uncle moses to their side. david followed slowly, with a strange feeling of apprehension, and with the recollection of his late flight still strong in his mind. he looked out. a great crowd presented itself to his horrified eyes--a crowd representing all sorrento; old, the middle-aged, the young; the rich, poor; male and female; old men, old women, boys, and children. at the head of this, and immediately in front of the door, was the very old woman who bad discovered his sacrilege, and had chased him through the cathedral. now he had hoped that the old woman had forgotten him; but her appearance now was tenfold more terrible than ever. here she was--a virago--with a great following, whom she was exciting by violent harangues, and urging by wild gesticulations, to do something or other which david could not understand, but which he could well imagine to be something that had reference to his own humble, unworthy, and very much terrified self. before they had fairly grasped the whole of the scene that was thus so suddenly presented, they were accosted by the landlord and the driver, who entered the room hurriedly, and in some excitement, in search of them. "one grand meesfortune haf arrive," said the landlord. "de people declare you haf insult de bambino. dey cry for vengeance. how is dis?" "what?" asked frank; "insult what?" "de bambino." "bambino?" "yes. it is de consecrate image--de bambino--does miracles, makes cures; wonderful image, de pride of sorrento; an dis is de day sacred to him. what is dis meesfortune dat i hear of? it is one grand calamity--for you--eef you do not take care." "bambino? insult?" said frank. "we haven't insulted anything whatever. they're crazy." here david, finding concealment useless, confessed all. the boys listened in astonishment the landlord shook his head with an expression of concern and perplexity. then he had a long conversation with the driver. then they both left the room. the landlord went outside, and tried to appease the crowd. he might possibly, have succeeded, had it not been for david's old woman, who shook her fists in his face, stamped, appealed to heaven, raved, and howled, all the time he was speaking. the consequence was, that the landlord's words had no effect. he then entered the hotel once more, and after seeing the driver, and speaking a few words, he hurried up to our party, who by this time were in a state of general alarm. "you must run--fly--leaf sorrento--now--widout delay," he cried, breathlessly. "i haf order de carriage. i sall tell de people dat you sall be arrest, an pacify dem for a few moments, till you get start." the landlord once more left them, and going out to the crowd, he made a few remarks, to the effect that the hotel was being searched now for the offender against the bambino, and when he was found he would at once be handed over to the authorities. he urged them to wait patiently, and they should see that justice would be done. the crowd now grew calmer, and waited. the landlord then went back, and led the party down to the court-yard. here the carriage was all in readiness, and the driver was waiting. they all got in at once, unseen by the crowd in the street; and then, cracking his whip, the driver urged the horses off at full speed through the gates. the crowd fell back on either side, so as to make away, and were not in a position to offer any obstacles to so sudden an onset. they also had the idea that the culprit was inside the hotel, in the hands of the authorities. but the old woman was not to be deceived; she saw it all in a moment, and in a moment she raised the alarm. having, howling, gesticulating wildly, dancing, and jumping, she sprang after the carriage. the crowd followed. but the carriage had already got a good start; it had burst through the people, and those who stood in the way were only too glad to get out of it, and thus, with the horses at full speed, they dashed up the street; and before long they had left sorrento, and the hotel, and the insulted bambino, and the excited crowd, and the raving old beldam far behind. david's adventure in sorrento had been a peculiar one, and one, too, which was not without danger; but if there was any satisfaction to be got out of it, it was in the fact that the tassel which he had acquired, remained still in his possession, to be added to his little stock of relics. chapter iv. _salerno and the sulky driver.--paestum and its temples.--a great sensation.--an unpleasant predicament.--is the driver a traitor?--is he in league with bandits?--arguments about the situation, and what each thought about it._ after a very pleasant drive through a country as beautiful as it had been ever since they left naples, the party reached salerno, where they passed the night. salerno is a lovely place, situated at the extremity of a bay, like naples, of which it may be called a miniature. it is protected from the wind by the high hills that encircle it, and its delicious climate makes it a great resort for invalids. but formerly salerno had a different character, and one far more prominent in the eyes of the world. salerno has a history full of events of the most varied and stirring character. fought for by greek, and roman, and german, and saracen, and norman, its streets have witnessed the march of hundreds of warlike arrays, and it has known every extreme of good or evil fortune. two things make. salerno full of interest to the traveller who loves the past. one is, its position as a seat of learning daring the middle ages. here once arose the greatest school of medicine in, the world, the chairs of which were thrown open, to jewish and arabian professors, who at that time far outstripped the students of the christian world in scientific attainments. the other thing is, that here the great pope, gregory vii., found refuge, after his long struggle, and, flying from rome, obtained rest here among the friendly normans, for it was in salerno that he uttered those memorable dying words of his: "i have loved righteousness, and hated iniquity, and therefore i die in exile." here at salerno they had a slight misunderstanding with their driver. he insisted on getting more pay. as they had already made a full contract with him, this demand seemed like an imposition, and was rejected by the whole of them. the driver grew furiously excited, gesticulated vehemently, stamped, his feet, rolled his eyes, struck his fists together, and uttered language which sounded like italian oaths, though they could not make it out. uncle moses seemed a little appalled at his vehement, and was inclined to yield to his demands for the sake of peace; but the boys would not listen to this for a moment. after watching the raging italian till they were tired, frank at length started to his feet, and in a peremptory tone ordered him out of the room. the italian was so unprepared for this decisive conduct on the part of one who appeared to be but a boy, that he stopped short in the midst of a most eloquent tirade against them, in which he was threatening to denounce them to the authorities for sacrilege; and having stopped, he stared at frank, and seemed unable to go on once more. frank now repeated his orders, accompanying them with a threat that he would call in the police. at this the driver's brow lowered into a sullen scowl, and muttering some expressions of rage and vengeance, he left the room. the boys chatted a little about the mutiny of the driver, as they called it, but soon dismissed the thought from their minds. after passing the night at salerno, they prepared, on the following morning, to continue their journey. early in the day, the driver made his appearance. he was quiet, and not communicative, and much changed from his former self. frank addressed a few remarks to him, but perceiving that he was sulky, he gave up all attempts to appease his wrath. in fact, he began to think that it might, perhaps, have been as well to comply with his request, for the request for more money had been based upon his recent rescue of them from the hands of the mob at sorrento. had the driver made his request a little more meekly, and not presented it with such an assertion of right, there is no doubt that they would have cheerfully given what he asked. but his tone excited their resentment; and afterwards, when the driver chose to lose his temper and scold them, they were more determined than ever to refuse. had he appeared at this time with his former good-natured expression, and had he shown any signs of compunction for his insolent behavior, there is no doubt that they would have brought up the subject of their own accord, and promised him as handsome a sum as his exploit deserved. but his continued sulks prevented them from introducing the subject, and so they concluded to defer it to some other time, when he might be restored to himself. they now drove along the road en route for paestum. at first they drove along the sea-shore, but after a few miles the road turned off into the country. all around them were fields, which were covered with flocks and herds, while in the distance were hills that were clothed with vineyards and olive groves, that adorned their sloping declivities with mantles of dark green and light. in the country, on either side, they also saw some indications of italian life, which excited strong feelings of repugnance within them; for here and there, in many places, women were toiling in the fields just as the men, with heavy hoes, or with ploughs, or with harrows. in some places it was even worse, for they saw women laboring in the fields, while the men lolled on the fences, or sat smoking under the shade of some tree. the implements of labor used excited their surprise. the hoes were as ponderous, as clumsy, and as heavy as pickaxes; the ploughs were miserably awkward things--a straight pole with a straight wooden share, which was sometimes, though by no means always, pointed with iron. these ploughs were worked in various ways, being sometimes pulled by donkeys, sometimes by oxen, and on one memorable occasion a donkey and a woman pulled the plough, while a man, who may have been the woman's husband, guided it through the furrow. the road was a good one, and was at first well travelled. they met soldiers, and priests, and peasants. they met droves of oxen, and wine carts, and large herds of those peculiar hairless pigs which are common to this country. as they drove on farther, the travel diminished, and at length the country seemed more lonely. it was still fertile, and covered with luxuriant vegetation on every side; but the signs of human habitation decreased, until at length they ceased. the reason of this lies in the unhealthy character of the country, which, like many places in italy, is subject to malaria, and is shunned by the people. this is the nature of the country which lies around ancient paestum; and though the fields are cultivated, yet the cultivators live at a distance upon the slopes of the mountains. at about midday they arrived at paestum. here they descended from the carriage, and giving instruction to the driver to remain at this place until they should return, they started off to explore the ruined city. it had been their intention to make use of the driver as guide, to show them the objects of interest in the town; but his long-continued sulks drove this from their minds, and they concluded to trust to themselves and their guide-books. the carriage was drawn up on the side of the road, not far from where there stood an archway, still entire, which once formed one of the gates of paestum. towards this they directed their steps. the gateway was formed of large blocks of stone laid upon each other without cement, and by their great size they had resisted the ravages of time. on either side of this could be seen the foundation stones of the city walls, which have fallen or have been removed in the course of ages. but the circuit of the walls can be traced by the fragments that yet remain, and from this circuit the size of the city may be judged. beyond the gates and in the enclosure of the walls are some majestic and world-famed ruins, some of which are little else than masses of rubbish, while others are so well preserved, that they might now be used for the purpose to which they were originally devoted. there are the remains of a theatre and of an amphitheatre, which, however, are confused heaps, and some public edifices in the same condition. the foundations of some private houses may also be seen. but the most noted and most interesting of the remains of paestum are its two temples and basilica--edifices whose origin reaches back to the depths of an immemorial antiquity, but which still remain in a state of preservation so perfect as to be almost incredible. for these edifices are as old, at least, as homer, and were probably in existence before his day. phoenician sailors or merchants may have set eyes on these temples, who also saw the temple of solomon at its completion. they existed in the age of the pharaohs, and rival in antiquity, in massive grandeur, and in perfect preservation, the pyramids of egypt. in the age of imperial rome, and even of republican rome, these temples were ancient, and the emperor augustus visited them, and regarded them as remains of venerable antiquity. of these three edifices, the most majestic, and probably the most ancient, is the one which is called the temple of neptune. the stone of which it is built, is found in the neighborhood still, and presents a most singular appearance. at a distance it appears very rough and full of holes, like cork. a closer examination shows that it is really composed of innumerable fragments of wood, compressed together in a vast, solid mass, and petrified. the stone is exceedingly hard and durable. the blocks of this stone out of which this temple, and the others also, are built, are of such enormous size, that they can only be compared to those immense masses that were heaped up to form the pyramids of egypt and the temples of karnak. piled up here upon one another without cement, they have defied the ravages of time. the temple of neptune is approached by three immense steps, which extend around every side of it. it is about two hundred feet in length, and eighty in breadth, while on every side there is a row of enormous columns of the doric order, thirty-six in number. they are all fluted, and have an aspect of severe and massive grandeur that is unequalled in any other temple. above these columns rise an enormous doric frieze and cornice, the height of which is equal to half the height of the columns; and these proportions give such vastness to the mass above, that it heightens the sublime effect. the columns, which extend round the temple, are thirty feet high, and seven feet in diameter at the base. inside, the pavement is well preserved; and, though the altar is gone, yet the place where it stood can easily be seen. there is no roof above, and probably never was any; for many of the vast edifices of antiquity were open to the sky--a circumstance which made the task of the architect much easier, since it relieved him of the necessity of sustaining a vast weight in the air, and also of the equal difficulty of lighting the interiors of his buildings. from within the temple enclosures, as from within the theatres and amphitheatres, the blue sky could be seen overhead, while the too fervid rays of a midsummer sun, or the storms of winter, could be warded off from those within by means of an awning thrown over the open roof, and stretched on cables. near the temple of neptune is another, which is called the temple of ceres. it is neither so large nor so grand as the former, but it possesses more elegance and beauty. it is about a hundred feet long and fifty feet wide. like its companion, it is surrounded on all sides by a colonnade, six pillars being in the front, six in the rear, and twelve on either side. the altar here is gone, but its foundations remain. various signs show a greater degree of splendor in the interior adornment of this temple, especially the fact that the pavement was mosaic work. there is reason to suppose that this temple was turned into a christian church some time in the fourth century. such a transformation as this was common enough throughout the roman empire during that great triumph of christianity which took place under constantine, and after him, so that in this, case there need be little room for doubt as to the truth of the statement. not far from this is the third of the great edifices of paestum. it is about as large as the temple of neptune, being nearly two hundred feet long, and about eighty feet wide. like the others, it is surrounded by a colonnade, but the architecture is less massive than that of the first temple. of these columns, nine are in front, nine in the rear, and sixteen are on either side, making fifty in all. in this edifice there are no signs whatever of an altar; and this circumstance has led to the belief that it was not a temple at all, but a court of law. accordingly, it is called the basilica, which term was used by the romans to indicate a place used for public trials. inside, the pavement yet remains, and there are the remains of a row of columns which once passed along the middle of the building from front to rear, dividing it into two parts. of all the three, the temple of neptune is the grandest, the best preserved, and the most famous. but the others are fit companions, and the giant forms of these mighty relics of hoary antiquity, unsurpassed by any other edifice, rise before the traveller, exciting within him emotions of reverential awe. the party visited all these various objects of interest, and at length returned to the gate. they had spent about two hours in their purvey of paestum, and had seen all that there was to be seen; and now nothing more remained but to return as soon as possible, and spend that night at salerno. they had seen nothing of the driver since they left him, and they accounted for this on the ground that he was still maintaining himself in his gigantic sulk, and brooding over his wrongs; and they thought that if he chose to make a fool of himself, they would allow him to do so as long as it was agreeable to him. with these thoughts they approached the gateway. as they drew near, they were surprised to find that there were no signs of the carriage. the view was open and unobstructed. here and there mounds or fragments of stone arose in the place where once had been the wall of the city of paestum, and before them was the simple arch of the massive gateway, but no carriage or horses were visible. this excited their surprise, and also their alarm. they remembered that the sullen mood of the driver made him quite capable of playing off some malicious trick upon them, and they recalled, also, his threats of the evening before. could he have chosen this way to put his threats into execution? it seemed, indeed, very much like it. still, there was one hope left. it was just possible that the carriage had been drawn up more under the arch, so that it was hidden from view. as this was the last hope that was left them, they hurried forth to put an end to their suspense as soon as possible. nearer and nearer they came. at last they reached the arch. they rushed through it, and beyond it. there was nothing there! no carriage! no horses! no driver! at this they all stopped, and stared at one another in silent consternation. "he's gone," cried clive. "he's left us here--to get back the best way we can." "he swore last night," said david, "that he'd pay us up; and this is the way he's done it." "yes," said bob; "he's been sulky all day. he's been concocting some plan." "i don't see what good it'll do him," said frank. "he'll lose his fare. we won't pay him." "o. he'll give up that for the pleasure of revenge," said clive. "wal, wal, wal," cried uncle moses, looking all around with a face of dark and doleful perplexity. "this here doos beat all i ever seen in all my life. an now, what upon airth we can do--i'm sure i can't tell." "whatever we do," said frank, "it won't do to wait here. it's too late now." "perhaps he hasn't run off at all," said david, who always was inclined to believe the best of people. "perhaps he has driven up the road, and intends to return." frank shook his head. "no," cried he. "i believe the scoundrel has left us. we paid him half of his fare at sorrento; the rest was to be paid at naples; but he has thrown that up, in order to have the pleasure of being revenged on us. and where he's gone to now is a mystery to me." "o, i dare say he's driven off to naples." "perhaps so. but he may intend something more. i've heard that there are brigands about here." "brigands!" "yes. and i shouldn't wonder if he has gone off with the intention of bringing some of them here to pay their respects to us. he may have started off immediately after we left him; and, if so, he's had two hours already--time enough, as i think, to do a good deal of mischief." "brigands!" cried uncle moses, in a voice of horror. he stared wildly around, and then looked, with moistened eyes, upon the boys. "o, boys," he sighed, "why did we ever ventoor out so far in this here i-talian land, or why did we ever come to italy at all? brigands! it's what i've allus dreaded, an allus expected, ever sence i fust sot foot on this benighted strand. i ben a feelin it in my bones all day. i felt it a comin over me yesterday, when the mob chased us; but now--our hour hev come!" "nonsense, uncle moses!" cried frank, in a hearty, joyous voice. "what's the use of giving up in that fashion? cheer up. we'll be all right yet." chapter v. _they discuss the situation.--they prepare to foot it.--a toilsome walk and a happy discovery.--the language of signs once more.--the mountain. cavalcade.--bob's ambition.--its results--bob vanishes.--consternation of the donkey boy.--consternation of the cavalcade.--e perduto!_ the mention of brigands produced a startling and powerful effect upon the whole party, and after uncle moses' wail of despair, and frank's rebuke, there was silence for a time. "well," said david, "i don't know. i don't believe in brigands altogether. millions of people come to italy without seeing anything of the kind, and why should we? for my part, i still think it very likely that the driver has driven back to some place on the road where he can get better entertainment for man and beast than is offered at paestum." "where could he go?" said frank. "there isn't any inn for miles." "o you don't know," said david. "there are some by-roads, i dare say, that lead to houses on the hills. i dare say he'll soon be back. from what i've seen of the italians, i think they'd stand a great deal before losing any money. the driver would wait till he got his pay, and then try to take his revenge." "well, it may be so," said frank; "burin any case, it will be best for us to start off at once. there's no use waiting here any longer. we can foot it, after all. and we may come to houses, or we may pick up a wagon, and get a lift." this was evidently the best thing that could be done, and so they all at once set off on foot, on their way back to salerno. fortunately for them, they were quite fresh. they had been driving all the morning; and for two hours they had been strolling up and down within a small circuit, looking at temples, or sprawling on the grass. they had eaten a good lunch before leaving the carriage, and had not had time yet to feel hungry. the weather was mild and pleasant. the sun shone brightly, without being too hot, and everything was favorable to a walk. more than all, the road was very good, and not being much travelled, it was grass-grown to a great extent, and this grass afforded an easy and agreeable path for their feet. they set out in high spirits, walking pretty vigorously, yet not too rapidly, for they wished to husband their strength, chatting all the while, and debating the point as to the driver's intentions. frank maintained that he had deserted them out of malice, and bob coincided with this view. david, on the other hand, believed that he had merely driven away to find refreshment, and would return, and clive sided with him. but, as mile after mile was traversed, and still no signs of the driver appeared, david's theory grew weak, and frank's grew strong. as for uncle moses, he said nothing, his feeling being chiefly one of intense anxiety to get the boys home before meeting with brigands. the awful images of italian banditti, which frank's words had called up in his mind, were not to be easily got rid of. they walked on for about two hours, and by that time had succeeded in putting some seven or eight miles between themselves and paestum. the road now became wider, and quite free from grass, giving every indication of being a well-trodden thoroughfare, and exciting the hope that they would find some wine cart at least, or other mode of conveyance, by means of which they could complete their journey to salerno. suddenly, on making a turn in the road, they saw before them some moving objects, the sight of which elicited a shout of joy from bob. "donkeys! donkeys!" he cried. "hurrah, boys!" "why, what good are they?" said david. "good?" cried bob; "every good in the world. we can hire them, or buy them, and ride back to salerno." "that's a capital idea," cried frank, in great delight. "i hoped to find wine carts, or ox carts; but donkeys are infinitely better." hurrying forward, they soon overtook the donkeys. there were six or eight of them, guided by an old man and a boy. frank instantly accosted them. of course he could not speak italian, but by means of signs he succeeded in conveying to the old man's mind the requisite idea. on this occasion he felt most strongly the benefit which he had received from his intercourse with paolo. frank thus pointed to his feet, and then backward, and then forward, and then pointing to the donkey nearest, he made a motion to mount, after which he showed the old man some money, and tapping it, and pointing to the donkey, he looked inquiringly at him, as if to ask, "how much?" the old man made some signs which seemed to frank to be a question, "how far?" so he roared out, in stentorian tones, "salerno." upon this the old man stood for a little while in silent thought. then he looked at frank, and then, pointing with one hand at frank's money, with the other he touched the donkey which seemed to say that he would let the donkey go for that price. as there was not quite a dollar in frank's hand, in loose change, the charge seemed to him to be very reasonable, and even, as he expressed it, dirt cheap. so thought all the rest, and they all proceeded to bring forth their loose change, and pass it over to the old-man. the hands of the latter closed over the silver, with a nervous and almost convulsive clutch, and after one long, hungry look at each lot that was given him, he would insert each very carefully in the remote corner of an old sheepskin poach that hung in front of him, suspended around his waist. but now arose a difficulty. the donkeys had no saddles. that was a small matter, however, and was not the real difficulty. the real difficulty lay in the fact that they had no bridles. how could they guide them? frank tried by signs to express this difficulty to the old man, and the latter understood him, for he smiled, nodded, shrugged his shoulders, and then pointed to his boy, and waved his band in the direction they wished to go. the boy also smiled and nodded, and made signs of his own, by which he plainly showed them that he intended to accompany them as guide, and lead the drove, while they might ride. this being understood, the boys felt satisfied, and each one now proceeded to select the donkey which was most to his taste. bob had already made his selection, and was mounted on the back of the biggest donkey of the lot--an animal whose size, breadth of chest, and slender limbs gave him an air of actual elegance. all the boys envied bob his mount; but none of them complained. frank secured a solid animal, that had a matter-of-fact expression, and looked as though he had no nonsense in him. clive chose one that had a slight shade of melancholy in his face, as though he had known sorrow. david's donkey was a shaggy, hard-headed, dogged-looking animal, that seemed bent on having his own way. uncle moses' mount was rather eccentric. he chose the smallest animal of the lot,--a donkey, in fact,--which was so small that its rider's feet could only be kept from the ground with difficulty. uncle moses, indeed, if he had chosen, might have taken steps on the ground, and accelerated the motion of his beast by propelling him with his own feet. great was the laughter that arose among the party as each one mounted his gallant steed, and turned to look upon his companion. jeers, and jokes, and light chaff arose, and the boys found no end of fun in this new adventure. but uncle moses wasn't able to see any fun in it at all. he sat with an expression on his face that would have done honor to a martyr at the stake, and the boys respected him too much to include him in their good-natured raillery. the italian boy took david's donkey by the ear, and started. david's donkey, in spite of his appearance of obstinacy, followed without resistance, and trotted nimbly off, the italian boy running easily by his side. the other donkeys followed. as they had no bridles and no saddles, some of the party had a little difficulty in preserving their balance, but managed to do so by grabbing the coarse hair of the donkey's mane. the pace was a rapid one, and it was wonderful to see how well the italian boy kept up with them without losing breath, or slackening it. this he did for a long time. among those who cared nothing for saddle or bridle was bob. on the back of a donkey he felt as comfortable as though he was sitting in an easy-chair. as they trotted along the road, bob sat with his arms folded, and his legs now hanging loosely, now drawn up in front of him, and at other times pretending that he had a side-saddle. at length he became discontented with the subordinate position that he was occupying, in merely following in the rear of a leader like david. he was a far better rider than david, and his donkey a far better donkey than the leading one. with the ambitions desire to obtain the post of honor for himself, he beat, pounded, and kicked at his donkey. for a long time this had no effect whatever; the donkey not only was not stimulated by it, but he did not even seem to be conscious of it. at last bob determined to resort to other methods. drawing a pin from his shirt collar, where it was filling the place of a lost button, he stuck it two or three times in the donkey's flanks. this was too much. the patience of bob's donkey had reached its farthest limit. it could endure it no more. with a wild bound the donkey sprang forward, and in three paces had cleared the way to the first. another leap, and he was beyond them. the donkey ran like a race-horse. his slender, sinewy limbs seemed as fitted for running and for speed as the limbs of an antelope. his head was down, his neck arched, his tail in the air, and his long, rapid strides bore him with astonishing velocity far ahead and far away. the italian boy tittered a cry of dismay, and stopped short. the donkey which he was holding stopped also, and the others did the same. the italian boy looked with a face of consternation after the runaway. all the rest looked with vague fears in the same direction, and with a half hope that bob might stop the animal, or turn him. "_e perduto!_" exclaimed the italian boy; and though they did not understand italian, yet there was something in his tone, and look, and gesture, which told them the meaning of those words--"he's lost!" chapter vi. _flight of bob.--difference between a tame donkey and a wild ass.--carried off to the mountains.--the headlong course.--the mountain pass.--the journey's end.--ill-omened place.--confounded by a new terror.--the brigands._ when the donkey first bounded off, the feelings of bob were nothing but pure, unmitigated delight. as his spirited animal, roused from his indifference, burst through the crowd and reached the head, bob's heart swelled with triumph. as he rushed along the road, far ahead of the rest, his triumph increased. he turned his head, and waved his hands to his friends. then he waved his cap in the air, and shouted, "hurrah!" then he rode side-saddle fashion for a little while, then he drew both legs up in front, and then he indulged in a series of absurd and fantastic tricks. all this bob did because he supposed that he was riding ahead of his friends, and that they were following him, and admiring him. he had not made any calculation as to the great rate of speed at which his donkey was carrying him, and had no idea how quickly he was leaving all the rest behind. so, while he had been indulging in his pranks for the amusement of those whom he supposed to be following him, he was, in reality, already beyond the reach of their eyes. for his donkey was an animal very far superior to the common herd. he was not a donkey--he was an ass--spirited, slender, sinewy, and fleet as a race-horse. there was something so peculiarly easy in the ass's gait that it deceived the rider. it seemed to him to be a gentle ambling trot, or something midway between that and a canter. in reality this easy pace was exceedingly swift, and before long bob was out of sight of his friends. this discovery burst upon him as he turned, with the intention of shouting back some nonsense to them, when, to his utter amazement and consternation, he saw no signs of them whatever. it must be confessed that the shock which this discovery gave to bob was a very powerful one. he looked all around in anxious curiosity, with the endeavor to comprehend his situation. his first thought was, that some accident had happened to the party which was delaying them; but soon he became aware of his own tremendous progress, and understood the true state of the case'. he was now in a place where the road ran straight for over a mile. at the end of this it turned. as bob reached this turning-place, he looked back again, and far away, just at the entrance upon the straight piece of road, he saw the party coming. a few seconds and he was once more carried out of sight. and now bob began to feel that his situation was a serious one. it was not pleasant to be carried away in this manner, in a strange country, on the back of an animal like this. had it been a runaway horse, he would have felt less troubled. he would, in fact, have felt quite at home, for he had been frequently run away with on horseback. he understood horses, but of asses he knew nothing. a horse was to some extent a sensible animal. he would run away, and in due time would come to a pause. but an ass! was an ass possessed of any sense of decency--any conscience? would the well-known obstinacy of the ass be shown on an occasion like this? and would this ass, merely out of that obstinacy, keep on running for all the rest of the day? it was a startling thought. bob all this time had been making desperate efforts to stop the ass. he was considerably embarrassed by the fact that there was no bridle, and no way of getting at the ass, so as to exert his strength upon him. he tried various ways. first he pulled at his long ears. for this the ass cared not a whit. he did not seem to be conscious of it. then he wound his hands about his neck, and tried to pull his head back. the effect was useless. bob's strength was unavailing. he could no more move that bent and stubborn neck, than he could straighten the crooked fluke of an anchor. then he pounded wildly upon the neck, shoulders, and flanks of the ass, and kicked against his sides. this, too, was useless, for his puny blows seemed to affect the animal no more than so many puffs of wind. then bob tried other means. he sat upright, and suddenly called, in a short, sharp, peremptory voice, "whoa!" this he repeated over and over, but without any success; and at length he reflected that _whoa_ was english, a language which, of course, an italian ass could not understand. while bob had been putting forth these efforts, the ass bad been flying along at an undiminished rate of speed, and the country swept past him on either side. he passed long lines of trees by the roadside, he saw field after field flit by, and the distant hills went slowly along out of the line of his vision. hitherto he had met with no one at all along the road, nor had he seen any cattle of any kind. his efforts to arrest the ass had been fruitless, and he gave them up, and looked forward for some opportunity to get assistance. he remembered that the road had no towns or inns between paestum and salerno, and he began to fear that he would be carried all the way to the latter place before he could stop. his fears, however, were unfounded; for now an event occurred which made him full of other thoughts. it was a sudden change in the course of his flight. thus far they had been going along the main road. now, however, they came to a place where a road led away on the right, apparently to the mountains. without the slightest pause or hesitation, but with undiminished speed, and the headlong flight of one familiar with the way, the ass turned from the main road, and ran into this side road. the anxiety and fear which bob had thus far felt were trifling, indeed, compared with the emotions that now seized upon him. thus far he had not felt altogether cut off from his friends. he knew all the time that they were behind him, and that at the worst he could not be carried farther than salerno, and that they would come up with him there, and thus they would all be reunited before dark. but now he was suddenly carried off helplessly from the main road, and in a moment seemed severed from his friends. where was he going? when would the ass stop? before him arose the mountainous country, not many miles away, the declivities in some places slight and gradual, in other places abrupt. cultivated spots appeared here and there, and white villages, and old castles. it was not, however, an inviting country, and the nearer he drew to it the less he liked it. the road here was not so broad, and smooth, and easy as the one he had just left, but was narrow and rough. at length he reached the skirts of the mountains, and the road now began to ascend. after a while it grew somewhat steeper, and decidedly rougher. and now bob found, to his immense relief, that the pace was at last beginning to tell upon the tough sinews of the fiery animal which he bestrode. the ass could not keep up such a pace while ascending the mountain. gradually his speed slackened, and bob at length began to look about for a soft place, where he could jump. but by this time the road entered what looked like a pass among the mountains. on one side the hill rose, wooded in some places, in others rocky; while on the other side it went down steep for about thirty, feet, where a mountain torrent brawled, and dashed over its rocky bed. it was about here that the ass slackened his pace sufficiently for bob to jump from his back; but just here it was impossible to jump without the risk of breaking some of his bones, and he was not yet quite desperate enough to run such a risk as that. as the road went on through the pass, it grew narrower and steeper, quite impassable for carriages, and only fit for travellers on horse or foot. the farther on it went, the rougher and steeper it became, and it went on with many a winding. no houses appeared, except at a great distance, and those which did thus appear seemed separated by deep valleys from the place where he was. bob could have easily dismounted from the donkey now; but he hesitated. he thought with some dismay upon the distance that lay between him and the main road. he thought that his friends must have passed beyond the place where he turned off, and that if he did go back he could not hope to meet them. besides, to go so long a distance on foot was too formidable a task just now. he hoped that the ass had some aim in directing his course here, and that he was seeking his home. perhaps that home was close by. perhaps it was some village in the mountains. if so, he might be able to obtain a mount for salerno, and still reach that place before night was over. he hoped thug to find help--to get a horse or an ass, and also something to eat, and thus set forth for salerno. as the road wound on, and as he traversed it, he looked eagerly at every projecting cliff before him; and as he rounded each projection he still looked forward eagerly in search of the place, whether house or village, where he might obtain the help of which he stood in need. but the road continued lonely. he saw no houses, no villages, in its vicinity. he met with no living things, whether men or cattle. it was the loneliest path he had ever traversed. at last he rounded a projecting spur of the mountain; and here he beheld a scene which was more promising. a little distance off there was a bridge, which crossed the torrent. beyond this the mountains sloped away in an easy declivity, where appeared several houses. on the other side of the bridge were two men. the sight filled bob with joy, and fearing that the ass might once more take it into his head to run, he at once leaped off the animal's back, and walked towards the bridge. the ass, freed from his weight, trotted briskly away, and bob followed. the noise of me ass trotting over the bridge roused the two men, and they walked across and caught him. one of them then held him, and the other walked towards bob. as the latter approached, bob noticed that he was dirty and bearded, and rather shabby. he had a coarse jacket, with brass buttons; a red flannel shirt, which was open, and disclosed a hairy breast; and coarse leather breeches with leggings. a conical felt hat was on the top of his head. thusfar he was simply the counterpart of hundreds of other peasants in this part of the country, shepherds, drovers, wine-sellers, etc., such as he had encountered during his drive. but in one important respect ne was different. he had a gun in his hand. this gun at once made him seem more than a simple peasant. it made a profound impression upon bob. and as the italian approached, with his eyes fixed on the new comer, a strange and very natural suspicion was roused in bob's mind. "it's a brigand!" he thought. "i'm lost!" chapter vii. the lurking-place of the brigands.--the captive boy.--the hideous household.--the horrible old hag.--the slattern woman.--the dirty children.--the old crone and the evil eye.--despondency of bob.--is escape possible?--night.-imprisoned.--the bed of straw.--outlook into the night from the prison windows. a brigand! such was the appalling thought that came to the mind of bob, as the italian advanced towards, him. as he came closer, his face became more distinctly revealed. it was not a face which reassured him. heavy, shaggy black eyebrows, from beneath which gleamed black and fiery eyes, a skin browned by the hot, italian sun, and white teeth, that glistened from behind a vast matted mass of tangled beard and moustache,--such was the face that appeared. it seemed an evil and sinister face--a face that revealed a cruel and treacherous soul. no wonder that bob's heart sank within him as he saw himself confronted by one like this. the italian stood looking at him with sharp and close scrutiny. then he said something. bob could not understand him, and tried to explain by signs that he had lost his way, and that the donkey had run away with him. he also pointed to himself, and said, "americano," and waved his hand in the direction of the road up which he had come, and said, "salerno." this was very well for bob, especially when his anxiety of mind is taken into account, and his signs seemed intelligible to the italian. he looked at bob carefully, and finally seemed to make out an explanation of his appearance, which satisfied him, after which he motioned to him to follow, and walked back towards the bridge. bob's first impulse was to rush away, and run as fast as his legs could carry him; but the thought of the italian's gun checked the impulse, and he followed. meanwhile, the other brigand, who had caught the ass, stood stroking it and examining it. the animal seemed perfectly quiet and docile; altogether a changed animal, different far from that wild beast that had torn bob away from all his friends, and thrown him here among these dread associates. this other man had very much the same general appearance as the first one. his beard was reddish, and his eyes were smaller, the general expression of his face was more sinister, as bob thought, and though he had no gun, yet he seemed none the less formidable. the two men stood talking together for some time. one of them seemed to be narrating to the other bob's account of himself, as he had understood it from the signs that had been made. after this they seemed to be discussing the subject of bob and the ass, for they looked at him and at the animal from time to time during their conversation. at length they seemed to have made up their minds about the subject, for they stopped talking; and motioning bob to follow, they walked away, leading the ass with them. again a strong impulse rose in bob's mind to fly; but again the dread of being shot at prevented him. he therefore followed as before. there was in this place a circular sweep of hills enclosing a valley, through which the brook ran. crossing this by a bridge, the road wound along a gentle declivity, and not very far away were one or two houses. one of these was two stories high, much dilapidated, and looked as though it might once have been a wind-mill, or something of that sort. it stood on the edge of the torrent, and the door-way was towards the road. the other buildings seemed to be barns of some sort, or sheep-folds. the grassy declivity spread away till it reached a steeper ascent, and here there began a forest which covered the mountain-sides. towards this old mill bob was led by his captors. as he drew near he saw some dirty children at play, in front of the door-way. soon an old woman came out, followed by another, who was younger. the old woman was a hideous old crone. her hair was a matted gray mass, her teeth were gone, and her face was pinched, and so seamed with wrinkles, that she looked as though she might be over a hundred years old. the other woman was very dirty and slatternly. she had a dirty baby in her arms; her hair was in disorder, her face was greasy and smouched, and a filthy cloth, which might once have been white, was on her head. the women and children were all barefoot. as bob approached, they all stared at him with the most intense curiosity; the two women stood still and stared; the children stopped their play and stared; and there was something in the glow and glitter of all these fiery, black, italian eyes which seemed horrible to poor bob, and made his flesh fairly creep. the men then began to talk to the women, evidently explaining about bob and the ass; and as they talked the eyes of all of them were most of the time fixed upon these two. as for the children, they glared for a time with very evil looking faces at bob; but at length the ass seemed to offer superior attractions to them, for they made a rush at it, climbed on its back, pulled at its ears and tail, and tormented it in various ways. strange to say, this animal, that had punished poor bob's little trick so fearfully, showed no resentment whatever at his present treatment, but stood there, no longer the fiery wild ass, but the very living image of a patient donkey. bob stood there looking upon the scene with his heart sinking within him, yet by no means despairing. he had too high a spirit and too stout a heart to give up so soon; and as he stood there, in the power of this evil company, he turned over in his mind a hundred different modes of escape. if he could once effect his escape from these people, he might easily go back by the mountain path. but how could he escape? that was the difficulty. thus far, to his amazement, they had not inflicted any cruelty upon him, nor had they tied his hands; but that was, no doubt, owing to their contempt for him, and their conviction that he would not venture to fly. all that bob had ever heard about the manners and customs of italian brigands now came to his mind--how they detain their prisoners subject to a ransom, treating them well enough until the ransom comes, but if it fails, then inflicting upon them the most horrible cruelties. to bob it now seemed certain that they intended to hold him for ransom, and that they would treat him well till he should be freed. as he felt certain about obtaining his ransom, he began to feel less anxious, and his bold and enterprising spirit began to conceive various ways by which he might baffle the brigands. at length one of the men went off, and the younger of the women went into the house. the brigand with the gun remained, and talked for a little while with the old woman. it was evident to bob, by the glances which they threw at him, that he was the subject of their conversation. to him the old woman was by far the most obnoxious of the whole crowd. the slatternly woman, the dirty, impish children, the brigands,--all these were bad enough; but the old woman was far worse to his imagination. there was in her watery eyes, in the innumerable wrinkles of her leathery skin, in her toothless jaws, something so uncanny that he almost shuddered. she reminded him of some of those witches of whom he had read, who, in former and more superstitious ages, were supposed to have dealings with the evil one, and whose looks certainly sustained such a supposition. to bob, at that time, it seemed that if ever any one did in reality have dealings with the evil one, that one was the old hag behind him. to him she seemed a witch; he thought of her as a witch; and if she had at that time put on a peaked hat, straddled a broomstick, and flown off through the air, it would scarcely have surprised him. at length the brigand went off, and the old woman came up to bob. at her approach bob involuntarily shrank back a step or two. the old hag fixed her small, watery eyes on him, mumbled with her toothless jaws, and after a few efforts croaked out something in italian, followed by some gestures with her hands, which bob understood to convey a general assurance of safety. for this he was prepared, since his mind was now fixed upon the idea that he would be kept for a ransom. then the old woman came nearer, and put one of her thin, bony, shrivelled hands on his shoulder. the touch was like the touch of a skeleton, and suggested horrible thoughts to poor bob. a thrill of disgust and terror shot through him; but he stood it, for he did not like to show his disgust, for fear of offending his hideous companion. the old woman, then standing before him with her hand on his shoulder, looked at him for a long time in silence. bob looked back at her, and it seemed to him that he had never seen in all his life, such a hideous face. the wrinkles were now more plainly visible, the jaws seemed to be more retreating, the cheeks were sunken, the cheek-bones projecting, the eyes, small and weak, showed tears that slowly trickled down. suddenly the old hag gave a low groan, which bob attributed to some pain or other, and turned away. he noticed that she was trembling, and thought it was the weakness of her extreme old age. he was puzzled by these movements of hers, and felt sure that they meant no good. after a few minutes she, turned again, and beckoned to him to follow. she led the way into the house. on reaching the door bob hesitated, and stood without looking in. he saw a large apartment occupying all the lower story of the old mill, with some rude seats and rough beds. a long ladder led up to the upper story. the old woman beckoned for him to come in, and bob did not like to refuse. so he went in. she then brought forth some cold mutton and black bread, which she offered him. bob was ravenously hungry; but at that moment an idea came to him--a suspicion that was created by the very sinister aspect and very singular behavior of the old crone. the suspicion was, that it was drugged or poisoned. this suspicion was not at all in accordance with the idea that they were keeping him for a ransom, but it was an irrepressible one, and though hungry, he did not dare to eat. so he shook his head. upon this the old hag took the things away, and bob went out again. the dirty children had been playing with the donkey all this time, and still kept up their sport but in the midst of their sport they still had curiosity enough to keep their eyes from time to time upon the strange boy who had come thus suddenly into their midst. the furtive, sinister glances of their wicked black eyes had something uncanny in them, which made bob feel more uncomfortable than ever. he took a seat upon a stone in front of the house, on one side of the door-way, and looked all around. the mountains arose there, rising first gently in an easy acclivity, and then sweeping up with a greater incline. their sides, and even their summits, were here all covered with forests. on the left he could see the bridge over which the road passed--the road that led to safety. could he but escape for a few moments from the eyes of his jailers, he might be saved. and why not? two women, and some dirty children--why should he care for such guards as these? one rush, one leap, and he would be free. willingly would he walk all the way to salerno. anything would be welcome after such a captivity as this. but bob was doomed to disappointment; for just as he had made up his mind to fly, just as he was looking all around to see if the coast was clear, he saw, to his deep distress, the two brigands approaching from the outhouse. they were carrying something which, on nearer approach, turned out to be a sheep, which they had just killed. of course all thoughts of flight now departed, and bob could only deplore his own stupidity in allowing that one chance of escape to pass away. after this they began to boil portions of the sheep in a pot; and soon the savory odor of a stew filled the room, and came to bob's nostrils. as he was half starving, the delicious odor excited the utmost longing to taste it, and he at once began to feel rather satisfied that he had not fled. he felt that a flight after dinner would be far better. in due time the dinner was ready. it was a stew,--mutton, with vegetables, cooked deliciously,--and bob's hunger was so great that if it had been worse cooked it would have been a banquet. he had no fears of poison, no suspicions of drugging, for the whole family prepared to partake' of the repast--the two brigands, the old hag, the slatternly woman, and the dirty children. the stew was poured out into a huge wooden platter; they used no plates, but dipped with their fingers. the sight awakened a little disgust in bob, but he was too hungry to be squeamish, and he succeeded in picking out various morsels which had not been touched by the dirty hands of his companions. during the repast bob noticed that they all kept looking, from time to time, at him, and their furtive glances met his eyes whenever he turned them. the old woman sometimes seemed to devour him with a greedy, hungry sort of gaze, that was very horrible. it was an ogrish look, and bob's appetite was somewhat checked by the horror that he found in her eyes, and he was unable to have that free play with the repast which he might otherwise have had. after the repast bob once more went outside, hoping now to have the opportunity which he had missed before. the dirty children went outside too. the two brigands followed, and occupied themselves with various employments. escape from such surroundings as these was impossible. at length one of the brigands mounted the ass, and rode away down the road by which he had come. this circumstance seemed suspicious to bob at first, but afterwards he thought that perhaps he had gone to salerno to get the ransom. after this, darkness came on so suddenly that he was amazed. he had already noticed that the twilight in italy was very much less than that to which he had been accustomed at home, but had never been so impressed by it as now. there seemed but a minute between day and night it was quite bright, and then in a wonderfully short time it became dark. upon this they all entered the house. bob had to go with the rest. the room was feebly illuminated by a small oil lamp. bob noticed that they fastened the door with a huge chain. the fastening of that door was ominous to him, and the clanking of that chain smote him to the heart, and echoed drearily within his soul. it seemed to him now like real imprisonment, shut in here with chains and bars, within this stone prison. soon they all prepared to retire; and the brigand who had first met bob beckoned to him, and taking the lamp, climbed the ladder to the upper story. bob followed him. the upper story was about eighteen feet above the lower one. on reaching it, bob saw that it was all one apartment. there was no bed here, or bedding, or furniture of any description whatever. sheep-skins hung from the rafters, and dried mutton, and some vegetables. in one corner was a pile of straw. to this the brigand pointed, and bob went over there. he understood that he was to pass the night on this pile of straw. once more bob looked all around as he stood there by the straw. he saw the farther end of the room in dark shadows; he saw the articles hanging from the rafters. he noticed, also, that there were two windows, one in front and the other in the rear. in these windows there were no sashes. they were open to the night air. one glance sufficed to show him this. the brigand now said something which bob supposed to mean good night, so he very civilly said the same in english. the brigand grinned, and then descended the ladder, taking the lamp with him. on his departure, bob's first act was to take off his boots. he then felt his way along the wall to the front window, for it was so intensely dark inside and outside, that not a thing was visible. reaching the window, he put his head out and looked down. he could see nothing. all was the very blackness of darkness. he looked up to the sky. all there was blackness also and darkness. then he looked down again. if he had only some means of getting down, he could venture the descent; but he had nothing. there were no sheets here for him to tie together; he could not make a rope out of that straw strong enough to bear his weight. to jump down was not to be thought of, for he knew very well that at least twenty feet separated him from the ground. he turned away from the window in despair, and groping his way back to his rude bed, he sat upon the straw, and gave himself up to his gloomy and despondent thoughts. chapter viii. _the worn-out captive.--light slumbers.--fearful wakening.--the stealthy step.--the overmastering. horror.--the lone boy confronted by his enemy.--the hungry eyes.--is it real, or a nightmare?--the supreme moment._ the darkness of the night and the impossibility of escape filled bob with the most gloomy and distressing thoughts, which at first quite overcame him. but at length other thoughts came, which were of a less distressing character. his mind once more reverted to the idea that he was held for ransom, and that for the present, at least, he was in safety; and not only so, but well cared for. these people certainly had given him of their best. they had made him share at the common meal, and though this bed of straw was not very elegant, it was at least comfortable, and was no worse than they themselves used to sleep upon. he flung himself down upon the straw, and found that it was a soft and a refreshing couch. far better was this fresh straw than any formal bed could have been, for in such a house as that, a mattress or a bed would certainly have been hideous thing, as dirty, as greasy, and as squalid as the people of the house. on the whole, bob was pleased with his bed of straw, and with its clean, fresh smell. escape being thus cut off for the present, bob's frame of mind grew more placid. as long as he entertained the idea of immediate flight, his mind was constantly on the strain; but now, when that idea had been dismissed, he grew calmer, and thought over his circumstances with more deliberation. he remembered that one of the brigands had already gone away, and, as he supposed, to salerno. if so, he would, no doubt, either see his friends, or at least hear from them, some time on the following day. the more he considered his situation, the more free from all immediate danger did it seem, and the more did his hopes increase. he looked forward with eager hope, to the following day. that would, without doubt, bring him news of his friends, or, perhaps, restore him to liberty. under the pleasant influence of thoughts like these, his mind grew more calm and cheerful every moment, and passed into a state of tranquil contentment besides, he was tired, and his weariness brought on drowsiness. as long as his excitement lasted, he could not feel the drowsiness; but now, as calmness returned, the weariness and sleepiness became stronger, and by degrees overpowered him. gradually the thoughts of his mind became intermingled with the fancies of dreams, and blended the realities around him with things at a distance. all was still, outside and inside. no sound whatever arose from below. the family seemed all asleep. at last bob dozed off also, and passed into the land of dreams. his sleep was not heavy. many things conspired to keep his senses somewhat on the alert even in that slumber of his, and he was in that condition which is called sleeping with one eye open. the fact is, the extraordinary excitement of his donkey ride, and especially of his last adventure in thus falling into captivity, had so roused his faculties, so affected his nerves, and so sharpened his senses, that even in his sleep there still predominated the thoughts and the purposes of his waking hours. in this state he remained for some time, sleeping, yet vigilant, the body gaining rest and refreshment, but the wary soul on the alert, as though to guard against danger. how long this sleep continued, whether minutes or hours, bob could never afterwards remember; but with a sudden shock through all his nerves, he opened his eyes. he was lying, as he had flung himself on the straw, on his back, with his head elevated against a bundle of straw, in such a way that he could see the length of the room. it was a noise that he heard. he listened breathlessly, and looked with all his eyes. around him all was dark. it might be near morning, or it might be early night; he could not tell. all was still, outside and inside--the blackness of darkness and the stillness of death. yet now, in the midst of that black darkness and that deathly stillness, he became aware, of a sight and a sound. it was a low, creaking sound, which was repeated at short intervals, accompanied by a sliding, shuffling noise. it sounded in the direction of the opening by which the ladder led up from below. looking there, he saw a ray of light, faint and flickering, yet visible enough in that deep darkness; and as the grating, shuffling sounds succeeded one another at regular intervals, even so did the faint, flickering ray of light grow brighter and brighter. as bob looked at this and took it all in, one thought came to him in an instant,-_somebody was coming up the ladder!_ the thought went through him with a pang. somebody is coming up the ladder! who? what for? that mysterious somebody was coming slowly and stealthily. it was the tread of one who wished to come unobserved. on waking out of sleep suddenly, the mind is often confused; but when, after such a sudden awakening, it is confronted by some horrible presence, the shock is sometimes too great to be endured. so was it with bob at this time. his awaking had been sudden; and the horror that he found in the object that now presented itself was, that the shuffling sound that arose from the ladder was the step of doom,--and the mysterious visitant was stealing towards him to make him its prey. there arose within him an awful anticipation. his eyes fixed themselves upon the place where the light was shining; all his soul awaited, in dreadful expectation, the appearance of the mysterious visitor, and as the stealthy step drew nearer and nearer, the excitement grew stronger, and more painful, and more racking. at length the figure began to emerge above the opening. bob's eyes were fixed upon the place. he saw first the light. it emerged above the opening--an old oil-lamp held in a bony, grisly, skinny hand. then followed an arm. bob's excitement was now terrible. his heart beat with wild throbs. his whole frame seemed to vibrate under that pulsation which was almost like a convulsion. the arm rose higher! higher still! _it_ was coming! there arose a matted shock of greasy, gray hair. the light shone down upon it as it was upheld in the bony hand. the hair came tip, and then, gradually, a face. that face was pale as ashes; it was lean and shrivelled; the cheeks were sunken; the cheek bones projected; and a million wrinkles were carved upon the deep-seamed brow and corrugated cheeks. over that hideous face the gray hair wandered. bob's blood seemed to freeze within his veins. the old fable tells of the gorgon, whose face inspired such horror that the beholder stiffened into stone. so here. bob beheld a gorgon face. he felt petrified with utter horror! as the face came up it was turned towards him. it emerged higher and higher, and at length stopped about a foot above the opening. here it fixed its gaze upon bob, bending itself forward, and holding forth the light as far as possible, so that it might light up the room, and peering through the gloom so as to see where bob was. there seemed something indescribably evil, malignant, and cruel, in those bleary eyes which thus sought bob out, fastened themselves upon him, and seemed to devour him with their gaze. there was a hideous eagerness in her look. there was a horrible fascination about it,--such as the serpent exerts over the bird. and as the bird, while under the spell of the serpent's eye, seems to lose all power of flight, and falls a victim to the destroyer, so here, at this time, bob felt paralyzed at that basilisk glance, and lost all power of motion. he could not speak. he tried to scream. no cry came. he was dumb with horror. he was like one in a nightmare; but this was a waking night-mare, and not the fanciful terrors of dreamland. but the horror was too great to be endured. he closed his eyes tight, and thus shut out the sight. but though he shut out the sight, he could not shut oat sound; and soon he became aware of something which brought a fresh terror over his soul. it was a stealthy step. it was advancing towards, him. slow, cautious, cunning, yet steady, and nearer and still nearer, came the awful step! bob opened his eyes, to assure himself once more of the worst. he opened them by a resistless impulse. the figure was now half way between the opening and the bed. the old hag stood now fully revealed. her bleary eyes were fixed on bob. one hand upheld the flickering lamp, and in the other was a sharp weapon. bob closed his eyes in an anguish of horror. he was dumb. he could utter no cry. he could not move. the blow was coming. the destroyer was here, yet he could not make one motion to ward off that blow. his brain whirled, his heart seemed to stop beating. there was a terrible moment of dumb, motionless, breathless expectancy. the old woman knelt by his side. she put the lamp on the floor. then she reached out one of her long, lean, bony, skinny, shrivelled hands, and took bob by the hair of his head, while with the other she raised her sharp weapon. chapter ix. _the cavalcade in pursuit.--hopes and fears.--theories about the lost boy.--a new turn to affairs.--explanations.--on to salerno.--inquiries.--baffled.--fresh consternation and despondency.--the last hope._ meanwhile the party on donkeys trotted along the road after bob. at the exclamation from the donkey boy they had all experienced a shock; but soon they recovered from it, and the shock only served as a stimulus to make them push the donkeys onward more rapidly. they rode on for some time without making any remarks, each one looking eagerly forward to see if bob might reappear; but he had vanished behind a turn in the road, and as they advanced, there were other turns to be encountered, and so they were unable to see him. this began to create uneasiness. at first they all had hoped that bob would be able to stop the ass, or that the animal, after indulging his paces for a short time, would stop of his own accord; but the farther they went, the more they became convinced that this affair had something serious in it. at length they reached that long, straight piece of road already mentioned. at one end of this was a rising ground; as they ascended this and reached its summit, they looked ahead, and there, far away before them, was a single rider. they recognized bob at once. he was more than a mile away; but the sight of him filled them all with joy, and they at once stimulated their donkeys to greater exertions. in spite of the distance that intervened, they all shouted as loud as they could; but of course the distance was too great, and their cries were lost before they reached nearly as far away as bob. in a short time he turned in the road, and passed out of sight. they now rode on for a long time, and at length came to the road that led to the mountains, up which bob had gone. this road was not even noticed by them. they had passed other roads of the same kind, which, like this one, led to the mountains, and attached no more importance to this than to those. in the minds of some of them, however, these side-roads suggested a fear, that bob's ass might have turned off into some one of them; but of course, as they were all alike, they could not conjecture which one would have been taken by the runaway. as they rode on, they still looked ahead. at every turn in the road they still expected to see the fugitive; and it was not until the donkeys themselves gave signs of fatigue, that they were willing to slacken their pace. but the nature of these donkeys was, after all, but mortal; like other mortal things, they were subject to weakness and fatigue; and as they were now exhausted, their riders were compelled to indulge them with a breathing space, and so they slackened their pace to a walk. and now they all began to consider the probabilities of bob's fortunes. "i'm afraid something's happened," said clive. "perhaps he's been thrown." "thrown?" cried frank, cheerily. "why, if so, we would have found him long ago. but the idea of bob being thrown from any animal that ever lived is simply absurd. hell stick to that donkey as long as the donkey runs." "it seems to me," said david,--who was a very thoughtful and observant boy,--"it seems to me that the donkey may have taken some of those roads that go off to the mountains." "pooh!" said frank. "why should the donkey take the trouble to do anything of that sort? a runaway animal don't generally indulge in freaks of that kind. he generally goes it blind, and runs straight ahead along the road that happens to be before him." "but perhaps he lives among the mountains," said david, "and, in that case, he would merely be running home." "i don't believe that," said frank. "i hold that it requires some thought for an ordinary donkey to quit the high road, and take one of those by-roads." "not if a by-road leads to his home." "but how could his home be there," objected frank, "when we found him away down there near paestum?" "easily enough," said david. "i dare say they were going home at the very time we came up with them." "i wish we could ask the boy about it," said clive. "he could tell as just what we want to know." "yes," said frank; "but, unfortunately, we couldn't understand all of it." david heaved a sigh. "how i wish," he exclaimed, "that i had studied italian before i came! but from this time forth, i'm determined not to rest till i've learned the language." uncle moses was deeply distressed at bob's disappearance. he had only one idea in his mind. he told the other boys what it was. it was the idea of brigands. they had met poor bob; they had seized him, and had carried him off to their lurking-places in the mountains. even now he was in captivity. and the heart of uncle moses yearned over the poor prisoner. he expressed these fears in a few words, for he was too agitated to say much. clive and david both shook their heads over this, and thought there was something in it. both of them now thought that bob might have been carried by his donkey to the mountains; and, if so, his capture by brigands would be almost certain. to them, these mountains seemed to be full of them; the whole population, in their opinion, was a community of brigands. clive had also another idea. it was this. the driver had deserted them and had gone off vowing vengeance. he had gone to the mountains, and returned with a band of brigands to capture all of them. they had met bob, seized him, and taken him off. at all this frank laughed. "pooh!" said he. "i don't see why you should go out of your way to torment yourselves about nothing at all. it all seems plain enough to me. the donkey has run off, and intends to keep running till he drops. there's a long, straight, smooth road before him, and he'll stick to that without bothering his head about by-roads or mountains. and if he's obstinate enough, i don't see why he shouldn't keep on running till he gets to salerno. and it's my opinion, if we don't pick him up on the road, well find him at salerno when we get there." "o, that's all very well," said clive, "but think how certain you were about the driver--" he was interrupted by the sound of galloping horses and rolling wheels. the sound came from behind. at once they all turned their heads. emerging from behind a torn in the road, they saw two horses galloping at full speed, and drawing a carriage. the driver was whipping the horses furiously, and calling and shouting. the carriage was empty. in a moment they recognized the truth. it was their carriage and their driver. they all stood still, and looked in surprise, and the carriage rolled swiftly up. the driver at once stopped the horses, and jumped to the ground. then, coming to the boys, he burst forth into a strain of the most profuse and vehement apologies. he implored them to forgive him, and began to explain the cause of his absence from the place where they had left him. it seems that he found this place an inconvenient one, and had driven across the fields for about half, a mile, to some trees. here he had taken his horses out, and allowed them to feed. he himself lay down in the carriage, and took a _siesta_. he overslept himself. on awaking, he was horrified to find how much time had passed, and at once proceeded to search for the horses. but during his sleep they had both wandered off, and could not be found until after a long search. when at length he was ready, and had driven back, he found to his horror that they were not there. thinking that they were still among the ruins, he had gone over the whole place, which took up still more time. at last he saw that they must have left. he at once drove off. knowing that they were on foot, he expected every minute to catch sight of them. he drove on for miles without seeing any trace of them, and at length came to the conclusion that they had, perhaps, found the carriage of some other visitors, and had obtained seats in that. he knew that they must have gone, and could only account in that way for their rapid progress. this explanation of the driver was perfectly satisfactory to them all, and their joy at getting the carriage again was so great that they excused his unfortunate slumbers. the driver also, on his part, had now forgotten all about his sulks, and was the same genial and companionable soul as before. on learning about bob's mishap, he at once assured them that the donkey must have run along the road, and that they would undoubtedly soon catch up with him. so the whole party got into the carriage, the driver whipped up the horses, and away they went towards salerno. mile after mile was traversed. still there were no signs of bob, "something's happened," said clive. "he's been carried to the mountains," said david. "it's the brigands!" groaned uncle moses. "o, it's all right," said frank, confidently. "that donkey's a regular race-horse. we'll find him at salerno." at length they reached salerno. they drove up to the hotel. no signs of bob! hurrying in, they made inquiries, and found that he had not come. this filled them all with the greatest concern; and the driver, and the landlord, and all others who heard of it, asserted that he must have been carried to the mountains. it was now dark. nothing more could be done; and so they could only resolve to drive back on the following day, and make a more careful search after the lost boy. chapter x. _the captive boy and his grisly visitant.--the hand on his head.--denouement.--the brigand family.--the old crone.--the robber wife.--the brigand children.--a revolution of feeling.--the main road.--the carriage.--in search of bob._ paralyzed with terror, dumb with horror, bob lay motionless and almost breathless; and the grisly old hag reached out her long, lean, thin, bony, withered, shrivelled hand, and took his hair, while with the other hand she raised her sharp weapon. she took his hair very lightly and tenderly; so lightly, indeed, that bob was just conscious of her touch; and though he expected that he would be torn from his bed and struck dead the next instant, yet this fate was delayed. she took his hair then in her hand very gently and tenderly, and in her other hand she raised the sharp weapon. now, the sharp weapon was a pair of sheep-shears. these shears she held forward, and with them she snipped off, as noiselessly as possible, a lock of bob's hair. she pressed the lock of hair to her thin lips, looked at it steadfastly for some time, pressed it once more to her lips, and then put it in the folds of her dress. then kneeling by bob's side, she looked at him long and earnestly. she bent over him, and looked down upon him. she laid the shears upon the floor, clasped her withered hands together, and gazed upon the boy. he lay still. his eyes were closed; but the delay of his fate and the snip of the shears in his hair bad roused him somewhat from his abyss of terror. he opened his eyes wide enough to see what was going on. he could not see the old woman's face, but he saw her kneeling, and he saw her thin hands clasped before her, like one in prayer, and tremulous. the old woman bent over him; and if bob could have seen her face he would have known that this old creature was an object of any other feeling rather than fear. pale it was, that face that was over him, and wrinkled, and emaciated; but there was upon it a softened expression--an expression of yearning and of longing. that which at a distance had seemed to his frightened fancy a hungry, ghoulish look, was now nothing more than the earnest, fixed gaze of a love that longed to be satisfied--a gaze like that of a bereaved mother who sees some one who reminds her of her lost boy, and looks at him with a look of unutterable yearning. so, now, it was with this poor old decrepit creature. perhaps in her past life some son had been torn from her, of whom bob reminded her, and she had come now to feast herself with his face, which reminded her of her lost boy, to take a lock of his hair, to bow down over him in speechless emotion. here, then, she knelt, her poor hands clasping each other tremulously, her aged breast heaving with repressed sighs, while from her weak eyes there fell tears which dropped upon the face of the boy. those tears had a wonderful effect. as bob's half-opened eyes saw the old woman's attitude, his grisly terror left him; his heart regained its ordinary pulsation; the tremendous pressure that had been upon his soul was removed; warm, and fresh, and free, his young blood sped through his veins, and all his frame was quickened to a bounding life and vigor. by the force of this reaction he was roused from his stony lethargy, his paralysis of horror, and his presence of mind was restored. then there came those tears which fell upon his face. this completed the recovery of his self-command. it did more. it assured him that he was an object, not of murderous fury, but of tender love, and that the one whom he had feared had come, not with purposes of cruelty, but with yearnings of affection. why this should be he knew not; he was content to know that it was so; and in this knowledge all fear died out. bat even now he felt somewhat embarrassed, for the old woman was evidently only giving way to her emotion because she believed him to be asleep; and thus he was an unwilling witness of feelings which she supposed to be seen by none. in this there seemed to be something dishonorable, and he wished the scene to end. he chose to do so therefore by making a few movements without opening his eyes; that is, he changed his position several times, turned himself over and back again, and thus gave signs of waking. upon this the old woman silently took her lamp and shears, and left the apartment by the way she had come. so ended the adventure. the effect produced upon bob was a varied one. he still felt the consequences of that horror into which he had fallen, that spasm and convulsion of terror which had seemed to turn him to stone, yet the relief that had been found was inexpressibly sweet. in spite of the pain which still lingered about his heart, there came a calmer and happier frame of mind; the pain itself also gradually died out, and its only result was a general languor. so commonplace a termination to what seemed a terrible event made his whole situation and his other prospects seem commonplace, and he even began to think that his captors might turn out to be as commonplace as the old woman. he fell again into a deep sleep, and did not wake till it was broad day. on descending, the people all respectfully bade him good morning. breakfast was ready, consisting of black bread, stew, and some coffee. outside, the view was superb; the rising sun had not yet ascended high enough to shine down into the valley, but the glowing heavens, and the shadows of the mountains, and the light green of the little space nearest, with the darker green of the forests that clothed the mountain-sides, all made the spectacle a memorable one. bob's whole state of mind was more healthy, and cheerful, and hopeful than it had been. everything appeared bright and favorable. the old woman, as he looked at her this morning, did not seem to be at all repulsive. her face was shrivelled, it is true, and her eyes were weak; but she looked gentle and mild, and treated him with very great favor and attention. the slatternly woman did not seem worse than any other italian peasant woman. the children were dirty, no doubt; in fact, very dirty; but then they were brown, and healthy, and merry, not inclined to mischief, and quite respectful to him. in short, bob found himself surveying his situation and its surroundings with much complacency, and he began to feel that he had misjudged these people altogether the night before. but other things were yet in store which were to redeem still more the character of these people. he was standing outside the house after breakfast, when, to his surprise, he saw the second "brigand" approach. he knew that he had not had time to go to salerno and return; so he saw that he could not have been to salerno at all. he seemed to bob to be going there now, for he was mounted on a donkey, and led another by the bridle. the one which he led was no other than the ass which had carried bob to this place. bob's only thought at seeing this was, that the "brigand" was now setting forth for salerno, and was about to take the donkey with him, either to sell it, or to return it to the owner, and get a reward. but this idea was not left long in his mind. the first "brigand" came out, and the two men talked to one another, after which they turned to bob, and the first brigand explained to him that he was to mount the donkey. he pointed to the animal, smiled, waved his hand towards the road by which bob had come, and uttered the word "salerno." bob's heart gave a wild leap; he could scarcely believe what he heard; but the faces of the two men were smiling, and they continued to nod, and gesticulate, and repeat the word "salerno." they looked like two benevolent farmers, and bob wondered how he could ever have seen anything malignant in their very good natured faces. of course there was nothing to do now but to hurry away to his friends. yet bob was not willing to take too abrupt a leave. he remembered the old woman, and thought with a softened heart about her emotion. he went back into the house, and shook hands with her for good by. he even knew enough italian to say "_addio_." the old creature was much softened and burst into tears. bob gave her one of his cuff-buttons as a souvenir, for he had nothing else to give, and the cuff-button was an uncommonly elaborate affair; and he had the satisfaction of seeing that the old woman took it as though it was of inestimable value. he then went around among them all, shook hands with all of them, from the slatternly woman down to the smallest of the dirty children, and gave each one of them something--to the woman, a pencil case; to one child, his pocket knife; to another, a watch key; to a third, a shirt stud; to a fourth, a memorandum book; and to the fifth, a handkerchief. "brigand" number two was going to accompany him, and it was now evident to bob that the delay which had taken place in his restoration to his friends was probably owing to the fact that they had to wait to procure bridles, or another donkey. it only remained for him now to bid good by to "brigand" number one, which he did with great earnestness, and cordiality, and fervor; presenting him at the same time with his neck-tie, a very brilliant piece of satin, which the italian received with a great flourish, and profuse expressions of thankfulness. bob had several times regretted his ignorance of the italian language since his arrival in the country, but never had his regrets been more sincere than on this occasion. had he been able to speak italian he would have made a speech then and there, and have invited them all, from the old woman down to the smallest child, to come and visit him and his friends either at salerno, or at naples, or in far-off america. but alas! bob's tongue was tied, and so the invitation remained unuttered. he did what he could, however, and utterly exhausted the whole language of signs in the attempt to express to them his thanks, and his good wishes for their happiness. the simple people seemed to comprehend him, for they were by no means dull, and gesticulated in return many things which seemed to convey the same meaning; and when at last bob rode away, the humble inhabitants watched him until he passed out of sight. chapter xi. _the return.--the tender adieus.--back to salerno.--on to castellamare.--a pleasant scene.--an unpleasant discovery.--david among the missing.--woes of uncle moses.--deliberations over the situation.--various theories.--the vengeance of the enemy.--back to sorrento in search of the lost one._ returning to the main road with his guide, bob traversed the same way by which his donkey had carried him on the preceding day. his progress now was very different. it would not do to dash furiously down the narrow and steep mountain pathway; so they had to go at a slow pace, until they reached the plain. bob's animal also had changed. he was no longer the fiery, wild ass of the day before, which had borne him helplessly away from his friends, but a tractable animal, with sufficient spirit, it is true, yet with all the signs of subordination and obedience. he obeyed the slightest touch of the bridle, and moved along after the rider in front of him, as quietly as though he was the most patient and gentle of the donkey tribe. in two or three hours' time they reached the main road, and turning to the right, rode towards salerno. thus far bob had not noticed much of his surroundings, but now his eyes gazed most eagerly upon the road ahead of him, for he expected to meet his friends. he rightly supposed that they would have driven to salerno on the preceding day, hoping to find him there, and that they would drive back in search of him at the earliest dawn of another day. bob's conjecture turned out to be rights he had not ridden more than a mile when he saw a carriage approaching, which he soon recognized as belonging to his party. in it were his friends, who had recognized him as soon as they had caught sight of him, and whose joy at meeting with him again, and amazement at the sight of his companion, knew no bounds. the carriage stopped, and the boys flung themselves out, and tore bob from the back of the donkey, and hugged him, and hustled him, and danced about him in their joy. uncle moses was not so quick as the others, and held back. bat if his greeting was last, it was not least fervent, as bob well knew by the moistened eye, the quivering lip, the tremulous voice, and the convulsive grasp of that venerable relative. then and there, on the road, bob had to satisfy the hungry curiosity of his friends, and give them some sort of an outline of his adventures. the particulars he reserved until a future occasion. bob's account of his friends in the mountains at once roused the enthusiastic interest of the whole party in their favor, and they all proceeded to shake hands with the italian. nor did they content themselves with this, for on the spot uncle moses and the boys made up a handsome purse, which they presented to him, not because he deserved it, exactly, but partly because they were so rejoiced at finding the lost boy, and partly on account of bob's urgent appeal to them. for now bob's sentiments about the humble people in the sequestered valley had undergone the last phase which was necessary to complete a perfect revolution of feeling; and he had come to regard them not by any means as brigands,--far from it,--but rather as a family of peaceful, innocent, harmless, affectionate, quiet, benevolent, warm-hearted, good-natured, hospitable, and virtuous peasants. the italian received the gifts with a series of gesticulations, by which he seemed to be invoking the blessing of heaven upon them, and vowing endless gratitude; and after the boys and uncle moses had one by one shaken hands and bidden him good by, he still stood there, smiling, bowing, and gesticulating; and as they drove away, they saw him standing motionless in the road till they passed out of sight. bob's adventures had not been without some serious consequences, for the strain on his mind during the previous day, and especially the horror of the night, combined with the fatigues to which he had been subjected, had been somewhat too much for him. as soon, therefore, as the first excitement of the joyous meeting was over, a reaction took place, and he complained of utter weariness and exhaustion. as bob was a boy who never complained except under sore pressure, the boys perceived that he was now in need of quiet and repose, and therefore tried to put a check upon their eager curiosity. on reaching salerno, they put up at the hotel again, and gave bob the opportunity of a long rest. had it not been for bob's adventure, they would by this time have been back in naples; for their intention had been to go on from paestum without stopping; but now they were forced to delay somewhat. still they were anxious to resume the journey back, and as bob seemed refreshed after a rest and a good repast, uncle moses thought they had better set out and go as far as they could before dark. the driver mentioned castellamare as a convenient stopping-place, and it was thereupon decided to drive on as far as that place, and pass the night there. they had passed through castellamare before, when on their way to sorrento, and again, when returning from that place, on their way to salerno, so that it seemed quite familiar. but on quitting the carriage and looking out from the windows of the hotel, they were surprised to find how much the beauty of the place was enhanced by this new outlook. before, they looked at it as hasty travellers, snatching a passing glance; but now they could take a leisurely survey. before them was the bay of naples; on the right, the city with its suburbs, extending far along the shore; on the left, the isle of capri; in front, the shores of baiae; while in the rear was the verdant landscape, with a background of mountains, over which reigned supreme the gigantic form of vesuvius, from whose summit was still floating the wrathful smoke cloud. it was decided to pass the night here, and go on to naples early on the following day. all the party were tired and went to rest at an early hour. the night was calm, and beautiful, and bright; and as they went to sleep, they were lulled by the plash of the waters as they gently rippled upon the pebbled beach. frank arose pretty early on the following morning, and found that david was already up, and had gone forth. the others were still asleep. frank thereupon went forth for a walk, and one by one the others awaked also. they had ordered breakfast at an early hour, and they were to start immediately after. when uncle moses went down stairs he found breakfast ready, and departed to hunt up the boys. he found frank, and clive, and bob, watching the driver groom the horses. "boys," said uncle moses, "breakfast's ready." "all right, sir," said frank; "we'll be along." upon this uncle moses went back, and after a few moments frank, and clive, and bob entered. "where's david?" asked uncle moses. "i don't know, sir." "well," said uncle moses, "i suppose he'll be along; so let's sit down and begin." they all sat down. when they were about half through breakfast, uncle moses began to wonder what was keeping david. "which way did he go, boys?" he asked. "i didn't see him," said frank. "i didn't," said clive. "nor i," said bob. "he was up before i was." said frank, "and had gone out. i didn't see him at all. i only saw his empty bed, and found his clothes gone. i dare say he's gone off on a walk." "o, he's all right," said bob. "yes," said uncle moses, "i don't doubt it he's a very careful, quiet boy, i know; but he is always so punctual, that it seems kind o' odd for him to be so late." "o, i dare say he's misunderstood about the hour," said clive. "perhaps so," said uncle moses. the boys now went on finishing their breakfast; but uncle moses began to fidget in his chair, and look around, and sigh, and gave other signs of growing uneasiness of mind. feeling in himself, as he did, the care of all the boys, he never was altogether free from anxiety; and the various adventures which the boys had encountered, had not, in any way, tended to lessen his uneasy vigilance over them. bob's last adventure, in particular, had wrought upon him most painfully, so that he was ten times more careful over his young and somewhat flighty charges than he had been before. the absence of david at such an important time seemed unaccountable. if it had been any one of the others, it would have been intelligible; but for david, who was the soul of order, regularity, and method, to fail an appointment, was something so extraordinary, that he could not but feel alarmed. still he restrained himself, for he felt a little ashamed of his fears; and though he was evidently very restless, uneasy, and worried, he said not a word until the boys had finished their breakfast. "i don't know what to make of it," said uncle moses at last, starting from his chair and going to the window. standing there, he looked uneasily up and down the street, and then returned and looked earnestly at the boys. "i don't know what to make of it, at all," he repeated. "did you say you didn't see him, none of you? didn't you see him, clive?" "no, sir," said clive. "when i waked, all the boys were up." "didn't he say anythin last night about intendin to do anythin this mornin?" "i didn't hear him say anything." "o, i'm sure he's misunderstood about the hour," said frank. "that's it he's off on a walk. i dare say he's found some old ruin; and if that's the case, he won't know anything about time at all. put him in an old ruin, and he'd let all the breakfasts that ever were cooked wait before he'd hurry." "wal," said uncle moses, "there's somethin in that too. david's dreadful fond of old stones, and old bones, and tumble-down edifices, and old sticks an weeds. why, he's all the time collectin; an if he keeps on, his baggage'll become nothin else but that." pleased with this thought, which brought up before his mind what to him was an inexplicable peculiarity of david, uncle moses drew a breath of relief. "wal," said he, "we'll have to wait patiently, till david's done with that there old ruin; an meantime i think i'll take a turn an see if i can see anythin of him." upon this uncle moses went out of the room, and down to the street. reaching the street, he walked up and down the entire length of the town, looking eagerly in every direction, peering into the doors of houses, staring into space, scanning groves and vineyards, and every half minute taking out his watch and looking at it. at the end of about half an hour, he returned more troubled than ever, and met frank, clive, and bob in front of the hotel. "i can't find him anywhere," said he. thus far the boys had thought nothing of david's disappearance; but the deep anxiety of uncle moses now excited their alarm; and though, if left to themselves, they would have seen nothing to fear in the fact of david's being an hour or so behind time, yet, after all, they began to see that, in one like david, such conduct was most extraordinary; and in this foreign country, of whose ways they were so ignorant, there might possibly be danger in such absence. they at once began to comfort uncle moses; and then all of them volunteered to go in different directions and see if they could find him. uncle moses again set out, walking up the road in the direction of sorrento; frank went down the road; clive took a by-road that led towards the hills; while bob, who was rather weak yet, and not capable of much exertion, said that he would watch from the window of the hotel, and be at home, in case of david's return, to explain matters. in this way they began their search, and bob waited patiently in the hotel. after about an hour uncle moses came back. on finding that david had not returned, he looked unspeakably distressed; and when, after a short time farther, both frank and clive returned without any tidings of the fugitive, he began to look quite heartbroken. then they talked to the driver about it; but the' driver could give them no information whatever. they sent him over the hotel to question all the people, but this search was as vain as the others had been. there was no one in the hotel, from the big landlord down to the scullion, who could tell anything at all about david. by the time all these examinations and searches had been made it was after ten o'clock. breakfast had been served at seven, and seven was the hoar at which david should have been among them. he had been gone, therefore, more than three hours. even the boys now began to feel uneasy. uncle moses and all the boys began to rack their brains to find some way of accounting for david's absence. "did any of you ever hear of his walking in his sleep?" asked, uncle moses, in an agitated voice. "no," said bob, "never. i know he never did such a thing." "he couldn't have taken a walk anywheres," said uncle moses, "or he'd been back long ago." "o, yes; he wouldn't have started on a three hours' walk," said clive. "perhaps he's tried a donkey ride, and been ran away with, like me," said bob. "o, no," said frank, "he isn't fond of riding; he'd never get on the back of any animal, unless he had to." "did he say anything about--about--?" uncle moses hesitated at the question which he was about to ask. "about what, uncle moses?" asked clive. "about--bathing?" asked uncle moses, in a faltering voice. "no," said clive. uncle moses drew a long breath. "it would be dreadful dangerous," said he. "but, uncle moses," said clive, "david would never think of such a thing. he might go in if all of us fellows went in too, just for company; but he doesn't care enough about it to go in alone. the fact is, he doesn't care much for any kind of sports. he's too fond of books." uncle moses sighed heavily. "i wonder," said bob, "if any of those sorrento fellows have been about here, and seen him." at this suggestion every one of them started, and stared at one another. "sorrento fellers?" repeated uncle moses. "do you think there's any chance?" "o, i don't know," said bob. "i only thought it might be possible. you see dave made no end of a row there about that tassel that he took, and you know how we had to run for it. well, you know sorrento isn't very far from here, and i just thought that some of the sorrento people might have seen us come here yesterday. if they did, they might have tried to pay up poor old dave for what he did out there." "it may be so," said uncle moses, with a groan. "the whole population were ravin mad, an we had hard enough work to get away." "well," said frank, "it's the only thing that can account for dave's absence. he may have taken a little stroll this morning, and fallen into the hands of some of those fellows. perhaps they've been watching all night for the chance. they would watch, not only all night, but a fortnight, for the sake of revenge. there's no people so revengeful as the italians. poor dave! what can we do? i'll go and ask the driver." saying this, frank hurried out of the room and down stairs to talk to the driver about it. all the others followed. on suggesting this sorrento theory to the driver, that worthy shook his head, and thought that there might be something in it. he evidently began to look upon david's absence as something very serious, and his seriousness over it only added to the anxiety of uncle moses and the boys. "if this is so, we ought to drive off to sorrento at once," said frank, "before it is too late. if dave is in their hands, he needs us now, and i only wish we had thought of this before." "but he mayn't be there at all," said bob, who generally had a mind of his own. "where else is he?" "i don't know." "there's no need for all of us to go," said uncle moses. "i'll go alone, and you boys stay here till i come back. but i don't know, either. i'm afraid to leave you. if david's got into trouble, how can any of you hope to escape? no, you must all come, for i declare i'm afraid to trust one of you out of my sight." "but some of us ought to stay," said bob, "for dave may turn up all right, and how'll he know what's become of us?" "wal," said uncle moses, "i'll leave word for him here at the hotel." "yes." said frank, "that's the best way. none of us want to dawdle our lives out in this place all day, and you don't want to leave any of us behind, uncle moses; so if we all go together, we'll all be satisfied." a few minutes afterwards the carriage rolled out of castellamare, carrying the party back to sorrento. chapter xii. _the waking of david.--a glorious scene.--a temptation.--david embarks upon the wide wide sea.--youth at the prow and pleasure at the helm.--a daring navigator.--a baffled and confounded navigator.--lost! lost! lost!--despair of david.--at the mercy of wind and sea.--the isle of the brigands.--the brigand chief._ on the morning of that day david had waked very early, feeling refreshed with his slumbers, and not at all inclined to prolong them. the others were all asleep, and the house was silent. as he lay he could hear the gentle ripple of the water upon the beach, and feel the sweet, balmy air of morning as it tanned his cheeks. for some little time he lay enjoying his situation, and then jumped out of bed and went to the window. immediately in front of him lay the bay of naples, a dark blue expanse, with its border of green shores and white cities, overhung by a sky whose hue rivalled that of the sea beneath. the beauty of the scene was so exquisite that it called him forth, and unable any longer to remain within doors, he dressed himself and walked out. on his way out he met no one, for all were still asleep. he had to unlock the door to let himself out, and when outside he saw that the street was as deserted as the interior of the hotel. standing at the door, he saw the eastern sky all ruddy and glowing. the sun was not yet up, but these hues indicated its approach, and announced that it was at hand. the fertile plains, all covered with vineyards, spread afar, extending from the outskirts of the town to the slopes of the mountains, which in the distance rose up grandly, their sides covered with groves, and resting in dark shadows. there, too, was vesuvius, as ever, monarch of the scene; and the smoke that hung over its summit stood revealed in a black mass against the blue sky. david left the hotel, and, after walking a few paces, turned his steps towards the sea-shore. here the attractions were greater than on the land, for the blue expanse of water spread itself out before him, encircled by shores and islands, and all the congregated glories of the bay of naples were there in one view before his eyes. there was a beach here of fine pebbles, which sloped gently into the water, and upon this beach a number of boats were drawn up. after wandering along the beach for a little distance, david entered one of these boats, and sat down. it was a small boat, with: a mast and sail, the latter of which was loosely furled. here david sat and looked out upon the water. the glorious scene filled his whole soul with enthusiastic delight. upon that deep blue surface his eye was attracted by several white sails far away, that moved to and fro. at that moment it seemed to him that to move thus over such a sea would be equal to a bird's flight in the blue of heaven; and as he watched the boats he longed to be in them. suddenly he thought of the boat in which he was. could he not have a little sail up and down along the shore? true, he did not know how to sail a boat, but he could learn; and this seemed as good a time to learn as any other. he did not know the owner, but on his return he could pay him what the excursion might be worth. he could float over this glorious water, and move up and down within easy reach of the shore, so as to land whenever it might be desirable. david was not at all an enterprising boy, or an adventurous one. he was essentially quiet, methodical, and conservative. it was not because this sail was a risky thing that he tried it, but rather because it seemed so perfectly safe. there was a breeze,--he felt it,--and the progress of the boats, afar off on the water, tantalized him and tempted him on. the result was, that without taking much time to think about it, david yielded to the inclination of the moment, and pushing the boat from the land into the water, he let loose the sail; and then seating himself in the stern, he prepared to glide over the water. about sailing david knew absolutely nothing. he was not even acquainted with the theory of sailing; nor did he know, how, or on what principle, a sail-boat moves. about steering he was equally ignorant, nor did he know how a boat obeys its rudder. but he knew that the one who sails a boat sits in the stern, and holds the tiller; so david did the same, holding the tiller in his right hand, and the sheets in his left. the wind was not very strong, and it happened to be blowing in such a way that, as he unfurled the sail, it filled at once, and the boat moved lightly and pleasantly along. the motion filled david with delight. he saw himself borne on past the shore, at a gentle rate, and felt that the moment was one of supreme happiness. thus, holding sheet and tiller, he resigned himself to the joy of the occasion. the wind was moderate, and there was nothing whatever in the movement of the boat to excite the slightest uneasiness. the wavelets dashed pleasantly against the bows, and the course of the boat remained sufficiently straight to keep her sail filled. david saw that whatever the secret of navigation might be, he had unconsciously stumbled upon it; and finding that the boat was doing so admirably, he was very careful to hold the tiller straight, and not to move it to either side. so he leaned back, and luxuriated in the pleasant motion, and looked up at the deep blue sky that bent above him, and around at the wide expanse of water, the green verdurous hills, the vine-clad meadows, and the purple mountains. from time to time he noticed, with satisfaction, that his course ran along the shore, parallel to it, as it appeared. he noticed, however, that he was now farther away from it than when he started; but as yet the distance did not seem excessive; in fact, it seemed on the whole preferable, since it gave him a finer view. before him the shore ran on until it terminated on a headland, and david thought that this would be a good place to fix as the limit of his voyage. never was any human being more utterly out of place than david in this sail-boat, and never was any human being more serenely unconscious of his unfitness. david's frame of mind was one of calm, beatific enjoyment. he was quite unconscious of the increase of the distance between his boat and the shore, which grew greater every moment, and equally unobservant of the lapse of time. in times of great enjoyment the hours fly quickly by, and in david's high exaltation of feeling the time thus fled. at length, even in the midst of his happiness, the sober practical thought obtruded itself of time and space. how long had he been out? how much time would he have? how far had he gone? he looked at his watch. to his utter amazement and consternation, he found that it was seven o'clock--the time fixed for breakfast. he had been sailing for two hours at least. as to distance, he could not grapple with that thought, but turned hastily, and looked back. that look gave him but little satisfaction. he could see a line of white at the skirts of the sea; but whether it was castellamare, or naples itself, he was unable to guess. it was a wide, sharp; and painful awakening from his bliss and serene delight, and it was an effectual one. no more placid gliding now; no careless voyaging. two hours! seven o'clock! already they were at breakfast, and waiting for him. they were wondering about his absence. and when could he join them again? two hours! if it had taken two hours to come thus far, it would also take fully as much time to go back. go back? and where should he go, or how could he get back? thus far, david's idea about his course, if he can be said to have had an idea, was, that it lay along the shore, and that somehow he could go back as easily as he had come. but now that the necessity for going back was upon him, he instantly became aware of his utter ignorance, for he had not the faintest idea how to turn the boat. there was no time for delay, however. something had to be done, and that immediately. david knew this much at least, that a boat could be turned by means of the rudder; so he began to experiment upon this part of the vessel. he palled the rudder towards him. the boat turned, and as it turned the sail began to flap, and toss, and snap, in such a way that he grew exceedingly nervous. suddenly a puff of wind came, and the sheets where whipped out of his nerveless hand, while the sail thus loosened blew forward. david's heart quaked at this, and he knew not what to do. with some vague idea of bringing the boat back to her former position, and beginning all over again, he pulled the tiller first to one side and then to the other; but to his dismay he found that the boat no longer obeyed it. then he tried to get possession of the sheets again, and, clumsily crawling forward, he managed to secure them; after which he crawled back to the stern, and clinging to the sheets, began, as well as his nervousness would allow him, to try a series of experiments. first, he pulled the tiller towards him. at this the boat came up to the wind, and resumed her former course. but this was the very course on which he did not wish to go; so he pushed the tiller from him. upon this the boat fell away; and the flapping, jerking, whipping, and snapping, which had so alarmed him before, recommenced, and alarmed him more than ever. for some time he continued this, until at length, as he brought the boat up to the wind once more, there came a fresher puff than any which had thus far blown, and the boat lay far over on her side. terrified out of his wits, david had just sense enough to put her off, and then dropping sheets and tiller, he sank back and looked all around in a panic. this puff was the beginning of a somewhat stronger breeze--a breeze which would have rejoiced the heart of a sailor, but which carried nothing but terror to the heart of david. what to do now he did not know, nor for some moments did he even think. the wind to his inexperienced senses seemed a hurricane, and the wavelets seemed formidable waves. for a time he lay paralyzed in the stern, expecting every instant to be ingulfed; but as the time passed, and his doom was delayed, he began to recover himself, and think about what he should do next. to him, in his terror and anxiety, the first necessity seemed to be to get rid of that dangerous sail. as it flapped in the wind it seemed to endanger the boat. at all hazards that must be furled or taken down. so once more, by a mighty effort, he crawled forward, and grasping the flying sheets, he drew them in, and tied the sail to the mast, performing, the work in a manner which was very clumsy, yet quite efficient. the upper part of the sail still remained free, bagging out a little, like a balloon; but the lower part was tied up in a way that would defy the tempest itself. after this david felt safer, and crawling back, he drew a long breath, and threw a fearful glance around. some time had been taken up with these experiments in navigation, and as david looked, he saw that the result had been not to bring him nearer to castellamare, but to take him farther out from the shore. the nearest land to him now was an island, but what island he could not say. as his eyes wandered around, they saw nothing that was familiar. a mountain appeared over the land astern, and the smoke on its summit showed that it must be vesuvius; but it had a different appearance altogether from that with which he was familiar. he could form no idea of the course which he had taken, and could only guess, in a general way, where castellamare might be. some time before, he had been troubled at the thought that he would keep his party waiting; but now he had no trouble whatever on that score. his only trouble or anxiety was about himself. he felt as though he was in a position of tremendous danger, and was being tossed about by pitiless waves, which were hemming him in on every side, like ravening beasts of prey. in reality the pitiless waves were scarcely waves at all, the breeze was only moderate, and there was no possible danger; but david did not know this, and so he suffered as much as though his imaginary danger was real. meanwhile a portion of the sail had been left loose, as has been said, and afforded something for the breeze to act upon. the consequence was, that the boat moved along slowly before the wind, and gradually approached the island which david had already noticed. for some time he remained with his eyes fixed upon the land astern, and vesuvius. when he withdrew them and looked around, the island was much nearer. he began to see that he was approaching that island, and that before long he would reach it. this prospect excited in his mind the utmost hope, and all his attention was now directed towards that place. the time passed slowly, but it did pass; and at length, about three hours after he had first tried to turn the boat, he found himself so close to the island that he could step ashore. it was now about ten o'clock. the place where david landed was a pebbled beach, bordered by rocks, above which grew trees. as he approached the island he saw houses and people. the houses were plain and small, and the people seemed laboring in the fields. david's habit of considering all italian peasants as brigands now excited in his mind a fear which brought fresh anxieties. on this lonely island the whole population might be brigands, who would treat him as lawful prey, and from whom he could hope to fare no better than those early shipwrecked mariners in these seas about whom he had read and studied so much. he congratulated himself that his boat had borne him to a sequestered spot like this, where he might be secure from observation, and have time to look forth and see what manner of men these island brigands might be. and so, full of anxiety, david drew his boat cautiously upon the beach as far as he could, and secured it; after which he stole up to the shelter of the trees and rocks, so as to reconnoitre. the trees grew along the edge of the rocks, which rose above the beach, to a height of about twenty feet, and formed a grove, which was sufficiently dense for david to feel secure from observation. the grove ran along the edge of the bank for some distance, bat was of no great depth; and david, as he peered through the trees, could see an opening beyond, and the glimpse of white buildings. here, then, david found himself close to the dreaded neighborhood of the brigands of the island, and it was with a feeling of great trepidation that he recognized the frailty of his present shelter, the insufficiency of his place of concealment, and the necessity that there was of leaving it before long. to quit it and communicate with the inhabitants of the place, he plainly saw, could not long be avoided. he had as yet eaten nothing, and already he began to feel the cravings of hunger. he would also have to take measures to effect his return to his friends. his hunger and his desire to get back to his friends alike made him desperate; and so, after a few minutes of concealment and fearful inspection of the scene, he began to move forward cautiously, so as to make a more thorough survey of the open ground on the other side of the grove. stealing forward as noiselessly and as warily as possible, and keeping himself carefully under the shelter of the heavier foliage and denser underbrush, david worked his way on, and at length found himself on the other side of the grove, where he could peer forth through the leaves of a laurel bush upon the scene. he saw here a green meadow, which ran up a moderate declivity till it reached a house. the house was a small cottage, of simple and neat appearance, and it stood not more than a hundred yards from the edge of the grove. cattle were feeding in the meadow. to the right was a vineyard, and on the left an olive grove. on one side of the olive grove there ran a row of cactuses, up from the bank towards the house. all this david took, in at a glance; but he also saw something which made his heart, beat quick with excitement and anxiety. he saw a man! the man was standing in front of the house. he was a big, burly, broad-shouldered, bearded ruffian, with a red shirt, and a slouching felt hat. a short pipe was in his mouth, stuck into the mass of hair which covered the lower part of his face. his hair was long, and dark, and glossy, and curling; falling in rich clusters below his broad felt hat. he had gaiters and stout shoes, and was engaged upon a rifle, which he seemed to be cleaning. at the sight of this great, big, bearded, burly, broad-shouldered ruffian, david's' heart gave a great leap, and suddenly seemed to stop beating. he sat as though petrified, crouching low, as though to avoid observation. this, then, he thought, was what he had feared, and while trying to avoid the brigands, he had stumbled upon the chief of them all. in that formidable figure he recognized the true brigand style, and in that bearded face, with its bushy eyebrows and slouching hat, he saw what seemed to him, from that distance, like the ferocity of the implacable fra diavolo himself. so overwhelmed was he, that for some time he could not move. at last he felt a wild impulse to fly. he started back, determining to seek his boat once more. so hurried was he that he was less cautious than before, and catching his foot in a long tendril of some creeper, he fell. in falling, he struck his hand against some cactus or other thorny plant, and the spine pierced his flesh, causing severe pain. in spite of himself a cry burst from him. the cry was instantly repressed, and david, raising himself, prepared to continue his retreat. but first he looked fearfully around to see whether his cry had discovered him. as he did so his heart sunk within him. the brigand chief had heard him! he was walking straight towards him! chapter xiii. _david captured.--the big, bluff, burly, brusque, bearded, broad-shouldered, beetle-browed bully of a brigand.--a terrific inquisition.--david's plea for mercy.--the hard-hearted captor and the trembling captive.--a direful threat.--david carried off helpless and despairing.--the robber's hold._ so this great, big, bluff, burly, brusque, bearded, broad-shouldered, beetle-browed brigand came straight towards the place where poor david was; walking with great strides; and david, seeing all hope lost, stood still, and awaited the arrival of his formidable enemy. the consciousness of his utter helplessness filled him with despair, and his ignorance of italian put it out of his power to disarm the fury or deprecate the wrath of his fierce pursuer. in the few moments that intervened between the first discovery that he was seen and the arrival of his enemy, his brain was filled with confusion, and his bewildered thoughts turned helplessly to his friends whom he had left behind. he thought of their grief. he thought, too, of his home. he thought, of his mother. that home, those friends, that loving, mother, he now might never see again. farewell, all dear ones! farewell, bright past! farewell, sweet life, and glad light of day! such were the thoughts, gloomy and despairing, that filled his mind, and tormented his heart; and at the moment that his pursuer entered the grove and stood before him, david looked up with pale face and frightened eyes, and something like a sob escaped him. the big, burly brigand stood before him, and eyed him from head to foot. he was very tall, and, indeed, to david he seemed gigantic, while his right hand held the rifle like a walking-stick. he looked at david in silence, and scanned him curiously all over; and david's eyes, which had at first sought those of his captor in timid entreaty, now sank before his stern gaze. "_cosa volete?_" said the brigand. "_donde venite?_" in a deep voice. "_non capisco_," faltered david, bringing forth the only italian that he knew. at this the brigand was silent, and again surveyed him. "_parlate italiano?_" he asked, at length. "no," said david, in a tremulous voice; for he understood the meaning of those words well enough. "hm--" said the brigand, and then, "_parlez vous francais?_" "no," said david. "_habla usted espanol?_" asked the brigand once more, apparently quite curious to find out the nationality of his prisoner, so as to form some basis of communication with him. david shook his head. the brigand paused, and frowned, and stared fixedly at david, as though trying to gather from his looks and dress what his country might be. david's dress showed him to be a respectable youth, while his face might belong to any nationality; for his complexion was dark, and somewhat sallow, his eyes dark, his hair black and straight, and his frame slender. "_sprechen sie deutsch?_" asked the brigand, once, more returning to the examination. david shook his head. at this the brigand frowned, and once more relapsed into silence for some time. at length he made a further effort. "_russo?_" he asked, in an interrogative tone, elevating his eyebrows. david shook his head. "_turco?_" asked the brigand again, in the same tone and manner. again david shook his head, wondering why the brigand should for one moment imagine it possible that he could be a russian or a turk. "_greco?_" asked the brigand, in a tone of voice which seemed as though he was about to give it up as a hopeless conundrum. when david shook his head at this, the brigand turned away in disgust, and stood for a few moments meditating. david felt his fate to be hanging in the balance, and stood in deep suspense, watching with anxious eyes the face of his captor. but the heavy beard and mustache, and the slouched felt hat, concealed all expression; nor could david see anything there which could at all lessen his anxiety. he thought, however, that if he could only communicate in some way his mournful story, and let his captor see that he had come here unintentionally, and only wanted to get back to his friends, he might excite his compassion, if indeed there was any compassion in the stern soul of this awful being. it was david's only chance, however; and so, putting his hand timidly on the brigand's arm, he pointed towards the shore, and waved his arm towards naples. at this the brigand stared; but seeing that david persistently pointed in that direction, he walked off through the grove for a few paces, till he reached the top of the bank, where the beach appeared before him, and the boat drawn up on it. david followed him, and as they came in sight of the boat he pointed towards it, and then touched his breast, meaning by that to show that the boat was his. this the brigand at once understood, and after once more staring hard at david, as though anxious to ascertain whether he was speaking the truth or not, he bounded down the bank, and strode towards the boat, which he examined narrowly, inside and out. daring this time he paid no attention to david; but to the poor lost lad this indifference gave no hope. he knew that there was no escape for him. he felt that on this island the brigand was supreme, and any effort to fly would only be worse than useless. so, instead of trying to fly, he followed the brigand, and came up to where he was standing beside the boat. the brigand examined it very narrowly outside and inside. he inspected the bow, the stern, and the rudder. he knelt down and looked underneath. he stepped inside and examined david's clumsy fastenings of the sail. these excited much interest, apparently, and caused prolonged study on his part. to david all this appeared perfectly intelligible, and very natural. the brigand was evidently examining his plunder, to see what it was worth. david felt an additional pang of grief at the thought that he had sequestrated the property of some innocent castellamare fisherman, and diverted it into the possession of brigands; but he consoled himself by the thought that if he ever escaped he could hunt up the owner and make good the loss. escape for himself was the first thing, and he tried to hope that the boat might prove a prize sufficiently valuable to mollify the mind of the brigand, and dispose him to mercy and compassion. so, as the brigand inspected the boat, david stood watching the brigand, and looking earnestly to see whether there were any signs of a relenting disposition. but the face of the brigand preserved an unchanged expression; and after he had examined the boat to his satisfaction, he once more confronted david, and the poor, forlorn, despairing lad saw that his aspect was as malign, as ferocious, and as truculent as ever. david determined to make a further effort. there was nothing else to be done. he felt that he must pacify this ferocious being, disarm his hostility, appease his cruelty, and, if possible, excite his compassion. to do all this, it would be necessary to express himself by signs--for he could not speak the language; and though signs seemed very inadequate, yet he had to resort to them. he had heard, however, of the skill of the italians in expressing ideas by means of gestures, and he hoped that this man might gain some meaning from his unskilled efforts. so, first of all, he tried to tell the brigand that he was from. america. he laid one hand on his heart, and waved the other towards what he supposed to be the west. the brigand nodded solemnly, and seemed to comprehend what he wished to state. it gratified david to see this, and to notice also that the brigand was very attentive, and fixed his dark, stern eyes upon him with closest scrutiny. the next thing that david tried to tell him was, that he had friends with him. this he did by patting his breast, waving his arms around him, smiling, and touching four of his fingers. the brigand nodded. he had apparently got idea. david was very much encouraged. the next thing to be told was, that he and his friends had gone on an excursion into the country. this he did by prancing along the sand, and snapping an imaginary whip; after which he pointed to the opposite shore, waving his hand along the country. the brigand nodded again, and appeared deeply interested. the next thing to be told was, that he had put off in this boat. he waved his hand towards vesuvius. then he lay down on the sand, and pretended to be asleep. he then rose, yawned, and rubbed his eyes. then he went to the boat, pretended to push off and hoist sail. the brigand now nodded very vigorously, and it began to be evident to david that his story was making some impression. he now wished to explain that the boat had got beyond his control, on account of his ignorance of navigation, and that he had drifted or been blown upon this shore. to do this, he pointed to the boat, then to himself; after which he sighed and looked down in a melancholy way. then he got into the boat and shook the sail. then he jumped out and rocked it as violently as he could. then he sank back on one knee with folded arms and upturned face, intending by that to indicate despair. then he waved his hands all about, and pointed to the boat and to the sea; and then, pointing alternately to the boat and to the sea, he waved his hands, trying to indicate the track over which he had passed while approaching the island. after this he paused, and turned a supplicatory look at his captor. thereupon the brigand nodded vehemently, as before. and now one thing yet remained for david to explain, and that was, his own position. he wished to tell the brigand that he knew he was in his power, and that he would pay any ransom, if he would only restore him to his friends. to explain this, david took the big hand of the brigand, and put it upon his head, stooping down low as he did so. then he waved his arms all around, and mournfully shook his head. which meant, that he was in the brigand's power, and would not and could not escape. then he drew forth his purse, tapped it several times, held it out to the brigand, waved his hands towards naples, slapped his breast, and pointed to the brigand and to himself. which meant, that he would pay any money, that he had friends in naples who would treat with the brigand for his release on his own terms. having explained this much, david stopped, for he felt that there was nothing more for him to do, and watched the effect of his story, and his concluding offer. the brigand seemed gratified. he nodded several times gravely and thoughtfully. then he looked at the boat, and then at david, and then at the sea. to david it seemed as if the brigand was trying to trace the boat's devious track over the water, so as to see whether his story was true or not. he did not offer any further explanations, but allowed the brigand to think it out for himself. that worthy accordingly devoted his mind to the consideration of the situation for some time, until at length he seemed to have mastered it, and also to have come to a decision about his own course of conduct. he reached out his brawny hand, and laid it on david's head. after which he pointed to himself, and nodded. by this david saw, unmistakably, that the brigand was claiming him as his own captive. although the fact was already painfully evident, yet this formal statement of it produced a very depressing effect upon david's mind, and made him feel that he had been indulging in hopes too soon. then the brigand waved his hand towards the fields, and the cottage beyond the grove. after this, he waved his hand in a general direction, and then swept it over the surrounding scene. he pointed to the island and nodded, pointed to naples and shook his head. by which david understood him to say, "you are my prisoner. i live in that house. you shall be kept there. you can't escape." then the brigand raised his gun, and nodded at david. then he slapped the stock of it several times, fixing his keen, glowing eyes gloomily upon the lad as he did so. then he waved his hand towards the sky. by which david understood the following:-"you're my prisoner! you cannot escape! if you dare try it, i will shoot you! you can no more escape than you can fly in the air!" then the brigand pointed to the boat, and touched his breast. by which david understood,-"this boat is mine, and i will keep it as my lawful prize." then he waved his hand to the house, and then pointed to naples. after which he brought forth a purse from his pocket, tapped it significantly, pointed to david, and then to naples. by which david understood,-"i will keep you as a prisoner up there in my house till i communicate with your friends about your ransom, and find out how much i can get for you." after this the brigand pulled the boat farther up on the beach, and then, beckoning to david to follow, he strode off towards the house. slowly and sadly poor david followed; and hope, which had for a moment revived, began to die out within him. he had been deceived by the demeanor of the brigand, during his own description of his woes and wandering, and had mistaken for compassion what was only ordinary attention. the manner of the brigand, when he had began to gesticulate, changed hope to fear, and fear to despair. the merciless allusion to david's captive state; the rude appropriation of him as a prisoner by the grasp of his head; the ferocious threat with the gun; and, finally, the display of the purse, and the coarse reference to money and ransom, all convinced david that he had to do with one who was a stranger to compassion--a ferocious and ruthless nature, without pity, and without remorse. and now, as his captor led the way to the house, he felt that he was being conveyed to a prison, from which his escape was, indeed, uncertain; for, though he knew that uncle moses would pay any ransom, yet he could not know whether the brigand would ever be able to communicate with him or not. on the whole, it was the darkest hour of his life; and the stride of the ruffian in front of him seemed like the march of inevitable fate! they climbed up the bank, and then went through the grove. emerging into the field, they walked on towards the house. as they drew nearer, david saw signs that were not altogether in keeping with the tough exterior of his enemy, for in front of the cottage there were flowers in bloom, which appeared to be cultivated by some careful hand; but a moment's thought showed david that this might be the work of the robber's wife. the prospect of meeting with a woman afforded hope; for whatever the husband might be, the wife might be gentle, and pitiful, and womanly; and david drew hope from the flowers; for the one that would have tastes like these might not be altogether hard and implacable; and as the giants and ogres of the fairy books had wives who generally were willing to help the victims of their husbands, so here, in the wife of this italian ogre, david hoped to find one who might be as merciful as those of fairy lore. at length they reached the house, and the brigand, after waiting for a moment for his prisoner to come up, entered the door. david followed, and found himself inside. the door opened immediately into a room. it was large and low. the floor was paved with red tiles, and the walls were of wood, varnished. around the walls hung numerous pictures without frames. in different places there were confused heaps of clothing and drapery. the clothing was rich, though fantastic. in one corner was a frame with armor suspended; while over this, on the wall, he saw arms of different kinds--pistols, carbines, daggers, and blunderbusses. the fashion of all these was somewhat antique, and there was a richness in their ornaments which even david noticed, in spite of his trouble and anxiety. the furniture about the room was old-fashioned, formed of massive mahogany, carved most elaborately, and was of so many different styles that the pieces seemed thrown together at random. a glastonbury chair stood beside an elizabethan sofa; a modern davenport, a louis quatorze side-board, and a classic tripod, stood in a row. some chinese tables were in one corner. in the centre of the room was a table of massive construction, with richly carved legs, that seemed as old as the middle ages; while beside it was an american rocking-chair, in which lay a guitar. the whole scene struck david as being perfectly in keeping with his captor; for this interior looked like some pictures which he had seen of robber holds, where the accumulated plunder of years is heaped indiscriminately together, and reminded him vividly of the descriptions which he had read of the abodes of pirates or brigands, in the novels of cooper, in francisco, the pirate of the pacific, lafitte, the pirate of the gulf, and rinaldo rinaldini. chapter xiv. _on the way to sorrento again.--a mournful ride.--a despairing search.--a fearful discovery.--the old virago again.--in a trap.--sorrento aroused.--besieged.--all lost.--a raging crowd.--the howling hag.--hurried consultation.--the last forlorn hope.--disguise, flight, and concealment._ so, as i have said, the carriage rolled out from castellamare, along the road to sorrento, freighted with its anxious load. all were silent. uncle moses was weighed down by an anxiety that was too deep for words, and sat bent forward with his head buried in his hands. the boys respected his feelings too much to say anything, and consequently they, too, sat in silence. they were far from feeling anything like despair, however, on david's account. before they started, bob had assured them that "dave" was "all right," and would turn up before long somewhere--an assurance which frank and clive accepted as a perfectly sound and reliable statement; and so, if they were silent, it was not so much the silence of care or sadness, as of sympathy with uncle moses. as they went along they met people from time to time, some wayfarers, some in carriages, some in wagons, and some on horseback. in accordance with the earnest request of uncle moses, the driver questioned all these without exception, and asked the same question of all. "have you seen anything of a boy about fifteen years old--pale, with dark hair, sallow face, and gray dress?" and to this question there was one uniform answer from every one, "no." and at each fresh answer uncle moses would feel more and more disheartened, and sink into a new abyss of despondency and anxiety. far different was this journey to sorrento from that former one which they had made a few days before. then they were all together, and every one was filled with joy and enthusiasm. then no one in that little party was penetrated with a more profound and heartfelt joy than david, who, in addition to a boy's delight at novelty, brought forth all that classical glow and fervor which were peculiarly his own. and now, where was he? the nearer they drew to sorrento, the more urgent and pressing did this question become; and as each one asked it of himself, there was no answer. gradually the spectacle of the woe of uncle moses began to affect the boys, and in spite of bob's confidence they began to feel an unpleasant fear stealing over them. a little way out of sorrento the driver halted and spoke to uncle moses. he felt a little troubled, he said, about taking the carriage into the town. he reminded them of the recent uproar of the people, and their narrow escape, and warned them that if they were recognized they might again be assailed. but this warning fell on heedless ears. uncle moses was decided to go on. if david was anywhere, he might be in that very town, a prisoner in the hands of those foolish people who took offence at nothing. if they wished to save him, they must go into the very midst of the people, and gave him from their vengeance. at this the driver drove on. about a half a mile outside the town they overtook an old woman, and the driver stopped, and put to her the usual question. as the woman looked up they all recognized her at once. she was their old friend, or rather enemy--the virago herself, and no other! at the driver's question she stared at them, and at once recognized them all. a dark and gloomy expression came over her, and if glances could have injured them they would have been blasted on the spot. she stood there, and after the driver had asked the question she glared at them for some time in silence, looking from one to the other. then she stretched forth a long, bony, skinny hand, and shook it at them. then she burst forth in a long, shrill, venomous strain of denunciation, of which the boys could not understand one word; but the meaning of which they could easily conjecture. "what does she say?" asked uncle moses of the driver. "o, nothing," said the driver. "she only does curse; and she say she will haf vengeance." and once more the driver urged uncle moses go back. but this appearance of the virago and her threats only roused uncle moses to fresh determination. he was now confident that david had been seized by the sorrentonians, and that this woman was, perhaps, the instigator and leader in the act. he urged the driver to talk to her; but the driver assured him that it was useless, that she was crazy, and that if they wanted to gain information they must make inquiries elsewhere. they now resumed their progress, and before long entered the town, and reached the hotel. uncle moses at once sought the landlord. at the appearance of the carriage and passengers the landlord looked a little uneasy, and at the inquiry of uncle moses he looked still more troubled. but as to david he knew nothing whatever. "had he heard of a boy being arrested anywhere?" "no--nothing at all." "had he heard of any one being arrested?" "no." "had he heard any people making any threats against them?" "o, certainly!"--for the whole of the next day there was nothing but threats against the sacrilegious foreigners; but the feeling had subsided since. still their appearance in sorrento would undoubtedly rouse the people again, and the landlord urged them for their own sakes to hurry away as fast as possible back to castellamare. but uncle moses refused to think of this. he was here, and here he would remain until he had found david. he wanted the landlord to help him in this task. let him go out and mollify the people in any way, and see if he could find anything about the lost boy. he promised to pay any sum to the landlord, or anybody else, if they would only effect his rescue. this promise acted powerfully upon the landlord's cupidity, and he thought that at any rate it would be well to try. so he told uncle moses to wait, and he would see what could be done. he thereupon left them, and uncle moses and the boys walked up stairs to that same room in which they had dined before, when the uproar of the people reached their ears. here they sat down and waited in silence. they did not have to wait very long. it was not more than a quarter of an hour, or twenty minutes, when hurried footsteps were heard, and the landlord rushed in, followed by the driver. both were agitated and disturbed. at the same instant an outcry arose from without, and a tumult of eager and excited voices burst upon their ears. the landlord clasped his hands, and stood listening. the driver rushed to uncle moses, and cried,-"dey haf come!--de people! you are lost!" at this uncle moses and the boys started to their feet aghast, and frank rushed to the window, and standing so as to be as little observed as possible, he looked out. in the street in front he saw an excited crowd, which was not so large as it had been on that former memorable occasion, but which promised to be so before another quarter of an hour, for people were running up every minute, and adding to the uproar. the cries grew louder and louder, and though frank could not understand the words, he perceived plainly enough that they were fierce cries of anger and vengeance. and there, conspicuous among this crowd, was that identical old woman--that villanous old virago, who had caused all the former trouble, and seemed now bent upon the full accomplishment of her furious purpose. dancing, howling, shrieking, she stood close by the door of the hotel, which was now shut and barred, and shook her fists at the building, and yelled out curses at those within, and called upon her fellow citizens to break into the hotel, and seize the sacrilegious and barbarous foreigners. frank was a bold boy, but this sight was too much for him. his heart sank within him, and he involuntarily shrank back farther out of sight. soon the people outside began to throw at the party within something harder than words. stones came flying through the open windows, and one of these missiles came very close to the head of uncle moses. the landlord rushed forward, and closed all the shutters, and barred them, while the boys gathered around uncle moses as though to protect him from those savage assailants without. "what shall we do?" asked frank of the driver. the driver shrugged his shoulders. "can't we drive through them as we did before?" "dey have put a guard at de gate. dey prepare dis time--an not let us go." "isn't there any back way?" asked frank, once more, of the landlord, who now rejoined them, after having barred all the windows. "dere is; but de people are on de guard." "are there no soldiers about--no police? can't some one go and get help?" the landlord shook his head despondingly. "but there must be some way of getting rid of the mob," said frank, impatiently. "can't you explain that it was all a mistake?" the landlord sighed. "i haf try," he said, in a doleful voice. "and dey say i mus put you out of de house. dat i can not do--so i sall haf to soffaire. listen!" and at that moment the crash of glass below interrupted him, and formed a striking commentary on his remarks. "dey vill break de vindow," said he, "an dey vill try to break de door; but i haf barricade as well as i can." "are we at all safe?" asked frank. the landlord shook his head. "not mooch. if dey get enrage enough, dey break in, and den"--a significant shrug ended the sentence. "have you any arms--fire-arms?" asked frank, after a thoughtful pause. "i haf a small shot gun." "give me that," interrupted frank. "but i haf no powdaire," said the landlord. at this frank turned away in despair. "can't we get to some other room than this?" he asked of the driver. "isn't there a place where we can have some chance of defending ourselves?" the driver had been silent for some time, and buried in thought. he did not hear frank's words, but as he spoke, he looked earnestly at him, and said,-"i haf a plan. it may be no good--but it is de only one." "ah," asked frank, eagerly, "what is that?" "you must all disguise." "disguise?" "yes--female dress. i sall try to get some." "but they would recognize us all the same." "no--de plan is dis. you all disguise--stay below--i sall sit in de carriage; de horses are all ready now. ef de people do break in, dey will all rush up stair to here. you sall be down stair in de stable. de moment de crowd come, i will haf de gates opened. you sall spring in--an den i whip up, an make a fly for life. you ond'stan?" the driver spoke hurriedly. frank understood him, and at once approved. at this the driver went off to get the landlord to procure female dresses. that worthy hurried away, and soon returned with about twenty gowns, bonnets, and petticoats. these he threw upon the floor, and implored them to make haste, for the people outside were talking of getting a beam to batter in the door. he had implored them not to, but they scorned his prayers. upon this the boys began to put on the dresses, disguising themselves as well as they could. it was very clumsy work, and they were very uncertain about the proper way of fastening them; but the driver and the landlord assisted them. the dresses were those of italian peasant women, and required no very elaborate adjustment. some coarse bonnets, of an antique type, were stuck on their heads, and served to conceal their short hair and faces. with uncle moses they had very much trouble. at first he refused positively, and only consented when he was assured that the safety of the boys depended upon his disguise. so he yielded reluctantly, and allowed the driver to officiate as lady's maid. no sooner was this task concluded, than the landlord and driver hurried them down stairs, and through a passage-way into the barn. outside, in the court-yard, was the carriage, with the horses ready. the hostler was sent to the gate to fling it open at the driver's signal, and the landlord, stimulated by a promise from uncle moses of a large reward hi case of his rescue, returned to the hotel, to operate upon the crowd from that quarter. chapter xv. _in the robber's hold.--the brigand's bride.--sudden, amazing, overwhelming, bewildering, tremendous, astounding, overpowering, and crushing discovery.--the situation.--everybody confounded.--the crowd at sorrento.--the landlord's prayers.--the virago calls for vengeance._ the brigand put his gun down upon the sofa, and motioned to david to take a seat. he then left the room, and david heard his voice calling,-"laura! laura!" a light footstep sounded in the next room, and the brigand returned, followed by a woman. this woman's appearance astonished david. she was a lady. she was young, beautiful, bright as a vision, dressed simply, but in the modern fashion altogether. she had a very sweet face, and a bewitching smile, and as she entered she looked at david in some surprise. then this great, big, bluff, bearded, broad-shouldered, beetle-browed, brusque bully of a brigand; this fierce, ferocious, bloodthirsty, relentless, ruthless ruffian; this hard-hearted, implacable, inexorable villain; this cruel, vengeful, vindictive, griping, grasping, scowling fiend; this demoniac miscreant, without pity, and without remorse, opened his month. and this is what he said, in first-rate english!--"see here, laura; i've picked up a poor wretch of a bohemian--can't speak a word of any language, and had to explain by signs. well, you know i'm great on gestures; so i worked his story out of him. it seems he came to naples with his father, mother, and two sisters, and they all went on horseback up vesuvius. well, somehow they were captured by brigands, and were carried off; but the father, who, i believe, is a medical man, managed to drug the food of the scoundrels, and carried off his family. well, they got to the shore, found a boat, and set out for naples. after sailing a little distance, a squall struck the boat, and it upset. all were drowned except this poor lad, who managed to cling to the boat, and drifted, or was blown, ashore here on the cove, just down there, last night. he was senseless all night, and only came to himself a little while ago, and i picked him up just as he was reviving. he says he is alone in the world, and has appealed to me to help him. poor lad! my heart fairly aches for him. he says he hasn't got a penny of money, and implores me to help him. of course i've tried to comfort him; for i've told him that he may make my house his home, and i've promised to give him whatever money he wants, and move heaven and earth to get him back to his friends, if he has any." during this astounding speech the lady had stolen over to david, and sitting by his side, she placed a soft hand tenderly on his head. as the story was being told, her eyes filled with tears, and leaning forward, she kissed the poor boy's pale brow. when it ended she murmured in english, that was even better than that of the "brigand,"--"poor boy! poor boy! o, walter, dearest, how i do wish i could speak bohemian, so as to tell him how sorry i feel!" and what of david? what did david think--feel--say? nothing. not a word! david was paralyzed. he was stunned. he gasped for breath. and so this was his brigand--the brutal, the beetle-browed, the cruel, the bloody-minded, the inexorable, the demoniac, and all the rest of it! he gasped for breath, as i think i have already remarked; and as the ex-brigand went on with his narrative, david listened in a dazed way, and began to understand that the language of gestures has its little uncertainties. but when the lady kissed him, and when her sweet voice spoke those tender words of pity, he could stand it no longer. his voice came to him. he burst forth,-"o, how i thank you! o, how good you are! o, what a fool i am!" and he could say no more. not a word more, on my honor. it was now the turn of the others to be surprised. the lady started back in wonder, and looked at david, and then at her husband. the ex-brigand started back also, and stared at david in utter bewilderment. "what!" he roared, in a deep, thunderous bass voice. "say that again." "o, i'm an american--and i'm such a fool!" said david. "why didn't i tell you so?" "an american!" roared the ex-brigand. "an american!" upon this he burst into a perfect thunder-peal of laughter. the laughter came forth, peal after peal, in long and deafening explosions, till the house vibrated with the sound, and till at last the ex-brigand sank exhausted into the glastonbury chair. "an american!" he cried; "and think of me--ha, ha, ha!--asking you if you spoke every language in the world--ha, ha, ha!--but the right one--ha, ha, ha!--and speaking every language--ha, ha, ha!--but my own--ha, ha, ha! and to think of us two americans--ha, ha, ha!--after trying italian--ha, ha, ha i--and french, and spanish, and german--ha, ha, ha!--rushing into gestures!--ha, ha, ha!--gestures!--only think, laura--ha, ha, ha! he and i--ha, ha, ha!--spending an hour in making signs to each other--ha, ha, ha!--but 'pon my life it's too bad in me to be howling out in this fashion, my poor lad, when you're in the midst of such deep affliction. i swear i'm sorry. i forget myself." "but i'm not in any affliction at all," said david. "what! what's that?" cried the ex-brigand. "didn't you lose your father?" "no." "but your father, and mother, and the rest of them--" "no," said david. "you didn't quite understand what i wanted to say." and he then proceeded to tell his story in plain english. he was listened to with deep attention; but as his story turned out to be so different from the first report of the ex-brigand, the lady stole an arch look at her husband, and her eyes fairly danced with fun and merriment. but the ex-brigand bore it admirably; and as david ended, and showed himself to be in no such deep affliction as had been supposed, he once more burst forth in a fresh peal of riotous laughter. upon this david ventured to hint at his own late fears, and on being questioned by the lady he confessed frankly what had been the interpretation that he put upon the signs of the ex-brigand. "well," said that worthy, "i'm not a brigand at all. i'm an artist." "i'm sure i don't wonder, walter," said the lady. "you dress yourself up in such an absurd fashion--and i've always told you that this room looks like a bandit's den." "no, no, laura; say an artist's studio. how could i get along without my furniture. as for my dress, it's quite in keeping with the place and the people. it's picturesque, and that's all an artist is bound to consider." further explanations followed, in the course of which it appeared that this ex-brigand was mr. walter ludlow, an american artist, who, for the time being, was living here with his bride. they had been married three months. the island was capri. they were enjoying love in a cottage, which cottage was furnished in an artistic, rather than a fashionable way. they lived here quite free from restraint, and the artist occupied the time partly with his art, and partly with general enjoyment. neither of them felt at all inclined to leave capri for some time to come, but thought it the pleasantest place in the world. ludlow happened that day to be cleaning his gun, with the intention of going on a shooting excursion. the noise which had been made in the wood by david had startled him, and he had gone to see what it was, with the idea that some cattle had strayed along the shore, and were coming into the fields and gardens. when ludlow explained his gestures to david, and the latter confessed what interpretation he had put on them, further laughter was elicited from the fun-loving artist, in which his wife joined, and david also. ludlow, as soon as he was in a condition to speak, proceeded to explain what he really meant. his gestures were all intended by him to express the following ideas:- 1. i'm an american. 2. i don't live here--i only lodge. 3. i'm an artist. 4. i'm very sorry for you, and i'll take care of you. 5. i'm going out shooting soon. 6. don't fret. i'll take care of you, and the boat too, as long as you like. 7. i live in that house up there, and you can stay there till you hear from your friends. but mrs. ludlow now retreated, and before long she had a table set for their young guest, at which david took his seat, and ate with an appetite that had been sharpened by his long fast. while at the table ludlow questioned him more particularly about his friends, and where he had left them. "well, david, my lad," said the artist, at length, "i should like very much to have you stay with us for a time; and if you could, i feel confident that i could show you what would well repay you. are you aware that on this island is one of the wonders of the world--the famous grotto? i should like to take you there--but i see how it is. as you say, your uncle will be wild with anxiety about you, and will have no peace till he hears from you. so i suppose the best thing i can do for you, is to restore you to him first of all, and then arrange for a visit from you all on some future occasion." david thanked him very earnestly, and dwelt strongly upon the anxiety of uncle moses under the circumstances. "well, my lad," said ludlow, "i think you'd best go off at once, and i mean to go with you. unfortunately there is a head wind, just now, so that we cannot go to castellamare without taking too long a time. the best way will be to go over to sorrento from this place, and take a carriage, or horses, to castellamare." this proposal pleased david, greatly, and as ludlow was ready to start, he rose to go. mrs. ludlow bade him good by, and pressed him affectionately to come back with his friends. in a short time they were in the boat and afloat. ludlow was a good sailor, and the wind was favorable for a passage to sorrento. the distance was traversed quickly and pleasantly; and then, leaving the boat, they walked up into the town towards the hotel, to see about getting a conveyance to castellamare. as they approached the hotel they became aware of a great and unusual crowd in front of it. the crowd reminded david very forcibly of that one which had been raging there a few days before, and excited some trepidation in his breast. involuntarily he hung back. "what's the matter?" asked ludlow. "the mob," said david; "do--do you think it's safe to venture among them?" "safe? pooh! why not?" "they appear to be excited. hark! how they shout." "o, nonsense! these italians are always shouting." but david still hesitated, and finally told ludlow about the trouble with the tassel, and the old woman, and the mob, and their escape. at this story ludlow laughed heartily, and then proceeded to reassure david. "don't be alarmed," said he; "they won't remember you. if they did, i've got something that'll make them keep at a respectful distance;" and he touched his breast significantly. "a six-shooter, david, my boy, is a very convenient thing to carry about one in this country, and it is surprising how the native mind respects it. so come along, and we--that is, i and my six-shooter'll--take care of you. don't be uneasy. they've got something else on their minds now." with these words ludlow walked on, and david followed, full of fear. the crowd in front of the hotel was in a great state of rage and excitement. some were banging at the door, others pounding against the window shutters, which had been closed by the terrified landlord; others were standing at a distance, and trying to find stones to throw. fortunately there were no loose stones of any size, few being larger than a pebble, and therefore, as yet, no very great damage had been done. but the crowd was evidently capable of any amount of mischief. every one was howling, and yelling; and in the midst of them was an old woman, whose shouts and shrill cries made her conspicuous in the scene. she was encouraging and stimulating a number of men who were carrying a beam to the house, which they evidently purposed to use as a battering-ram, so as to burst open the door. the moment that david caught sight of this woman he shuddered, and falling behind ludlow, caught at his hand, and tried to pull him back. ludlow turned in surprise. "it's the same woman," said david, in an agitated voice, "who chased me." "is it?" said ludlow, with a smile. "o, well, you've got me with you now. so be a man.--cheer up, my boy. it's all right." saying this, ludlow again walked forward, this time keeping his left hand on david's arm. david felt that it was not "all right," but he had to follow ludlow, and so he followed him into the midst of the crowd. working their way on through the people, they at last came near to the door, and found themselves close by the men who were carrying the beam. they had laid it on the ground, and were hesitating for a moment. overhead ludlow heard the voice of the landlord pleading with them in piteous tones. "o, good citizens! o, dear citizens! don't destroy my furniture! don't ruin me! there is a mistake. on my honor, the strangers are innocent." at this the old virago howled out some insane maledictions, and urged the crowd on. some on the outskirts yelled, and the old hag, whirling around in the midst of her tirade, found herself face to face with david. the terrified lad shrank back, and tried to hide himself; but the old woman recognized him at once, and with a howl sprang at him. ludlow saw the movement. he put himself in front of david, and, seizing the old woman's arm in a grasp like a vice, held her back, and asked her sternly, in italian,-"accursed one! what do you mean?" "o, citizens of sorrento!" shrieked the hag. "o, pious citizens! help! this is the accursed boy! this is the sacrilegious one! the blasphemer! the insulter of the bambino! the--" "silence!" roared ludlow, in a voice of thunder. "men of sorrento, is this the way you treat strangers? does this mad thing govern the city?" "the boy, the boy! the blasphemer! the sacrilegious! the accursed!" shrieked the hag. and at her yells some of the mob seemed inclined to respond. they were already ripe for mischief, and when the hag diverted their attention to david, they felt quite ready to take him in hand. so now a ring of dark faces was formed around ludlow, and the yells of the hag directed them to seize david. ludlow pushed the hag from him, drew his revolver from his breast, and took two strides towards the house, which was close by, dragging david after him. then he put his back against the wall, and holding the revolver in an apparently careless manner, with its muzzle turned towards the crowd, he once more opened his mouth. "men of sorrento!" said he, "what foolery is this? the woman is mad. i have just come from capri, with this boy. many of you know me, for i am often here; and now, when i come, am i to be insulted by a madwoman? are you--" "seize him! seize the boy! the boy! the blasphemer!" yelled the hag. ludlow placed his hand on david's head, and looked with a smile on the crowd nearest. "does her madness usually take this form, gentlemen?" he added; "does she usually show this animosity to little boys and children?" at this question, which was asked in an easy and natural manner, the crowd looked abashed. they began to think that the woman was crazy. those to whom ludlow had spoken were the very men who had brought the beam but a few minutes before. they now edged slowly away, and began to think that they had done a very silly thing. "what's the trouble, signori?" asked ludlow, in the same easy tone, of those who were nearest. "well, they say there are some people inside that desecrated the church--some boys--" "what--boys?" said ludlow, with a smile. "who says so?" the men shrugged their shoulders. "she says so." ludlow thereupon shrugged his shoulders. "seize him! seize him! seize him!" yelled the hag, who all this time had kept up her insane outcry. "somebody had better seize _her_," said ludlow, with a laugh. "why, gentlemen, she will give your town a very bad name." the crowd nearest had already undergone a revulsion of feeling. the assault of the old woman on two harmless strangers seemed too wanton to be tolerated. ludlow's easy manner and calm language restored them fully to their senses, and the sight of his revolver effectually overawed the more excitable or reckless. they were also jealous of the good name of the town, and now began to be enraged with the old woman. a murmur passed through them. curses were freely lavished upon her, and the threats which but a short time ago had been directed against the landlord and his guests, were now hurled at her. the hag, however, in her fury, was quite unconscious of all this, and continued to yell as before, endeavoring to hound them on against david. but the crowd was now disgusted with her and her yells. "stop your diabolical yells!" cried an angry voice. "go home, and stay home, or you'll have a strait jacket put on you." the hag stopped short, as though thunderstruck, and looked around with staring eyes. it was a young man who thus addressed her: he was grasping her arm and looking savagely at her. evidently he was some relative, of whom she stood in awe, for with something like a gasp she seemed to shrink into herself, and then, gathering her clothes about her, slunk away through the crowd. ludlow had often been at sorrento before, and saw some familiar faces among the people. these he accosted, and soon found out what the trouble was. although some of these very men had been howling like maniacs a short time before, yet they now were as quiet, and gentle, and amiable as lambs. they sneered at the old hag, deplored. the excitement, and assured him that no harm had been done. soon the crowd dispersed, and the landlord, who had been watching the scene in deep anxiety, came down, opened the doors, and gave ludlow and david a most eager, exuberant, and enthusiastic welcome. chapter xvi. _more troubles for poor david.--onset of four women.--seized by an old crone and three peasant girls.--fresh horror of david.--a new uproar in the yard of the inn.--uncle moses bent double._ ludlow began to talk to the landlord about a conveyance to castellamare, and david walked through the house into the yard. david's only desire now was to hurry on and join his friends as soon as possible. he had not the remotest idea that they were in sorrento, and that the trouble had arisen about them, but fancied that they were in castellamare, full of anxiety about him. sympathizing with their anxiety, he longed to go to them, so as to put an end to it; and seeing a carriage in the yard, he naturally walked in that direction. reaching, the yard he noticed that the horses were in it, and that it was a barouche, like the one in which his party had been travelling. not for one moment did he suppose that it was the same one, nor did he notice it very closely; but giving it a careless glance, he looked around to see those to whom it belonged. as david went out into the yard, the driver had just gone into the barn to tell uncle moses and the boys that the trouble was over and the crowd was dispersing. their joy may be imagined. they were just hastening from the barn to return to the hotel, and had just reached the barn door when david approached. david was walking along towards the barn, looking around to see where the people were, when suddenly he heard a wild cry, and saw a figure rush straight towards him. it was a woman's figure, and she appeared quite old. like lightning, the thought flashed through him that this was his old tormentor, the hag; and with a gasp he started back, and was about to run. but the other was too quick for him, and david felt himself seized by his dreaded enemy. this dreaded enemy then behaved in a frantic way, hugging him and uttering inarticulate words. david struggled to get free from her, and throwing a frightened glance at her face, which was but partly visible, beneath a very shabby bonnet, he saw that she was quite old, and that tears were streaming down from her eyes. this frightened david all the more, for now he was sure that she was insane. but now, to david's horror, he found himself surrounded by three more women, in coarse dresses and horribly shabby bonnets. they all made a simultaneous rush at him, seizing his hands and arms, and seemed about to tear him to pieces. in vain he struggled. he was helpless. a cold shudder passed through him, and a thrill of horror tingled every nerve. all this had been the work of an instant. so sudden had been the onset, and so overwhelmed was david with utter horror, that he could not even scream for help. but at last he got his month open, and was just about to give one piercing yell for help, when the words were taken out of his mouth, and his voice stopped, and a new and greater surprise created within him. "david! david! my boy! my boy!" moaned the first old woman. "dave! you rascal! what do you mean by this?" cried woman number two. "dave! old boy! what in the world is the meaning of this?" cried woman number three. "dave! how did you find us?" cried woman number four. "where have you been?" "where did you come from?" "when did you get here?" "what made you go off?" "did they seize you?" "was it the old woman that did it?" these questions, and scores of others, came pouring forth into his astonished ears. as for david, he could not utter one single word. at length the yearning affection of uncle moses seemed to be satiated, and the boisterous greetings of the boys exhausted, and one by one they released their grasp, and allowed david to extricate himself. thereupon david stood off at a little distance, and gazed at them in mute amazement. the sight which they presented to his astonished eyes was one which might have excited strong emotions in the breast of any beholder. there stood uncle moses, his figure concealed under a tattered gown, and his venerable head enfolded in a battered bonnet of primeval style. there stood frank, looking like a strapping peasant woman, with a bonnet that was stuck on the top of his head like a man's hat. there stood clive, looking like a pretty peasant girl, quite italian in his style, with a dress that was a trifle neater than the others. and there was bob, an utter and unmitigated absurdity,--with s dress that was tangled about his legs, and a bonnet that had no crown. the four of them looked more like escaped lunatics than anything else, and no sooner had david taken in the whole scene, than he burst forth into a perfect convulsion of laughter. thus far the disguise had possessed nothing but a serious character in the minds of the wearers. by means of this disguise they had hoped to escape, and the costumes, being thus a help to safety, had been dignified in their eyes. but now, when the danger was over, and safety assured, there was nothing to hide from their eyes the unutterable absurdity, the inconceivable ludicrousness of their appearance. as david's laugh burst forth, each turned his eyes upon the other, and saw how it was. then they all burst forth! it was a cataclysm of laughter. the boys swayed backward and forward, and danced up and down, and shouted, and yelled with laughter. uncle moses stood with his eyes shut and his figure bent double. frank stared at each one in succession, and then at himself, giving a scream at each figure. clive laughed till he sank down; and bob, flinging himself upon the ground in a perfect paroxysm, rolled over and over, and kicked, and yelled, and fairly howled in one prolonged and uproarious cachinnation. the uproar aroused the house. the driver hurried out of the barn and joined in the roar. the hostler followed him. the servants came from the hotel, and lent their voices. the landlord came out, and was at once seized with a convulsion. after the landlord came ludlow. he didn't altogether understand it; but he saw david, and he saw the four figures; and from what the landlord had been telling him, he knew who they were. the sight overwhelmed him. he opened his mouth. he burst forth. it was tremendous. it was olympian. it was the laughter of homer's immortals. it was a thunder-peal. it was too much. he could not keep his feet, but sank down on the stone steps, and burying his face in his hands, gave way utterly. thus it was, then, that david, the most solemn of boys, returned to his distracted and anxious friends. at length the laughter ceased, and the costumes were set aside, and they all sat in the dining-room, asking and giving explanations. david had to tell the story of his adventures. the boys had to tell about their search after him, and ludlow had to tell the story of his meeting with david at capri. these mutual explanations had nothing in them but what was pleasant, so that there was nothing to detract from the joy of the occasion. and now ludlow, finding the friends so happily reunited, pressed them all to come over to capri at once, and stay as long as they felt inclined to. david's eyes sparkled at this, and the other boys, who had fallen in love with ludlow at first sight, were more eager to go than they could tell. but uncle moses demurred. he felt afraid of giving trouble, and thought they had better get back to naples. ludlow, however, pooh-poohed his scruples, answered every objection, and would not take any refusal whatever; so that the result was, the final departure of the party for capri. but before they went, several things had to be attended to. first of all, they had to dismiss the driver. with the exception of his sulk at paestum, he had behaved admirably, and had been of immense service to them in more than one hour of need. the consequence was, that uncle moses gave him a reward so liberal that it elicited an outburst of benedictions, thanks, and prayers for the future welfare of the whole party. the other business was to see about the return of the boat which david had taken. this, however, was arranged without difficulty. ludlow knew an honest fisherman who could be intrusted with the task of returning the boat, and making explanations to the owner. by this man they sent a sufficient sum to repay the owner for the use of it. they engaged another boat to take them to capri. a gentle breeze wafted them over the intervening water, and they soon stood before the artist's picturesque abode. mrs. ludlow received them all with her brightest smile and warmest cordiality, and the boys soon began to feel towards the artist and his wife as though they were near and dear relations. they found the artist's cottage a perfect storehouse of curiosities, and a museum of antiquities; they found also that it was of large dimensions, and contained sufficient accommodations for the party; and thus they were able to feel that they were not a burden in any way on their warm-hearted friends. ludlow took them all over the island, and showed them all that was to be seen. he was not only an enthusiastic artist, but also an antiquarian of no mean attainments; and while he could point out to them the most beautiful spots on that lovely isle, he could also talk learnedly about the ancient capraea, and raise out of ancient ruins theories about the pleasure-grounds of tiberius. but the most wonderful thing which they found there was the famous grotto, so familiar to all from the accounts of tourists, and from the well-known description in hans andersen's improvisatore. after that glowing, poetic, and enthusiastic narrative, no other need be attempted. here they passed three or four days, and when at length they bade adieu to the artist and his wife, it was with many sincere regrets on both sides, and many earnest wishes that they might meet again. after which they all went back to naples. chapter xvii. _vesuvius.--ponies and sticks.--sand and lava.--the rocky steps.--the rolling, wrathful smoke-clouds.--the volcano warns them off.--the lost boy.--a fearful search.--a desperate effort.--the sulphurous vapors.--over the sliding sands._ the sight of vesuvius from a distance had filled david with an ardent desire to visit it, and all the rest shared this feeling. vesuvius was before them always. the great cloud of dense, black smoke, which hung over it like a pall, was greater, and denser, and blacker than usual. the crater was disturbed. there were rumbling noises in its wondrous interior; and all around and all beneath the volcano gave signs of an approaching eruption. sometimes the smoke, as it ascended from the crater, would tower up in the air for thousands of feet, far into the sky, a black pillar, which at the summit spread out on all sides, giving to the spectator the vision of a colossal palm tree--the shape and the sign which is the inevitable forerunner of an approaching eruption. at other times the sulphur-laden clouds would hang low over the crest of the mountain, and roll far down its sides, and envelop it in its dense, black, voluminous folds. as yet, in spite of these appearances, the ascent might be made in safety, though every day lessened the chances of an ascent by increasing the danger. this they learned from michael angelo, their guide, whom they had engaged to make the ascent; so they determined to go without any farther delay. accordingly, two days after their excursion to baiae, they set out, going first to portici, where they hired ponies to take them to the foot of the cone; each one supplied himself with a good stout stick to assist his ascent, and michael angelo went with them as general manager of the expedition. on riding, up they found the road good at first, but soon it became somewhat rough. it left the fertile meadows and vineyards at the base of the mountain, and ran over a wild, rocky country, which looked, as uncle moses said, like the "abomination of desolation." no verdure appeared, no houses, no flocks, and herds--all was wild, and savage, and dismal. after passing over these lava fields, the party reached what is called the "hermitage" --a kind of refreshment station near the foot of the cone. resting here, for a little way they proceeded on foot. the path was now rugged and difficult, and ascended at so steep an angle that it became rather climbing than walking. after a toilsome walk this path ended at the foot of the cone. here the mountain arose grandly before them, with its smoke-cloud overhanging its steep sides, ascending from where they stood to where the view was lost in smoke. at one part there was a surface of loose sand, and at another wild, disordered heaps of crumbled lava blocks. over these last michael angelo led them, for these blocks formed stepping-stones by which to make the ascent. a number of men were here with chairs and straps, who offered them assistance; but they all declined, even uncle moses choosing to rely on his unassisted muscle. then they began the ascent of the cone. the lava blocks were of all sizes, and lay strewn loosely down the steep side. it was like ascending a long, rough stairway, where all the steps are irregular. it was laborious and tedious. often they had to stop and rest. uncle moses felt it most, and the boys had frequently to stop rather on his account. but when they had traversed about two thirds of the way, they began to grow more excited, and in bob this excitement was most evident. thinking that the others would take sufficient care of uncle moses, he started off alone, and soon was far up, clambering over the rocks like a young chamois. usually there is one side of the crater which is accessible. there is almost always some wind which blows the smoke away, and on the windward side the visitor can stand and breathe freely. on the present occasion, however, there was little or no wind; and the smoke, which was far denser than usual, gathered in thick, black folds, and sometimes rolled down the sides of the cone, and hid the crest from view. michael angelo expressed a fear that they would not be able to reach the crest; and as they drew nearer, every step showed that this fear was well founded. at last, when they were within easy distance of it, there came rolling down a cloud of smoke, so dense and so full of sulphurous vapor that they all had to stop and cover their faces with their clothes. it was now evident that they could go no farther. they waited for a time in great distress from the smoke. it rolled away at last, yet still hovered near them, every little while moving threateningly down, as though to drive them back, and prevent the crater from desecration by human footsteps. they had evidently reached their farthest limit, and could go no farther. but where was bob? scarcely had they discovered the impossibility of going farther than this thought came to them. where was bob? he had left them some time previously, and had gone far ahead of them. they had expected every moment to come up with him. but there were no signs of him anywhere. frank called out with all his strength. david and clive joined in the cry. there was no response. fear came to them--a sickening, awful fear. all shouted--the boys, uncle moses, and michael angelo. still there was no response. again, and again, and yet again, they called, by this time in an agony of apprehension; but to all these cries the surrounding stillness gave forth not one answering sound. and the deep, dark, wrathful smoke-clouds rolled around, and above, and downward, moving close to them, and over them, as though eager to involve them in that dread fate which they feared had overwhelmed the lost boy. "i can't stand this any longer!" cried frank, at last. "i'll go and hunt him up." "we'll all go," said david. "wait," said uncle moses, as the boys were starting. "we must hunt him up as we do in the woods. we can't tell where he is. let's form a line, an walk as nigh abreast of one another as we can get, an yet far enough away to cover the ground. in that way well be more likely to find him." at this the party formed themselves in a line, so that about twenty or thirty feet intervened between each. the five thus extended for a long distance. michael angelo was at the extreme right, next to him was uncle moses, then clive, then david, while frank was on the extreme left. in this way they determined to go as far forward as the smoke would permit. the prospect was gloomy enough; but the situation of bob nerved them all to the effort. besides, they were encouraged by the fact that the smoke would sometimes retreat far up, exposing the surface to the very crest of the crater. so they advanced, clambering over the rough blocks, and drew nearer and nearer to the summit. at length a heavy mass of black smoke came rolling down. it touched them. it enveloped them. it folded itself over them and under them. each one fell flat on his face at michael angelo's warning, and covered his mouth and nostrils with his handkerchief, so as to keep out the sulphurous vapors. it was almost suffocating; breathing was difficult and painful, and it seemed a long time before the blackness of the darkness was mitigated. but at last the smoke withdrew itself, and the whole party stood up, and looked around painfully for one another, panting heavily, and drawing laborious breaths. "you can't go any further," said uncle moses. "i ain't goin to let you resk your lives, boys. you must all go back, an i'll go for'ard." "no, uncle; i'll go," cried frank. "and i," cried david. "and i," cried clive. "none of you shall go," said uncle moses, firmly. "i tell you i'm goin. i order you to stay here, or go back." uncle moses was deeply agitated, and spoke with unaccustomed sternness. "go back," he said; "i'll find bob, or leave myself there. go back. d'ye hear?" he darted forward, and turned to wave his hand at the boys. but frank had already sprung upward, swiftly and eagerly. onward he went, going first to the left and then to the right. david and clive also rushed forward. uncle moses toiled after them, calling on them to come back. michael angelo followed slowly, looking on with a face of fearful apprehension. frank was far ahead. he had come to a place where the lava blocks ended, and the soil was sandy. here he paused for an instant, and took a swift glance around. he started. he had seen something. he made a quick gesture and then sprang away to the right. all this had not taken many minutes. it was an act of desperation on the part of frank, but he was determined to save bob or perish. fortunately the smoke did not descend just at that moment, but was floating up from the summit, so that the edge of the crater could be seen, with a dull yellow gleam, caused by the sulphur that lay mingled with the sand. frank had seen a prostrate figure. it lay on the sand beyond the edge of the lava blocks. his first feeling was one of surprise that bob had succeeded in penetrating so far; his next was one of horror for fear that he might be beyond the reach of help. with frantic haste he rushed towards him, and reaching the spot, he raised bob in his arms. he was senseless! and now, as frank stood there, close to the perilous edge, the treacherous smoke, which had thus far held back, rolled down once more. to face it was impossible. frank flung himself down, and buried his face as before, looking up from time to time to see if the smoke was lessening. the time seemed protracted to a fearful length. the dense fumes which penetrated through the thick folds of the clothes which he held over his mouth nearly suffocated him. he began to think that he, too, was doomed. and where were the others? scattered, apart from one another--and thus they had been caught by the rolling smoke. they could do only one thing, and that was what they had done before. uncle moses alone refused to yield. he tried to toil on so as to get nearer to his boys. he had a vague idea of getting near to frank, so as to die by his side. but physical pain was stronger than the determination of his soul, and at length he involuntarily flung himself down, and covered his face. but at last even that ordeal was passed. the smoke lifted. it rolled away. there was air again for them to breathe. frank roused himself before the smoke had all passed, and lifting bob in his arms, carried him swiftly downward. he reached the place where uncle moses was standing, gasping for breath; and the other boys who had seen him hurried towards him, and tried to help him carry his senseless burden. uncle moses also tried to take bob in his own arms, and prayed frank, with tears in his eyes, to let him carry him; but frank refused them all, and insisted on doing it himself. a few paces more, however, over the lava blocks, showed that frank's strength would not be sufficient for such a journey. he sank down exhausted by his excessive exertions, and waited a few moments to take breath. while he was thus recovering his breath, michael angelo reached the spot, and explained that there was another place of descent not far off, and led the way towards it. here they found the side of the cone all covered with loose sand. down this they went. at every step they sank in up to their ankles, and the sliding soil bore them down, so that for every step they took they were carried the length of two or three steps. frank clung to bob till he had got beyond the reach of the smoke, and then he fell backward, gasping for breath. the others scrambled towards him, eager to help him; and michael angelo, who had exerted himself the least of all, and was fresher than any of them, raised bob in his arms, and said that he would take care of him now. at this frank gave up his precious burden, and resuming their descent, they were soon at the foot of the cone. here they sat down, and bob was laid upon the sand. with trembling hands they felt for his heart, and found, to their unspeakable, joy, that it was still beating. there was no water near; but they chafed his feet and hands, and did what they could. for a long time their efforts were unavailing; but at last bob opened his eyes, and drawing a long, breath, looked around him with a face full of astonishment. "what's--the--matter?" he murmured, in a feeble voice. at this tears of joy flowed into the eyes of uncle moses, and his lips murmured inaudible words of prayerful gratitude. "o, nothing," said frank, who by this time had completely recovered from his fatigue. "nothing of any consequence. don't bother. you'll be all right soon." bob seemed too weak to say much, and even to think. he lay there in silence, and with an expression of bewilderment on his face, evidently trying to collect his scattered faculties, so as to account for his present situation. and now, the question was how to get bob home. the men with chairs and straps had gone away, so that this mode of conveyance seemed denied them. after waiting a short time, however, they saw a party approaching who were evidently about to try the ascent. they consisted of ladies and gentlemen, and were accompanied by some chair and strap men. seeing bob and his friends, they made inquiries; and on learning what had happened, the ladies refused to make the ascent on so unfavorable a day, but preferred postponing it to a more auspicious time. michael angelo therefore was able to obtain one of the chairs for bob; and setting him upon it, they carried him towards the hermitage, where they arrived without any further mishap. here bob grew rapidly better, and was able to tell his story. he had felt very anxious to see the crater, and equally anxious to see it first. taking advantage of a time when the smoke had retreated, he had made a rush, and had just attained the very edge of the crater, when suddenly he found himself overwhelmed by a tremendous cloud of smoke. to resist it, or to endure it in any way, was impossible. he thought only of flight he turned mechanically, and ran, with this idea of flight alone in his mind. that was all he remembered. he must have run for at least a hundred feet, for that was about the distance which lay between the summit and the place where he was found. michael angelo started off and got a carriage, by means of which bob was taken to naples. he did not seem to have suffered any very serious injury; but for some days he was quite languid and miserable, and complained of a taste of sulphur in his mouth; his coat, too, which on going up was of a dark-blue color, had become quite faded, from the action of the powerful sulphurous fumes. on the whole, bob, as well as the rest of the party, had ample reason to feel thankful. chapter xviii. _pompeii, the city of the dead.--the monuments of the past.--temples, towers, and palaces.--tombs and monuments.--theatres and amphitheatres.--streets and squares._ a few days after their ascent of vesuvius, the whole party started off to visit pompeii. the prospect of this journey gave them unusual delight. bob had now completely recovered his health and spirits. clive's poetic interest in so renowned a place was roused to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. david's classical taste was stimulated. frank's healthy love of sight-seeing was excited by the thought of a place that so far surpassed all others in interest; and uncle moses evidently considered that this was the one thing in europe which could repay the traveller for the fatigues of a pilgrimage. thus each, in his own way, felt his inmost heart stirred within him as they approached the disentombed city; and at length, when they reached the entrance to the place, it is difficult to say which one felt the strongest excitement. they found a number of other visitors there, consisting of representatives of all nations--russians, germans, americans, french, and english; ladies, gentlemen, and boys. michael angelo was with them, and was more useful to them than any mere guide-book could have been. the first emotions of awe which filled their minds as they entered the streets of the mysterious city gradually faded away, and they began to examine everything with great interest. the first thing that struck their attention was the extreme narrowness of the streets. there was only room for one carriage to pass at a time. the sidewalks were a foot higher than the carriage-way. there were crossing-stones that stood high above the pavement. the sidewalks were paved with brick, and the carriage-way with lava blocks, which were very neatly joined together. clive took a piece of brick as a relic, and david broke off a fragment from one of the crossing-stones for the same purpose. they soon came to a ruined edifice, which michael angelo called the basilica. it was two hundred feet in length, and seventy in width. at one end still remained the tribunal or seat of justice, seven feet above the pavement; and all around the walls were columns formed of brick, covered with plaster. the boys picked off some of the plaster as relics. leaving this, they went on and came to another ruined edifice, which michael angelo called the temple of venus. it was built round a courtyard, with porticos. here david and clive obtained some more relics. beyond this was an open square surrounded by pillars, of which only the lower parts remained. this was the forum civile; and beyond this stood the temple of jupiter, which they visited without finding anything that was particularly interesting. after this michael angelo took them to a place which he said was the public bakery. here they saw millstones, ovens, water-vessels, and some other articles of which they could not guess the use. not far away were some bakers' shops. in these shops loaves of bread were found by the diggers. of course they were burned to charcoal; but they retained their original shape, and showed marks upon them which were probably intended to indicate the bakery from which they came. heaps of corn were also found. going down the street where these were situated, they came to one of the gates of the city. beside this was a niche in the wall, used as a sentry-box, upon which, all the party gazed with a profound interest; for in that sentry-box those who disentombed the city found a skeleton, in the armor and with the equipment of a roman soldier. evidently the sentry had died at his post. they took a good look at the walls here, which they found to be about twenty-five feet high, and formed of huge stones, that were joined together without cement. the gates had evidently been double. passing through this gate, they found themselves outside the city, in what michael angelo called the "street of tombs." looking down it, they noticed a number of edifices of a monumental character, lining it on either side. these were the tombs of wealthy citizens. they visited several of them, and found them all alike. the interiors were all simple, the walls being pierced with niches, in which were deposited the urns that held the ashes of the dead. this was the first time that they had seen anything of this kind, and they examined it with deep and solemn interest. here, too, clive and david succeeded in finding some relics in the shape of some burnt fragments of human bones. after this michael angelo led them to what was once the finest mansion of the city, now known as the villa of diomede. they entered here, and wandered through the halls, and rooms, and courtyards. they saw rich mosaic pavements; the basins of what once were fountains; the lower parts of marble pillars that once belonged to stately colonnades. they saw some rooms that once had been used for cold baths, and others that had been used for vapor baths. dining-rooms, reception-rooms, bed-rooms, kitchens, libraries, opened up all around, and told them of that vanished past which had once peopled all these apartments with busy human life. far more than basilicas, or temples, or streets, or walls, were they affected by this glimpse into the home of a household; and they traversed that deserted home in eloquent silence. after going through all the house, they descended into the cellars. these were very spacious, and extended beneath the entire villa. here, at one end, they saw what is called the wine cellar. many wine jars were standing there--huge earthen vessels, as large as a hogshead, with wide mouths and round bottoms, which made it impossible for them to stand erect, unless they were placed against some support. in these wine jars there was now no wine, however, but only dust and ashes. here michael angelo had much to tell them. he told them that several skeletons had been found in these vaults, belonging to hapless wretches who had, no doubt, fled here to escape the storm of ashes which was raging above. one of these skeletons had a bunch of keys in its bony fingers; and this circumstance led some to suppose that it was the skeleton of diomede himself; but others thought that it belonged to his steward. whoever he was, he had fled here only to meet his doom, and to leave his bones as a memorial to ages in the far distant future. leaving this place, they visited another house, which is called the villa of caius sallust. at one corner of the house they saw something which at once struck them all as being rather singular. it was nothing else than a shop, small in size, fitted up with shelves and counters; a row of jars was fixed on one side, and in the rear were furnaces. michael angelo informed them that it had once been an eating-house. the boys thought it excessively odd that the occupants of such a house--people, too, who bore such a name as sallust--should tolerate such an establishment; but there was the undeniable fact before their eyes. afterwards their surprises diminished; for in many other houses in pompeii--they found shops of the same kind, and saw that the ancient pompeians were not above trade; and that, if they did not keep the shops themselves, they were at least very willing to hire the fronts of their houses to other parties who did wish to do so. in sallust's house they saw the traces of very elegant ornaments, and learned from michael angelo that many of the articles discovered here showed that it must once have been the abode of a luxurious and refined family. the elegant house of the dioscuri was visited next. it is in the via dei mercurii, and is a very interesting and extensive ruin, and contains some handsome fresco paintings. after this they visited many other houses, a description of which is not necessary; they were all like the villa of diomede, though less interesting; and among them all there was the same general character. in all these only the lower stories remained, though in a few a small part of the second story was visible. as the chief part of the pompeian house was on the ground floor, the loss of the upper story did not make any particular difference. among these they found another temple, called the pantheon--a large edifice, which showed signs of great former beauty. it was two hundred and thirty feet long, and nearly two hundred feet wide. an altar is still standing, around which are twelve pedestals, upon which once stood twelve statues. a few houses and temples followed, after which michael angelo informed them that he was about to take them to one of the greatest curiosities in the city. the building to which he led them was in much better preservation than the majority of the edifices in pompeii, though not nearly so large as many that they had seen. it was about sixty feet wide, and a little longer, being nearly square in shape, and was evidently a temple of some kind. "what is this?" asked david. "this is the temple of isis," said michael angelo. "the temple of isis!" exclaimed david, in eager excitement. "is it, indeed!" and he looked around with a face full of intense interest. hitherto, though all the boys had shown much interest, yet, david had surpassed them all in his enthusiasm. this was partly on account of his taste for classical studies, and his love for all connected with classical antiquity, but more especially from the fact that he had very recently read bulwer's _last days of pompeii_; and on this occasion that whole story, with all its descriptions and all its incidents, was brought vividly before him by the surrounding scene. most of all was the temple of isis associated with that story, and it seemed more familiar to him than anything else that he had found in the city. glaucus and ione, the christian olynthus, and the dark arbaces seemed to haunt the place. in one of the chambers of this very temple, as michael angelo was now telling,--even while leading the way to that chamber,--had been found a huge skeleton, with an axe beside it; two walls had been beaten through by that axe, but the desperate fugitive could go no farther. in another part of the city had been found, another skeleton, carrying a bag of coins and some ornaments of this temple of isis. david listened to michael angelo's account with strange interest, for it seemed to him as though the fabled characters of bulwer's story were endowed with actual reality by michael angelo's prosaic statements. after inspecting the chamber just mentioned, they were taken to a place where they saw what had once been the pedestal of a statue. here michael angelo showed them a hollow niche, which was so contrived that one might conceal himself there, and speak words which the ignorant and superstitious populace might believe to come from the idol's own stony lips. this one thing showed the full depth of ancient ignorance and superstition; and over this michael angelo waxed quite eloquent, and proceeded to deliver himself of a number of impressive sentences of a highly important character, which he uttered with that fluent volubility peculiar to the whole race of guides, ciceroni, and showmen, in all parts of the world. these moral maxims were part of michael angelo's regular routine, and the moment that he found himself here in this temple of isis, the stream of wisdom would always begin to flow. the next place to which michael angelo intended to take them was the amphitheatre, which could be seen from where they were standing. all this time david had been more eager than any of the others, and far more profoundly moved. he felt his soul stirred to its inmost depth by the thrilling scenes through which he had been moving. it seemed to him as though there were revealed here to his eyes, in one glance, all that he had been laboriously acquiring from books by the study of years. but this was better than books. these roman houses, into which he could walk, were far better than any number of plans or engraved prints, however accurately done. these temples afforded an insight into the old pagan religion better far than volumes of description. these streets, and shops, and public squares, and wall, and gates, and tombs, all gave him an insight into the departed roman civilization that was far fresher, and more vivid, and more profound, than any that he had ever gained before. it seemed to him that one day was too small for such a place. he must come again and again, he thought. he was unwilling to go on with the rest, but lingered longer than any over each spot, and was always the last to quit any place which they visited. they stopped on their way at the tragic and comic theatres, and at length reached the amphitheatre itself. this edifice is by far the largest in the city, and is better preserved than any. it is built of large blocks of a dark volcanic stone, and constructed in that massive style which the romans lived, and of which they have left the best examples in these huge amphitheatres. as this amphitheatre now stands, it might still serve for one of those displays for which it was built. tier after tier those seats arise, which once had accommodations for fifteen or twenty thousand human beings. on these, it is said, the pompeians were seated when that awful volcanic storm burst forth by which the city was rained. down from these seats they fled in wildest disorder, all panic-stricken, rushing down the steps, and crowding through the doorways, trampling one another under foot, in that mad race for life; while overhead the storm gathered darker and darker, and the showers of ashes fell, and the suffocating sulphuric vapors arose, and amid the volcanic storm the lightnings of the sky flashed forth, illuminating all the surrounding gloom with a horrid lustre, and blending with the subterranean rumblings of the earthquake the thunder of the upper air. from this cause the amphitheatre may be considered the central spot of interest in pompeii. what little has been told of the fate of the city gathers around this place, and to him who sits upon those seats there is a more vivid realization of that awful scene than can be obtained anywhere else. on reaching the amphitheatre they seated themselves on the stone steps, about half way up the circle of seats, and each one gave way to the feelings that filled him. they had walked now for hours, and all of them felt somewhat wearied, so that the rest on these seats was grateful. here they sat and rested. chapter xix. _lofty classical enthusiasm of david, and painful lack of feeling on the part of frank.--david, red hot with the flow of the past, is suddenly confronted with the present.--the present dashes cold water upon his glowing enthusiasm.--the gates.--minor, aeacus, and rhadamanthus.--the culprits._ as they thus rested on the seats of the amphitheatre, the classical enthusiasm of david rose superior to fatigue, and his enthusiastic feelings burst forth without restraint, in a long and somewhat incoherent rhapsody about the fell of pompeii. full before them, as they sat, rose vesuvius; and they saw that which helped them to reproduce the past more vividly, for even now the dense, dark cloud of the volcano was gathering, and the thick smoke-volumes were rolling forth from the crater. far into the heavens the smoke clouds arose, ascending in a dark pillar till they reached the upper strata of the atmosphere, where they unfolded themselves, and spread out afar--to the east, and the west, and the north, and the south. some such appearance as this the mountain may have had, as it towered gloomily before the pompeians on that day of days. some such scene as this may have appeared, only deepened into terrors a thousand fold more gloomy, to the population of the doomed city, as they gathered here on these seats for the last time. such were the ideas of david clark; and these ideas he poured forth in a long rhapsody, full of wild enthusiasm. at length, however, that enthusiasm flagged, and he was compelled to stop for want of breath. "o, that's all very fine," said frank, suddenly, as david stopped, and breaking the silence which had followed his eloquent outburst,--"that's all very fine, of course. you have a habit, david, my son, of going into raptures over old bones and old stones, but after all, i'd just like to ask you one question." "what's that?" asked david, a little sharply. "why, this. has this place, after all, come up to your idea?" and frank looked at him with very anxious eyes. "this place?" said david. "what, pompeii? come up to my idea? why, of course it has. what makes you ask such a question as that? i never spent such a day in all my life." "well, for my part," said frank, in a very candid tone, "i'll be honest. i confess i'm disappointed." and saying this, frank shook his head defiantly, and looked at all the other boys, with the air of one who was ready and willing to maintain his position. "disappointed!" exclaimed david, in an indescribable tone, in which reproach, astonishment, and disgust were all blended together. "yes," said frank, firmly, "disappointed--utterly, completely, and tee-totally. i'll tell you what my idea was. my idea was, that the streets would be streets, in the first place. well, they're not _streets_ at all. they're mere _lanes_. they're nothing more than _foot-paths_. secondly, my idea was, that the houses would be _houses_. well, they're not. they're old ruins; heaps of dust and bricks--" "nonsense!" interrupted david, in indignant tones. "how could the houses be standing after being buried for so many centuries? you forget what a tremendous weight of ashes, and stones, and earth, lay upon their roofs. houses! why, did you expect to find couches to lie on? or chairs--" "well," said frank, "my quarrel with pompeii doesn't end here. for, you see, even if the houses were whole and uninjured, what would they be? poor affairs enough. just think how small they are. rooms ten by twelve. narrow passage-ways for halls, that'll scarcely allow two people to pass each other. the rooms are closets. the ceilings were all low. and then look at the temples. i expected to find stone walls and marble columns. but what have i found? nothing but shams--pillars built of bricks, and plastered over to resemble marble. do you call that the right style of thing? why, at home we sneer at lath-and-plaster gothic. why should we admire lath-and-plaster greek because it's in pompeii? then, again, look at the forums --miserable little places that'll only hold about fifty people." "pooh!" said david; "as if they didn't know what was large enough!" "i don't doubt that they knew it," said frank. "but what i say is, that if these were large enough for them, what a poor lot they must have, been!" "after all," said david, "pompeii was not a great city. it was only a small city. you expect to find here the magnificence of rome." "no, i don't. i merely expect to find something that'll carry out the promise of those pictures that they make of scenes in pompeii. why, there isn't anything in the whole town, except, perhaps, this place, that looks large enough for an ordinary person to move about in. look at the walls--miserable things twenty feet high. look at the streets--only wide enough for a single cart. look at the sidewalks--only wide enough for a single man. the only thing in the whole town that comes up to my idea is the amphitheatre. this is respectable. it corresponds with the pictures, and the descriptions of travellers. but as to all the rest, i have only to remark that they are, first, mean; secondly, small; and thirdly, in outrageously bad taste." frank ceased, and looked steadfastly at david. david looked at frank, but his feelings were too strong for utterance. his indignation at this desecration of a place that was so hallowed in his eyes could not be expressed. he turned his face away in silent scorn, and fixed his gaze on vesuvius. they waited a long time, and when at length they prepared to leave pompeii, it was late in the day. all the other visitors had left long before, and they were the last in the city. they walked along looking round them till the last, and at length reached the entrance. michael angelo went off to get the carriage. they waited a little while to take a last look, and then passed through the gate. here they found themselves confronted by three officials, the custodians of the place. one of these addressed them in very fair english. "messieurs," said he, "before you leave, i haf to inquire--deed you take anyting out from pompeii?" "take anything?" said uncle moses, in an indignant voice. "what do you mean?" "a tousand pardons, sare," said the other, politely. "it ees a formaletee. i mean de leetle stones, de pieces of steek, wood, plastair. ha! de reliques, de souvenirs." he was rather an unpleasant looking man, with a very sallow face, high cheek-bones, and a heavy goatee on the tip of his chin, which wagged up and down as he talked in quite a wonderful way. "stones, sticks, plaster?" said uncle moses. "course not." the official looked intently at him, and then at the boys. after this he conversed with his companion in italian. these companions were quite as unprepossessing in their appearance as himself. then the first speaker turned to the boys. "you, sare," said he to frank, in rather an unpleasant tone, "haf you de stones or de bones?" "not a stone, not a bone," said frank, smilingly. "i did take a few at first, but i pitched them away." "and you, sare?" said he to bob. "don't deal in such articles," said bob, with a grin--"not in my line--not my style." "pardon," said the official, with a sickly smile, "but i must put de usual interrogatoree. you, sare?" and he addressed himself to david. david turned pale. he hesitated for a moment. "well," said he, "i believe i _have_ got a few little stones, just two or three, you know; little relics, you know." "ah! ver good, ver nais," said the official, with the sunshine of perfect content illuminating his sallow features. "and you, sare?" he continued, turning to clive. "well, yes," said clive, "i've got a few, i believe; but they really don't amount to anything in particular." "o, no, not at all," said the italian; "dey don't amount to notin; but look you, de govairement haf made de law dat no pairson will take no stone, nor steek, nor relique, nor bone, nor souvenir, from pompeii. you mus geef dem all oop." "why? they're only two or three," pleaded david, in a heartbroken voice. "so, dat is eet. look you. eet ees de law. o, yais. i cannot help. everybody will take two or tree. very well. ten tousand, twenty tousand, hundred tousand come here every year, and all take away hundred tousand pocket full. ah, ha! see you? what den? why, den all pompeii be carried away. aha! dat great shame. too bad, hey? ha? you ondstand. so you sall gif dem all oop into my hand." david and clive remonstrated most vehemently, but the official was obdurate. he pleaded the law. he insisted on the full restoration of everything. so the two lads began to disgorge, with the following result:- 1 piece of brick from the sidewalk. 1 bit of stone, street. 1 stucco, basilica. 1 do. temple venus. 1 do. forum. 1 do. temple jupiter. 1 bit of stone, public bakery. 1 do. sentry box. 1 do. wall. 1 do. gateway. 1 do. street tombs. 1 do. villa diomede. 1 do. do. 1 bone, sepulchre. 1 do. do. 1 package dust, do. 1 do. villa sallust. 1 do. do. 1 pebble, eating house. 1 do. house of dioscuri. 1 bit of plaster, pantheon. 1 do. temple mercury. 1 do. do. isis. 1 brick, tragic theatre. 1 do. comic theatre. 1 stone, amphitheatre. 1 do. do. the above is by no means a complete inventory of, the articles produced by clive and david, but will serve to give an idea of the nature of that heap which was spread upon the table before the stern officials. one by one they were turned out from the well-filled pockets of david and clive. slowly and reluctantly, the two boys turned out those precious treasures. sadly and mournfully they laid them on the table, under the stern, the inflexible, the relentless gaze of the three inexorable custodians, who, to david's mind, seemed the impersonations of minos, aeacus, and rhadamanthus. yea, all these, and many more,--fragments from houses, bits of mosaic stone, little chips,--all were seized, and all were confiscated. not a word was spoken. it was a sorrow too strong for words; and minos, aeacus, and rhadamanthus stood, individually and collectively, inflexible and inexorable. the rueful countenances of the two culprits excited the sympathy and pity of their companions; but it seemed a case where no help could avail them. frank and bob looked upon the scene with a strong desire to interfere in some way, and uncle moses looked quite as distressed as either david or clive. suddenly a new actor entered upon the scene. it was michael angelo. he came in with a quick step, started as he noticed the sadness on the faces of his party, and then threw a rapid glance around. one glance was sufficient to show plainly enough what had happened. he saw the table covered with the stones and bones already described. he saw the heart-broken expression that was stamped upon the faces of david and clive as they gazed upon their parting treasures. he saw the attitude and the expression of uncle moses, and frank, and bob, as they watched their friends. that one glance not only explained all to michael angelo, but suggested to him a course of conduct upon which he instantly proceeded to act. he stepped up to the aide of rhadamanthus, and accosting him in italian; he spoke a few words in a low voice. what he said was, of course, unintelligible to the boys. after these few words, michael angelo then slipped something into the hand of the inexorable one. then he turned to the despairing boys. "it's all right," said michael angelo, cheerily. "i haf explained. you may keep de tings." david and clive looked up, and stared at michael angelo in wonder, not fully comprehending him. "it's all right," said michael angelo. "dey onderstand. i haf explained. you put dem back into your pocket. you sall keep de tings. it's all right. dey are yours now. it's all r-r-r-r-right. all r-r-r-r-right, i say." david and clive still hesitated, and looked at rhadamanthus. rhadamanthus gazed benignantly at them, smiled a gracious smile, and waved his hands with the air of a judge dismissing a case. "all r-r-right," said rhadamanthus; "he haf explained." this language was somewhat unintelligible. what there was to be explained they could not imagine. if the law prohibited the carrying off of relics from pompeii, no amount of "explanation" could give them a claim to their unlawful possessions. but neither david nor clive was at all inclined to hesitate about the legality of their possessions, or to make any inquiries about the nature of the explanation which had been made by michael angelo. it was joy enough for them to know that the difficulty was over, and that the relics were theirs once more. so the pile of relics went back from that table into the pockets of david and clive with a rapidity that is inconceivable. away from their faces passed that heart-broken expression which had been upon them; the shadows passed away from their brows, the sunshine of joy and exultation overspread them, and they looked at michael angelo in silent gratitude. a few minutes more and they were-in the carriage. then david asked michael angelo how it was that he had changed the stern resolve of the inexorable rhadamanthus into such easy, gracious, and good-tempered indulgence. michael angelo laughed. "i gif him," said he, "just one half dollar. dat was what he wanted all de time. aftaire dees you know what to do. all r-r-right. ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" and michael angelo burst into a peal of laughter. upon this uncle moses began to moralize about the corrupt morals of the italian race, and went on to speak of tyranny, priestcraft, slavery, aristocracy, monarchy, primogeniture, brigandage, and ten thousand other things. and the carriage rolled back to naples. chapter xx. _the glories of naples.--the museum.--the curiosities.--how they unroll the charred manuscripts exhumed from herculaneum and pompeii.--on to rome.--capua.--the tomb of cicero.--terracina.--the pontine marshes.--the appii forum._ the party remained in naples some time longer, and had much to see. there was the royal museum, filled with the treasures of antique art, filled also with what was to them far more interesting--the numerous articles exhumed from herculaneum and pompeii. here were jewels, ornaments, pictures, statues, carvings, kitchen utensils, weights, measures, toilet requisites, surgical instruments, arms, armor, tripods, braziers, and a thousand other articles, the accompaniments of that busy life which had been so abruptly stopped. all these articles spoke of something connected with an extinct civilization, and told, too, of human life, with all its hopes, fears, joys, and sorrows. some spoke of disease and pain, others of festivity and joy; these of peace, those of war; here were the emblems of religion, there the symbols of literature. among all these, nothing was more interesting than the manuscript scrolls which had been found in the libraries of the better houses. these looked like anything rather than manuscripts. they had all been burned to a cinder, and looked like sticks of charcoal. but on the first discovery of these they had been carefully preserved, and efforts had been made to unroll them. these efforts at first were baffled; but at last, by patience, and also by skill, a method was found out by which the thing might be done. the manuscripts were formed of egyptian papyrus--a substance which, in its original condition, is about as fragile as our modern paper; the sheets were rolled around a stick, and were not over eight inches in width, and about sixteen feet in length. the stick, the ornaments, and the cases had perished, but the papyrus remained. its nature was about the same as the nature of a scroll of paper manuscript would be after passing through the fire. each thin filament, as it was unrolled, would crumble into dust. now, this crumbling was arrested by putting over it a coating of tough, gelatinous substance, over which a sheet of muslin was placed, the gelatinous substance acting also upon the charred sheet in such a way as to detach it from the rest of the scroll. in this way it was unrolled slowly and carefully, two inches at a time, and on being unrolled a facsimile copy was at once made. of course there was no attempt to preserve the manuscripts; they were, too perishable; and after a short exposure, just long enough to admit of a copy being made, they shrank up and crumbled away. there were other places of attraction in this beautiful city--the villa reale, the chosen promenade of the neapolitans, which stretches along the shore, filled with trees, and shrubbery, and winding paths, and flower-beds, and vases, and statues, and sculptures, and ponds, and fountains, and pavilions. there was the castle of st. elmo, with its frowning walls; the cathedral of san francisco, with its lofty dome and sweeping colonnades; and very many other churches, together with palaces and monuments. but at last all this came to an end, and they left naples far rome. they had a carriage to themselves, which they had hired for the journey, and the weather was delightful the road was smooth and pleasant, the country was one of the fairest on earth, and as they rolled along they all gave themselves up to the joy of the occasion. they passed through a region every foot of which was classic ground. along their way they encountered amphitheatres, aqueducts, tombs, and other monuments of the past, some in ruins, others still erect in stately though melancholy grandeur. capua invited them to tarry--not the ancient capua, but the modern, which, though several miles distant from the historic city, has yet a history of its own, and its own charms. but among all these scenes and sights which they encountered, the one that impressed them most was cicero's tomb. it is built on the spot where he was assassinated, of immense stones, joined without cement. in shape it is square, but the interior is circular, and a single column rises to the vaulted roof. of course whatever contents there may have been have long since been scattered to the winds; no memorial of the great orator and patriotic statesman is visible now; but the name of cicero threw a charm about the place, and it seemed as though they were drawn nearer to the past. the boys expressed their feelings in various ways, and david, who was most alive to the power of classical associations, delivered, verbatim, about one half of the first oration of cicero against catiline. he would have delivered the whole of it, and more also, beyond a doubt, had not frank put a sudden stop to his flow of eloquence by pressing his hand against david's mouth, and threatening to gag him if he didn't "stop it." on the afternoon of the second day they arrived at terracina. this town is situated on the sea-shore, with the blue mediterranean in front, stretching far away to the horizon. far out into the sea runs the promontory of circaeum,--familiar to the boys from their studies in homer and virgil,--while over the water the white sails of swift-moving vessels passed to and fro. the waves broke on the strand, fishing-boats were drawn up on the beach, and there were wonderful briskness and animation in the scene. terracina, like all other towns in this country, has remains of antiquity to show. its cathedral is built from the material of a heathen temple, probably that of apollo, which was once a magnificent edifice, but is now in ruins. but it was the modern beauty of the town, rather than this or any, other of its antiquities, that most attracted the boys,--the sea-beach, where the waters of the mediterranean rippled and plashed over the pebbles; the groves and vineyards, that extended all around; the wooded hills; the orange trees and the palm, the thorny cactus and the aloe; and above all, the deep, azure sky, and the clear, transparent atmosphere. to the intoxication of all this surrounding beauty they gave themselves up, and wandered, and scrambled, and raced, and chased one another about the slumberous town. they slept soundly that night, lolled to rest by the long roll of the mediterranean waters, as they dashed upon the beach, and on the following morning resumed their journey. the road now passed through the pontine marshes, and they all entered upon this part of their journey with strong feelings of curiosity. the district which goes by the name of the pontine marshes is one of the most famous places in europe. it is about forty-five miles long, and varies in breadth from four to eleven miles. the origin of these marshes is not known. in the early ages of the republic of rome numerous cities are mentioned as existing here. but all these gradually became depopulated; and now not a vestige remains of any one of them. from a very remote period numerous efforts were put forth to reclaim these lands. when the famous appian way was constructed through, them, they were partially drained. afterwards a canal was formed, which ran by the road-side; and of this canal horace speaks in the well-known account of his journey to brundusium. julius caesar intended, among other great works, to enter upon the task of reclaiming them; but his death prevented it. under various successive emperors, the attempt was made, and continued, until at last, in the reign of trajan, nearly all the district was recovered. afterwards it fell to ruin, and the waters flowed in once more. then they remained neglected for ages, down to modern times. various popes attempted to restore them, but without success, until at last pope pius vi. achieved the accomplishment of the mighty task in the year 1788, ever since which time the district has been under cultivation. the road was a magnificent one, having been built on the foundations of the ancient appian way. it was lined on each side with trees, and was broad and well paved. it is considered one of the finest in europe. along this they rolled, the blue sky above them, on the right hand the mountains, on the left the sea. the air was damp and chill; but at first they did not feel it particularly, though uncle moses complained of "rheumatics," and took precautionary measures against his insidious enemy by wrapping himself up warmly. as they went on they saw crowds of peasants coming to work in the fields. these peasants lived in the hill country on the right, and had to walk a great distance to get to their place of labor,--for to live on the marshes was impossible. men, women, and even children were there; and their pale, sickly faces and haggard looks showed how deadly were the effects of the noxious exhalations from this marshy soil. at about midday they reached an inn, which stood about half way over the marshes, by the road-side. david speculated much as to whether this place might or might not be the forum appii mentioned in the book of acts as a stopping-place of st. paul on his way to rome; but the others were too hungry to take any interest whatever in the question. they remained here nearly two hours, got something to eat, and then resumed their journey. chapter xxi. _the pontine marshes.--a change comes over the party.--the foul exhalations.--the sleep of death.--dreadful accident.--despair of frank.--a break-down.--ingenuity of the driver.--resumption of the journey._ for the first half of the day the boys had been in great spirits. laughter, noisy conversation, jests, chaff, and uproarious songs had all been intermingled, and the carriage was a miniature bedlam. but after their stoppage at the wayside inn a change took place, and on resuming their journey, they seemed like a very different company. the air of the marshes now began to act upon them. they felt it to be raw, and chill, and unpleasant. a general feeling of discomfort and a general sensation of gloom pervaded all of them. bob held out most bravely, and strove to regain the jollity which they had felt before. for a long time his fun and nonsense provoked a laugh; but at length his fun grew fainter, and his nonsense more stupid; and the laughter grew less hearty and more forced, until at length the fun, and the nonsense, and the laughter ceased altogether. frank felt upon himself the responsibility of the rest to an unusual degree. he was only a few weeks older than david, but he was far stronger and more mature in many respects. david was a hard student, and perhaps a bit of a book-worm, and had a larger share of the knowledge that may be gained from books; but frank had seen more of the world, and in all that relates to the practical affairs of common life he was immeasurably superior to david. for this reason frank often assumed, and very naturally too, the guardianship of the party; and so appropriate was this to him, that the rest tacitly allowed it. as for uncle moses, none of them ever regarded him as their protector, but rather as an innocent and simple-hearted being, who himself required protection from them. frank, therefore, on this occasion, kept warning the whole party, above all things, not to let themselves go to sleep. he had heard that the air of the pontine marshes had a peculiar tendency to send one to sleep; and if one should yield to this, the consequences might be fatal. fever, he, said, would be sure to follow sleep, that might be indulged in under such circumstances. the anxiety which was created in his own mind by his sense of responsibility was of itself sufficient to keep him awake, and left him to devote all his energies to the task of trying to keep the others awake also, and thus save them from the impending danger. at first they, all laughed at him; but after a time, as each one felt the drowsiness coming over him, they ceased to laugh. then they tried to sing. they kept up this for some time. they exhausted all their stock of school songs, nigger songs, patriotic songs, songs sentimental and moral, and finally tried even hymns. but the singing was not a very striking success; there was a lack of spirit in it; and under this depressing sense of languor, the voice of music at last died out. singularly enough, the one who felt this drowsiness most strongly was bob. frank had not thought of him as being at all likely to fall asleep; but whether it was that his mobile temperament made him more liable to extremes of excitement and dullness, or whether the reaction from his former joviality and noisiness had been greater than that of the rest, certain it is that bob it was who first showed signs of sleep. his eyes closed, his head nodded, and lifting it again with a start, he blinked around. "come, bob," said frank, "this won't do. you don't mean to say that _you're_ sleepy." bob said nothing. he rubbed his eyes, and yawned. "bob," said frank, "take care of yourself." "o, i'm all right," said bob, with a drawl; "never fear about me. i'm wide awake." scarce had he finished this when his eyes closed again, and his head fell forward. frank shook him, and bob raised himself up with an effort at dignified surprise which was, however, a failure. "you needn't shake a fellow," he said in a husky, sleepy voice. "but i will shake you," cried frank. "le'--me--'lone," said bob, in a half whisper, nodding again. "here," cried frank; "this'll never do. bob! bob! wake up! bob! bo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-b! wa-a-a-a-a-a-a-ake u-u-u-u-up!" but bob wouldn't wake up. on the contrary, he bobbed his head in a foolish and imbecile way towards frank, as though seeking unconsciously to find a place on which to rest it. but frank wouldn't allow anything of the sort he made bob sit erect, and held him in this way for some time, bawling, yelling, and occasionally shaking him. david and clive were a little roused by this, and surveyed it with sleepy eyes. uncle moses, however, was as wide awake as ever--he had his usual anxiety about the well-being of the boys, and this made sleep out of the question. he now joined his entreaties to those of frank; and the two, uniting their shouts, succeeded in making considerable uproar. still bob would not wake. "i'll make him get out and walk," said frank. "this'll never do. if he sleeps here, he may never wake again." saying this, frank turned to open the carriage door to call to the driver. as he did so, he loosed his hold of bob, who, being no longer stayed tip on that side, fell over on frank's lap with his face downward. upon this, frank turned back, and determined to lift bob up again. shaking him as hard as he could, he yelled in his ears and shouted to him to get up. now bob was asleep, yet in his sleep he had a kind of under consciousness of what was going on. he was stupidly conscious that they were trying to raise him up to an uncomfortable sitting posture--a bolt-upright position. this he was sleepily unwilling to submit to. there wasn't any particular strength in his hands, and his drowsy faculties didn't extend farther down than his head. he felt himself lying on something, and to prevent them from raising him from it, he seized it in his teeth. "bo-o-o-ob! bo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-b!" yelled frank. "w-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ake u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-p!" but bob wouldn't. he only held on the tighter with his teeth. upon this, frank seized him with all his strength, and gave bob a sudden jerk upward, when-c-r-r-r-r-i-k-k-k-k!-a sharp, ripping sound was heard, and as bob's head was pulled up, a long, narrow piece of cloth was exhibited, hanging down from his mouth; and held in his teeth. frank looked at it in dismay, and then looked down. he gave a cry of vexation. bob had seized frank's trousers in his teeth, and as he was pulled up, he held on tight. consequently the cloth gave way, and there was poor frank, reduced to rags and tatters, and utterly unpresentable in any decent society. he gave up bob in despair, and began to investigate the extent of the ruin that had been wrought in his trousers. it was a bad rent, an irretrievable one, in fact; and all that he could do was to tie his handkerchief around his leg. bob now slept heavily, held up by uncle moses. the other boys grew drowsier and drowsier. frank was just deciding to get out of the carriage and make them all walk for a time, when a sudden event occurred which brought a solution to the problem. it was a sudden crash. down sank the carriage under them, and away it went, toppling over on one side. a cry of terror escaped all of them. every one started up, and each one grasped neighbor. there was something in this sudden shock so dreadful and so startling, that it broke through even the drowsiness and heavy stupor of bob, and penetrated to his slumbering faculties, and in an instant roused them all. with a wild yell he flung his arms round uncle moses. uncle moses, fell backward, and all the others were flung upon him. they all lay thus heaped upon the side of the coach, a straggling mass of humanity. frank was the first to come to himself, and regain his presence of mind. "all right," said he, in a cheerful voice. "we haven't gone over quite. the horses have stopped. all right." a groan came from below the pile of humanity. "get off, get off!" exclaimed bob's voice. "you're smothering uncle moses." frank, who was uppermost, disengaged himself, and helped off the others; and finally bob scrambled away, giving every indication by this time that he was at last perfectly wide awake. this restored uncle moses. he was able to take a long breath. by this time frank had torn open the carriage door, and jumped down. the others followed. he saw the driver holding the horses. the carriage was tilted over. one of the hind wheels lay underneath, a shattered wreck. now all was bustle and confusion. the driver proceeded to put into execution a plan by which they could go forward, at least far enough to traverse the marshes. the boys all helped, and their efforts drove away the last vestige of drowsiness. the plan consisted in taking out the tongue of the wagon, binding it upon the fore axle, and letting its other end drag on the ground. now, as the tongue sloped down, the hind axle rested upon it, and thus the trailing wood served to keep the coach erect, and to act as a runner, which supplied very well the place of the lost wheel. the horses were then hitched on by the traces, without any tongue, and in this way they pulled along the broken carriage. chapter xxii. _the march ended.--a lonely inn.--evil faces.--beetling brows.--sinister glances.--suspicions of the party.--they put their head together.--conferences of the party.--a threatening prospect.--barricades.--in time of peace prepare for war.--the garrison arm themselves._ after completing their arrangements they resumed their journey; but this time they all went on foot, with the exception of uncle moses. they went on foot for two reasons: first, because it was impossible for the horses to pull them all when one of the wheels was gone, since it was as much as they could do to maintain a walking pace even with the empty carriage; and the other reason was, that by walking they would be better able to fight off the drowsiness which had menaced them. in truth, as far as drowsiness is concerned, there did not now seem to be any particular danger; for the shock of the break-down had been sufficient to rouse even bob, and the effects of that shock still remained. uncle moses, however, on account of his years, his infirmities, and his tendency to "rheumatics," together with his freedom from drowsiness, was installed in the carriage, with all due honors, as its sole occupant. walking on thus, they did not regret, in the slightest degree, the hardships of their lot, but rather exulted in them, since they had been the means of rousing them out of their almost unconquerable tendency to sleep. frank felt the highest possible relief, since he was now freed from the responsibility that had of late been so heavy. in bob, however, there was the exhibition of the greatest liveliness. bob, mercurial, volatile, nonsensical, mobile, was ever running to extremes; and as he was the first to fall asleep, so now, when he had awaked, he was the most wide awake of all. he sang, he shouted, he laughed, he danced, he ran; he seemed, in fact, overflowing with animal spirits. fortunately they were not very far from the end of the marshes when the wheel broke, and in less than two hours they had traversed the remainder. the driver could speak a little english, and informed them that they could not reach the destination which he had proposed; but he hoped before dark to get as far as an inn, where they could obtain food and lodging. he informed them that it was not a very good inn; but under the circumstances it was the best that they could hope for. to the boys, however, it made very little difference what sort of an inn they came to. as long as they could get something to eat, and any kind of a bed to lie on, they were content; and so they told the driver. leaving the marshes, the road began to ascend; and after about a half hour's farther tramp, they came, to a place which the driver informed them was the inn. it was by no means an inviting place. it was an old stone edifice, two stories high, which had once been covered with, stucco; but the stucco had fallen off in most places, disclosing the rough stones underneath, and giving it an air of dilapidation and squalor. the front was by the road-side. a door opened in the middle, on each side of which was a small, dismal window. in the second story were two other small, dismal windows. at the end they law a window on each story, and a third in the attic. these were all small and dismal. some of them had sashes and glass; others had sashes without glass; while others had no sashes at all. a group of men were outside the house, all of whom stared hard at the carriage as it drew near. there was something in the aspect of these men which was indescribably repulsive to the boys: their dirty, swarthy faces, covered with shaggy, jet-black beards; their bushy eyebrows, from beneath which their black eyes glowed like balls of fire; their hats slouched down over their brows; their lounging attitudes, and their furtive glances; all these combined to give them an evil aspect--a wicked, sinister, suspicious appearance, by which all the boys were equally impressed. they said nothing, however; and much as they disliked the look of the place and its surroundings, they saw that there was no help for it, and so they made up their minds to pass the night here as well as they could. leaving the carriage, they waited a few moments to ask the driver about the prospects for the next day. the driver had everything arranged. velletre was only five miles away, and he was going to send there for another carriage, or go himself. they would all be able to leave early on the following day. this reassured them somewhat, and though they all would have been willing to walk to velletre, rather than pass the night here, yet uncle moses would not be able to do it, and so they had to make up their minds to stay. on entering the house, they found the interior quite in keeping with the exterior. the hall was narrow, and on either side were two dirty rooms, in which were some frowsy women. one room seemed to be a kitchen, and the other a sitting-room. a rickety stairway led up to the second story. here they came to a room, which, they were informed, was to be theirs. the door was fragile, and without any fastening. the room was a large one, containing a table and three beds, with one small wash-stand. two windows looked out in front, and at either end was one. at the south end the window had no sash at all, but was open to the air. the aspect of the room was certainly rather cheerless, but there was nothing to be done. so they sat down, and waited as patiently as they could for dinner. before it came, the sun set, and a feeble lamp was brought in, which flickered in the draughts of air, and scarcely lighted the room at all. the dinner was but a meagre repast. there was some very thin soup, then a stew, then macaroni. there were also bread and sour wine. however, the boys did not complain. they had footed it so far, and had worked so hard, that they were all as hungry as hunters; and so the dinner gave as great satisfaction as if it had been far better. while they were eating, an evil-faced, low-browed villain waited on the table; and as he placed down each dish in succession, he looked round upon the company with a scowl that would have taken away the appetites of any guests less hungry than these. but these were too near starvation to be affected by mere scowls, and so they ate on, reserving their remarks for a future occasion. so the dinner passed. and after the dinner was over, and the dishes were removed, and they found themselves alone, they all looked round stealthily, and they all put their heads together, and then,-"i don't like this," said frank. do. said clive. do. said david. do. said bob. "i don't feel altogether comfortable here," said uncle moses. "did you notice that scowl?" said bob. do. said clive. do. said david. do. said frank. "he's the ugliest creetur i ever see," said uncle moses. "i've been expectin somethin o' this sort." the boys looked all around, for fear of being observed. frank got up and closed the rickety door. then he resumed his seat. then they all put their heads together again. "this is a bad place," said frank. do. said clive. do. said david. do. said bob. "it's the onwholesomedest lookin place i ever see," said uncle moses. "i distrust them all," said clive. do. said. frank, do. said david. do. said bob. "i don't like the looks of that ere driver," said uncle hoses. "i b'leve he contrived that there break-down a purpose, so as to bring us to this here den." uncle moses' remark sank deep into the minds of all. who was the driver, after all? that break-down was certainly suspicious. it might have been all pre-arranged. it looked suspicions. then the men below. there were so many of them! "there are a dozen of them," said bob. do. said frank. do. said david. do. said clive. "thar's too big a gatherin here altogether," said uncle moses, "an it's my idee that they've come for no good. didn't you notice how they stared at us with them wicked-looking eyes o' theirs?" "i wish we'd gone on," said david. do. said bob. do. said clive. do. said frank. "yes, boys, that's what we'd ort to hev done," said uncle moses. "why didn't some on ye think of it?" "we did; but we thought you'd be too tired," said frank. "tired? tired?" exclaimed uncle moses. "tired? what! me tired! _me!_" and he paused, overcome with amazement. "why, boys, ye must all be ravin distracted! _me_ tired! why, i'm as fresh as a cricket; an though rayther oldish, yet i've got more clear muscle, narve, and sinnoo, than all on ye put together." at this little outburst' the boys said nothing, but regretted that they had not, at least, proposed going on. "we're in a fix," said clive. do. said bob. do. said frank. do. said david. "we're in a tight place, sure," said uncle moses. "there's no help near," said frank. do. said david. do. said bob. do. said clive. "it's the lonesomest place i ever see," said uncle moses. "it's too dark to leave now," said david. do. said clive. do. said bob. do. said frank. "yes, and they'd all be arter us afore we'd taken twelve steps," said uncle moses. "they're the worst sort of brigands," said bob. do. said frank. do. said david. do. said clive. "yes, reg'lar bloodthirsty miscreants," said uncle moses. "the door has no lock," said frank. do. said david. do. said bob. do. said clive. "o, yes, it's a reg'lar trap, an we're in for it, sure," said uncle moses. "i only hope we'll get out of it." "that window's open, too," said david, do. said frank. do. said clive. do. said bob. "yes, an thar ain't even a sash in it," said uncle moses; "no, nor even a board to put agin it!" "they'll come to-night," said clive. do. said frank. do. said bob. do. said david. "no doubt in that thar," said uncle moses, in lugubrious tones; "an we've got to prepar ourselves." "what shall we do?" said frank. do. said bob. do. said clive. do. said david. "the pint now is," said uncle moses,--"the pint now is, what air we to do under the succumstances? that's what it is." at this frank rose and opened the rickety door. he looked out. he closed it again. then he went to each of the windows in succession. he looked out of each. then he resumed his seat. "wal?" asked uncle moses, in an inquiring tone. "there's no one to be seen," said frank; "but i thought i heard voices, or rather whispers, just under the end window." there was a solemn silence now, and they all sat looking at one another with very earnest faces. "it's a solemn time, boys," said uncle moses, "a deeply solemn time." to this the boys made no reply, but by their silence signified their assent to uncle moses' remark. at length, after a silence of some time, frank spoke. "i think we can manage something," said he, "to keep them out for the night. my idea is, to put the largest bedstead against the door. it opens inside; if the bedstead is against it, it can't be opened." "but the windows," said clive. "o, we needn't bother about the windows, they're too high up," said frank, confidently. and now they all set themselves fairly to work making preparations for the night, which preparations consisted in making a barricade which should offer resistance to the assaults of the bloody-minded, murderous, beetle-browed, scowling, and diabolical brigands below, frank's suggestion about the bed was acted upon first. one of the bedsteads was large, ponderous, old-fashioned, and seemed capable, if placed against a doorway, of withstanding anything less than a cannon ball. this they all seized, and lifting it bodily from the ground, they placed it hard and fast against the door. the result was gratifying in the highest degree to all of them. they now proceeded to inspect the room, to search out any weak spots, so as to guard against invasion. as to the windows, they thought that their height from the ground was of itself sufficient to remove all danger in that quarter. but in their search around the room they noticed one very alarming thing. at the south corner there was a step-ladder, which led up into the attic, thus affording an easy entrance to any one who might be above. frank rushed up to the step-ladder and shook it. to his great relief, it was loose, and not secured by any fixtures. they all took this in their hands, and though it was very heavy, yet they succeeded in taking it down from its place without making any noise. they then laid it upon the floor, immediately underneath the opening into the attic. they would have felt, perhaps, a trifle more secure if they had been able to close up the dark opening above; but the removal of the step-ladder seemed sufficient, and in so doing they felt that they had cut off all means of approach from any possible enemy in that quarter. frank drew a long breath of relief as he looked around. he felt that nothing more could be done. all the others looked around with equal complacency, and to the apprehensions which they had been entertaining there now succeeded a delicious sense of security. "we're safe at last," said clive. do. said bob. do. said david. do. said frank. "yes, boys," said uncle moses, "we're jest as safe now as if we were to hum. we can defy a hull army of them bloody-minded miscreants, fight them off all right, and by mornin there'll be lots of wagons passin by, an we can git help. but before we go, let's see what weepins we can skear up in case o' need. it's allus best to have things handy." "well," said frank, "i'm sorry to say i've got nothing but a knife;" and saying this, he displayed an ordinary jackknife, not particularly large, and not particularly sharp. "it isn't much," said he, as he opened it, and flourished it in the air, "but it's something." "well," said clive, "i haven't got even a knife; but i've heard that there's nothing equal to a chair, if you want to disconcert a burglar; and so i'll take this, and knock down the first brigand that shows his nose;" and as he said this, he lifted a chair from the floor, and swung it in the air. "i rely on the barricades," said david, "and don't see the necessity of any arms; for i don't see how we're going to be attacked. if we are, i suppose i can use my knife, like frank." "well," said bob, "i've given my knife away, and i'll have to take a chair." "wal," said uncle moses, "i've got a razor, an it's pooty ugly weepin in the hands of a savage man--a desprit ugly weepin." "and now let's go to bed," said david, do. said bob. do. said clive. do. said frank. "yes, boys, that's about the best thing we can do," said uncle moses, decisively. chapter xxiii. _the sleepless watch.--the mysterious steps.--the low whispers.--they come! they come!--the garrison roused.--to arms! to arms!--the beleaguered party.--at bay.--the decisive moment.--the scaling ladders.--onset of the brigands._ so they all went to bed. so great was the confidence which they all felt in their preparations, precautions, and barricades, that not the slightest thought of danger remained in the mind of any one of them to create alarm, with the single exception of bob. for some reason or other bob was more excitable at this time than the others. it may have been that this was his nature, or it may have been that his nerves were more sensitive since his tremendous adventures during the night of horror near paestum; but whatever was the cause, certain it is, that on this occasion he remained wide awake, and incapable of sleep, while all the others were slumbering the sleep of the innocent. he and frank had the same bed, and it was the bed which had been placed against the door. it had been placed in such a way that the head of the bed was against the door. on the north side of the room, and on the left of this bed, was another, in which uncle moses slept; while on the south side, or the right, was the bed which was occupied by david and clive. in this way they had disposed of themselves. bob was very wakeful. the beds were father unprepossessing, and consequently they had all retired without altogether undressing themselves; but in spite of this comparative discomfort they soon fell asleep. bob alone remained awake. he tried all he could to overcome his wakefulness. he resorted to all the means for producing sleep that he had ever heard of or read of. he tried counting, and went on counting and counting tens, and hundreds, and thousands. he counted fast, and he counted slow. in vain. counting was useless, and when he had reached as high as four thousand seven hundred and thirty-seven, he gave it up in disgust. then he tried another infallible recipe for sleep he imagined, or tried to imagine, endless lines of rolling waves. this also was useless. then he tried another. he endeavored to imagine clouds of smoke rolling before him. this was as useless as the others. then he tested ever so many other methods, as follows:- waving grain. marching soldiers. funerals. a shore covered with sea-weed. an illimitable forest. a ditto prairie. the vault of heaven. the wide, shoreless ocean. a cataract. fireworks. the stars. a burning forest. looking at his nose. wishing himself asleep. rubbing his forehead. lying on his back, do. do. right side. do. do. left side. do. do. face. and about seventy-nine other methods, which need not be mentioned, for the simple reason that they were all equally useless. at last he gave up in despair, and rising up he sat on the side of the bed, with his feet dangling down, and looked around. the moon had risen, and was shining into the room. by its light he could see the outline of the beds. around him there ascended a choral harmony composed of snores of every degree, reaching from the mild, mellow intonation of clive, down to the deep, hoarse, sepulchral drone of uncle moses. in spite of his vexation about his wakefulness, a smile passed over bob's face, as he listened to those astonishing voices of the night. suddenly a sound caught his ears, which at once attracted his attention, and turned all his thoughts in another direction. it was the sound of footsteps immediately in front of the house, and apparently at the doorway. how much time had passed he did not know; but he felt sure that it must be at least midnight. he now perceived that there were some in the house who had not gone to bed. the footsteps were shuffling and irregular, as though some people were trying to walk without making a noise. the sound attracted bob, and greatly excited him. in addition to the footsteps there were other sounds. there were the low murmurs of voices in a subdued tone, and he judged that there must be at least a half a dozen who were thus talking. to this noise bob sat listening for some time. it remained in the same place, and of course he could make nothing out of it; but it served to reawaken all the fears of brigands which had been aroused before they went to bed. at length he heard a movement from below. the movement was along the ball. it was a shuffling movement, as of men walking with the endeavor not to make a noise. bob listened. his excitement increased. at last he heard the sounds more plainly. they were evidently at the foot of the stairway. bob listened in increasing excitement. then there came a creaking sound. it was from the stairway. they were ascending it. he thought of waking frank, but decided to wait. the sounds draw nearer. there must have been six or seven men upon the stairway, and they were walking up. what for? he had no doubt what it was for, and he waited, knowing that they were coming to this room in which he was. they tried to walk softly. there were low whispers once or twice, which ceased as they drew nearer. nearer and nearer! at last bob knew that they were outside of the door, and as he sat on the bed, he knew that there could not be more than a yard of distance between himself and those bloody-minded, beetle-browed, ruthless, demoniac, and fiendish brigands. his blood ran cold in his veins at the very thought. he did not dare to move. he sat rigid, with every sense on the alert, his eyes fixed on the door, listening. then came a slight creaking sound--the sound of a pressure against the door, which yielded slightly, but was prevented by the heavy bed from being opened at all. it was an unmistakable sound. they were trying to open the door. they were also trying to do it as noiselessly as possible. evidently they thought that their victims were all asleep, and they wished to come in noiselessly, so as to accomplish their fearful errand. for a moment it seemed to bob as though the bed was being pushed back. the thought gave him anguish inexpressible, but he soon found that it was not so. then he expected a savage push at the door from the baffled brigands. he thought that they would drop all attempts at secrecy, and begin an open attack. but they did not do so. there were whispers outside the door. evidently they were deliberating. they were unwilling, as yet, to resort to noisy violence. they wished to effect their full purpose in secret and in silence. such were bob's thoughts, which thoughts were strengthened as he heard them slowly move away, and descend the stairs, with the same carefulness, and the same shuffling sound, with which they had ascended. "they are going to try the windows," thought bob. and now as this thought came to him, he could restrain himself no longer. it was no time for sleep. he determined to rouse the others. he laid his hand on frank's forehead, and shook his bead. then, bending down dose to him, he hissed in his ear,-"wake! wake! brigands! don't speak! don't speak! silence!" frank was a light sleeper, and a quick-witted lad, who always retained his presence of mind. at bob's cry he became wide awake, and without a single word sat up in bed and listened. all was still. "what's the matter?" he asked. bob told him all in a few words. upon this frank got up, stole noiselessly to the window on tiptoe, and listened. bob followed. as they stood close to the window, they heard the sound of murmuring voices immediately beneath. several of the panes of glass were out of this window, so that the voices were perfectly audible; though of course their ignorance of the language prevented them from understanding what was said. as they listened, there arose a movement among them. the voices grew louder. the men were evidently walking out of the house. the listeners heard the sound of their footsteps on the ground as they walked away, and at a little distance off they noticed that the voices became more free and unrestrained. "they'll be back again," said frank. "let's wake the others," said bob. upon this suggestion they both proceeded at once to act, waking them carefully, and cautioning them against making any noise. the cautions against noise were so earnest, that not a word was spoken above a whisper; but clive and david, and finally uncle moses, stepped out upon the floor, and the whole party proceeded to put their heads together. "i've got a chair," said clive. "i've got a knife," said frank. "i've got a chair," said bob. "i've got a knife," said david. "an i've got my razor, which i shoved under my pillow," said uncle moses; "an so let em come on. but where are they now?" "h-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-h!" said frank. all were silent, and listened. there came out from without the sound of footsteps approaching the house, and of low voices. "they're coming back again," said bob. the rest listened. frank stole to the window and looked cautiously out. by the moonlight he saw plainly the figures of four men. they were coming from the road to the house, and they were carrying a ladder. the ladder was very long. the sight sent a shudder through him. he had thought of the windows as being out of the reach of danger; the idea of a ladder had never entered his head at all. yet he now saw that this-was one of the most simple and natural plans which could be adopted by the brigands. he came back and told the others. all felt the same dismay which frank had felt. none of them said a word, but they all stole up to the window, and looking out they saw for themselves. the brigands approached the house, carrying the ladder; and on reaching it, they put their load on the ground, and rested for a short time. as they did so, the boys noticed that they all looked up at the upper windows of the house. then they saw the brigands gathering close together, and the murmur of their conversation came up to their ears. it was a thrilling sight. the boys stood in dread suspense. no one said a word, not even a whisper. the conversation among the brigands was followed by a movement on their part which brought things nearer to a climax. they raised the ladder once more, and moving it a little farther away, they proceeded to put it up against the house. the ladder was put up at the south end of the house, and as it was being carried there for the purpose of erection, the boys and uncle moses all stole over to that south window, where, standing a little distance back, so as to be out of observation, they looked out. each one grasped his weapon of defence. clive his chair. frank his knife. bob his chair. david his knife. uncle moses his razor. "be ready, boys," said uncle moses, in a firm voice, as he grasped his razor. "the hour air come, and the decisive moment air at hand!" he said this in a whisper, and the boys made no reply whatever. the brigands meanwhile elevated the ladder, and the upper end struck the building. the dull thud of that stroke sent a thrill to the hearts of those listeners in the room. as they saw one of the brigands seize the ladder in order to mount, they all involuntarily shrank back one step. "it isn't this window, at any rate," said frank, in a whisper. this remark encouraged them for a moment. no, it was not their window, but the attic window. they watched in silence now, and saw the four brigands go up. overhead they heard the sound that announced them as they stepped in through the window. one brigand! two brigands!! three brigands!!! four brigands!!!! and now the momentary relief which they had experienced at seeing that the attack was not made upon their window was succeeded by the darkest apprehensions, as they heard the entrance of those four brigands, and knew that these desperate men were just above them. they were there overhead. the hatchway was open. through that opening they could drop down one by one. the same thought came to all of them, and with one common impulse they moved softly to where the step-ladder lay on the floor. frank made this movement first; the others followed. they stood ranged along the step-ladder. first, frank, with his knife. second, bob, with his chair. third, clive, with his chair. fourth, david, with his knife. fifth, uncle moses, with his razor. every one held his weapon in a grasp which the excitement of the moment had rendered convulsive. every eye was fixed upon the hatchway above, which lay concealed in the gloom. overhead they heard, whispering, but no movement whatever. "let's jump out of the windows and run," whispered bob, hurriedly. "no," said frank, "they are watching below--no use." but further remarks were prevented by the sudden glimmer of a light above. it was a light in the attic, not very bright, yet sufficiently so to show the opening through which their enemies were about to come. the brigands had lighted a lamp! the excitement grew stronger. voices arose, low and hushed. then footsteps! the light above the opening grew brighter! it was an awful moment! the suspense was terrible! yet in the midst of that suspense they had no thought of surrender. in fact, they did not think that surrender would be possible. these bloody-minded miscreants would show no quarter; and the besieged party felt the task imposed upon them of selling their lives as dearly as possible. and so it was, that as the brigands came nearer to the opening,-frank grasped his knife more firmly. bob do. " chair do. david do. " knife do. clive do. " chair do. while uncle moses held up his razor in such a way, that the first brigand who descended should fall full upon its keen edge. the light grew brighter over the opening. the shuffling footsteps drew nearer. then there was a pause, and low whispers arose. the brigands were immediately above them. the light shone down into the room. the suspense was now intolerable. it was frank who broke the silence. "_who's there?_" he cried in a loud, strong, stern, menacing voice, in which there was not the slightest tremor. at this the whispering above ceased. everything was perfectly still. "who's there?" cried frank a second time, in a louder, stronger, sterner, and more menacing voice. no answer. all was still. what did it mean? "who's there?" cried frank a third time, in the loudest, strongest, sternest, and most menacing tone that he could compass, "speak, or i'll fire!!!!!!!!!" this tremendous threat could not have been carried out, of course, with the knives, chairs, and razor of the party below; but at any rate it brought a reply. "alla raight!" cried a voice. "o, yais. it's onalee me. alla safe. come up here to get some straps for de vettura. alla raight. i haf joosta come back from velletre. haf brot de oder vettura. scusa de interruption, but haf to-get de straps; dey up here. alla raight!" it was the voice of their driver! at the first sound of that voice there was an instantaneous and immense revulsion of feeling. the dark terror of a moment before was suddenly transformed to an absurdity. they had been making fools of themselves. they felt this very keenly. the chairs were put quietly upon the floor; the knives were pocketed very stealthily; and uncle moses' razor was slipped hurriedly into the breast pocket of his coat. "o!" said-frank, trying to speak in an easy, careless, matter-of-fact tone. "we didn't know. shall we leave in the morning?" "o, yais. alla r-r-raight," said the driver. soon after the party descended the ladder, and took it away. the boys and uncle moses made no remark whatever. they all crept silently, and rather sheepishly, back to their beds, feeling very much ashamed of themselves. and yet there was no reason for shame, for to them the danger seemed real; and believing it to be real, they had not shrunk, but had faced it with very commendable pluck. this was the end of their troubles on the road. for the remainder of that night they slept soundly. in the morning they awaked refreshed, and found a good breakfast waiting for them. they found also another carriage, in which they entered and resumed their journey. chapter xxiv. _a beautiful country.--magnificent scenery.--the approach to albano.--enthusiasm of the boys.--archaeology versus appetite.--the separation of the boys.--the story of the alton lake and the ancient subterranean channel._ as they rolled along the road on this last stage of their eventful journey, they were all in the highest spirits. on to rome! was the watchword. it was a glorious day; the sun shone brightly from a cloudless sky; the air was pure, and brilliant, and genial, and it also had such a wonderful transparency that distant objects seemed much nearer from the distinctness with which their outlines were revealed. the road was a magnificent one,--broad, well paved, well graded,--and though for some miles it was steadily ascending, yet the ascent was made by such an easy slope, that it was really imperceptible; and they bowled along as easily and as merrily as if on level ground. moreover, the scenery around was of the most attractive character. they were among the mountains; and though there were no snow-clad summits, and no lofty peaks lost amid the clouds, still the lowering forms that appeared on every side were full of grandeur and sublimity. amid these the road wound, and, at every new turn some fresh scene of beauty or of magnificence was disclosed to their admiring eyes. now it was a sequestered valley, with a streamlet running through it, and the green of its surface diversified by one or two white cottages, or the darker hue of olive groves and vineyards; again it was some little hamlet far up the sloping mountain-side; again some mouldering tower would appear, perched upon some commanding and almost inaccessible eminence--the remains of a feudal castle, the monument of lawless power overthrown forever. sometimes they would pass through the street of a town, and have a fresh opportunity of contrasting the lazy and easy-going life of italy with the busy, energetic, restless, and stirring life of their own far-distant america. on to rome! this day was to land them in the "eternal city;" and though they enjoyed the drive, still they were eager to have it over, and to find themselves in that place which was once the centre of the world's rule, and continued to be so for so many ages. their impatience to reach their destination was not, however, excessive, and did not at all prevent them from enjoying to the utmost the journey so long as it lasted. uncle moses was the only exception. he was most eager to have it over, and reach some place of rest. true, no accident had happened; but he had gone through enough tribulation, both in body and in mind, to furnish the working, material for a dozen very serious accidents indeed; and the general effect produced upon him was precisely what might have resulted from a really perilous journey. at length they arrived at the town of albano, where they intended to remain two hours, and afterwards resume their journey. the town stood on the side of a hill, and the hotel at which they drew up was so situated that it commanded a boundless view. few places cherish a stronger local pride than albano. tradition identifies this town with no less a place than alba longa, so famous in early roman legends; for though, according to the old accounts, tullus hostilius destroyed the city proper of alba longa, yet afterwards another town grew on its site, and all around rose up the splendid villas of the roman nobility. here, too, tiberius and domitian had palaces, where they sought relaxation from the cares of empire in a characteristic way. on reaching this place, their first care was to order dinner, and then, as there would be some time taken up in preparation for that meal, they looked about for some mode of pastime. the landlord recommended to them a visit to a convent at the top of the hill. he informed them that it stood on the site of a famous temple, and that it was visited every day by large numbers of travellers. on, referring to their guide-book, the boys learned that the temple referred to by the landlord was that of the latian jupiter. as they had nothing else to do, they set out for the convent, and soon reached it. arriving there, they found spread out before them a view which surpassed anything that they had ever seen in their lives. far down beneath them descended the declivity of the alban hill, till it terminated in the roman campagna. then, far away before their eyes it spread for many a mile, till it was terminated by a long blue line, which it needed not the explanation of the monk at their elbow to recognize as the mediterranean; and this blue line of distant sea spread far away, till it terminated in a projecting promontory, which their guide told them was the cape of terracina. but their attention was arrested by an object which was much nearer than this. through that gray campagna,--whose gray hue, the result of waste and barrenness, seemed also to mark its hoary age,--through this there ran a silver thread, with many a winding to and fro, now coming full into view, and gleaming in the sun, now retreating, till it was lost to sight. "what is this?" asked david. "the tiber!" said the monk. at the mention of this august historic name, a thrill involuntarily passed through them. the tiber! what associations clustered around that word! along this silver thread their eyes wandered, till at length it was lost for a time in a dark, irregular mass of something. the atmosphere just now had grown slightly hazy in this direction, so that they could not make out what this was, exactly; whether a hill, or a grove, or a town; but it looked most like a town, and the irregularities and projections seemed like towers and domes. prominent among these projections was one larger mass, which rose up above all the others, and formed the chief feature in that indistinct mass. "what is all that?" asked david, in a hesitating way, like one who suspects the truth, but does not feel at all sure about it. "dat," said the guide, "dat is rome; and dat black mass dat you see is de church of st. peter's. it's not clear to-day--some time we can see it all plain." at this the boys said nothing, but stood in silence, looking upon the scene. it was one which might have stirred the souls of even the least emotional, and among this little company there were two, at least, who were quick to kindle into enthusiasm at the presence of anything connected with the storied past. these were david and clive, who each, though from different causes, now felt himself profoundly moved by this spectacle. david's enthusiasm was that of a scholar; clive's was that of a poet; yet each was keen in his susceptibility, and eloquent in the expression of his feelings. as for frank and bob, they were far less demonstrative; and though they had plenty of enthusiasm of their own, yet it was not often excited very violently by either poetic feeling or classical reminiscences. the scene before them certainly moved their feelings also, on the present occasion; but they were not in the habit of indulging in exclamatory language, and so they looked on in quiet appreciation, without saying anything. not so the other two, david and clive. each burst forth in his own way. "how magnificent!" cried clive. "what a boundless scene! how fortunate we are to have our first view of rome! i don't believe there is such another sight in all the world. but what a scene must have appeared from these heights when rome was in its glory!" "yes," said david, chiming in, "such a place doesn't exist anywhere else in all the world. it's the cradle of history, and modern civilization. here is where the mighty roman empire began. there is the rome of the kings and the consuls; and down there is the arena, where they fought out that long battle that arranged the course of future ages." "besides," said clive; "there is the scene of all the latter part of the aeneid, and of all the immortal legends that arose out of the early growth of rome. what a place this would be to read macaulay's lays of ancient rome!- "hail to the great asylum! hail to the hill-tops seven! hail to the fire that burns for aye! and the shields that fell from heaven!" at this moment frank's attention was attracted to a place not very far away, where the sheen of some silver water flashed forth from amid the dark green hue of the surrounding hills. "what is that?" he asked of the guide. "it looks like a lake." "it is de alban lake." "the alban lake!" cried david, in a fresh transport of enthusiasm; "the alban lake! what, the lake that the romans drained at the siege of veii?" "it is de same," said the guide. "is it really? and is the canal or tunnel still in existence? "it is." "is it far away?" "not ver far." "boys, we must go there. it is the greatest curiosity of the country about here." "well," said frank, "i'm in for any curiosity. but how long will it take for us to see it?" "it will take more dan one hour," said the guide. "more than an hour!" said frank. "hm--that won't do--we've got to go back at once to get our dinner. it's ready by this time, and then we must leave for rome." "well, it's a great pity," said david, sadly. "i think i should be willing to go without my dinner, to see that wonderful tunnel." "i shouldn't, then," said frank, "not for all the tunnels in the world." "nor should i," said bob. "but what a magnificent effect the lake has when embraced in our view!" said clive. "how finely is the description in childe harold adapted to this scene- 'and near, albano's scarce divided waves shine from a sister valley; and afar the tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves the latian coast, where sprung the epic war, "arms and the man," whose reascending star rose o'er an empire; but beneath thy right fully reposed from rome; and where yon bar of girdling mountains intercepts thy sight, the sabine farm was tilled, the weary bard's delight.' "clive," said david, who had waited patiently for him to finish his poetical quotation, "you'll come--won't you?" "come? come where?" "why, i want to visit the tunnel of the alban lake, and it'll take an hour to do it. if we go, we'll lose our dinner. what do you say? you don't think a dinner's the most important thing in the world?" "of course not," said clive. "besides, we can pick up some scraps when we return, and eat them in the carriage." "that's right," said david. "boys," he continued, appealing to frank and bob, "you'd better come." "what! and lose our dinners?" cried frank, scornfully. "catch us at it. no. we require more substantial food than poetry and old ruins. don't we, bob?" "certainly," said bob. "for my part poetry and old ruins never were in my line. as for 'arms and the man' and the 'sabine farm,' why, all i can say is, i always hated them. i detested virgil, and horace, and cicero, and the whole lot of them, at school; and why i should turn round now, and pretend to like them, i don't know, i'm sure. horace and virgil, indeed! bother horace and virgil, i say." at such flippancy as this both david and clive looked too much pained to reply. they turned away in silence, and spoke to the guide. "so you're not coming back to dinner?" said frank. "no," said david; "we want to see that tunnel." "well, you'll lose your dinner; that's all." "of course. we don't care." "at any rate, don't go and forget about us. we want to leave, for rome after dinner, and you ought to be back in one hour, at the very farthest." "o, yes; the guide says it'll only take an hour. we don't intend to spend any more time there than we can help." "well, i think you ought to come back," said bob; "you know very well how poor old uncle moses will fidget and worry about you." "o, no; it's all right. tell him that the guide is with us, you know." after a few more words, frank and bob, who were ravenously hungry, hurried back to the hotel, and david and clive, who were also, to tell the truth, equally hungry, resisted their appetites as well as they were able, and accompanied their guide to the lake albano. most boys are familiar with the story of the alban lake; but for the benefit of those who may not have heard of it, or who, having heard, have forgotten, it may be as well to give a brief account of the famous tunnel, which was so very attractive to clive and david. the city of veii had been besieged for nine years, without success, by the romans; and at length, in the tenth year, a great prodigy occurred, in the shape of the sudden rising of the waters of the alban lake to an extraordinary height, without any apparent cause. the romans, in their bewilderment, sent a messenger to the oracle of delphi to inquire about it. before this messenger returned, they also captured a verentine priest, who informed them that there were certain oracular books in veii, which declared that veii could never perish unless the waters of the alban lake should reach the sea. not long afterwards the messenger returned from delphi, who brought back an answer from the oracle at that place to the same effect. upon this, the romans resolved to draw off the waters of the lake so as to let them flow to the sea. such an undertaking was one of the most laborious kind, especially in an age like that; but the romans entered upon it, and worked at it with that extraordinary tenacity of purpose which always distinguished them. it was necessary to cut a tunnel through the mountain, through rock of the hardest possible description. but the same age had seen the excavation of other subterranean passages far larger than this, and in the same country, preeminently the grotto of posilipo, at naples, and that of the cumaean sibyl, and at length it was accomplished. the people of veii heard of it, and were filled with alarm. ambassadors were sent to rome, with the hope of inducing the romans to come to some other terms less severe than the surrender of the city; but they were disappointed, and according to the legend, could only comfort themselves by announcing to the romans a prophecy in the oracular books of veii, to the effect that, if this siege should be carried through to the capture of the city, rome itself should be taken by the gauls soon after. this prophecy, however, had no effect. whatever upon the stern resolution of the romans. the subterranean passage to the lake was also supplemented by another, which led to the citadel of veii. as the time approached for the final assault, the roman senate invited all the roman people to participate in it, and promised them a share of the booty. this promise induced a vast multitude, old and young, to go there. the time at last came. the water of the alban lake was let out into the fields, and the party that entered the subterranean passage to the citadel were led by camillus, while, at the same time, a general assault was made upon the walls by the rest of the army. at that moment the king of veii happened to be sacrificing in the temple of juno, which was in the citadel, and camillus, with his romans, were immediately beneath, close enough to hear what he said. it happened that the attendant priest declared that whoever should bring the goddess her share of the victim should conquer. camillus heard the words, and at once they burst forth upon the astonished veientans, seized upon the altar, offered the sacrifice, and thus performed what had been declared to be the conditions of victory. after this they held the citadel, and sent a detachment to open the gates to the assaulting army outside. thus veil fell; and this is the legend which, like many others belonging to early roman times, is more full of poetry than of truth. the tunnel still remains, and is one of the chief curiosities left from ancient times. it is about two miles long, six feet high, and three and a half feet wide. to this place the guide led david and clive, and entertained them on the way with the account of its origin, which accorded in most particulars with that which is given above; and though both of the boys were familiar with the story, yet it was not unpleasant to hear it again, told by one who lived in the neighborhood of the place, and had passed his life amid these scenes. it seemed to them to give a certain degree of authenticity to the old legend. there was not much to see, except an opening in the rock, the mouth of the tunnel, with rushes, and mosses, and grasses, and shrubbery growing around it. having seen it, they were satisfied, and turned to go back to the hotel. after a short distance, the guide showed them where there was a path turning off through the fields, which formed a short cut back. upon this they paid him for his trouble, and he went back to the convent, while they went along the path by which he had directed them. chapter xxv. _the lonely path.--the sequestered vale.--the old house.--a feudal castle.--a baronial windmill.--a mysterious sound.--a terrible discovery.--at bay.--the wild beasts lair!--what is it!--a great bore!_ the path by which clive and david returned to the hotel, went down a slope of the hill into a valley, and led over a second hill, beyond which was albano. there were no houses visible, for the town was hidden by the hill, except, of course, the convent, which, from its conspicuous position, was never out of sight. as they descended into the valley, they came to a grove of olive trees; and beyond this there was a ruined edifice, built of stone, and apparently long since deserted. it was two stories in height, but the stories were high, and it looked as though it might once have been used, for a tower of some sort. the attention of both of the boys was at once arrested by it, and they stood and looked at it for some time. "i wonder what it has been," said david. "no doubt," said clive, "it is the ruin of some mediaeval castle." "it does not have much of the look of a castle." "why not?" "o, why, there are no architectural features in it; no battlements; it has, in fact, a rather modern air." "not a bit of it," said clive. "see those old stones grown over with moss; and look at the ivy." "yes, but look at the windows. they didn't have such large windows in castles, you know." "yes, but these windows were probably made afterwards. the place was once a castle; but at length, of course it became deserted, and began to fall to ruins. then somebody fixed it tip for a dwelling-house, and made these windows in the walls." "well, that's not improbable." "not improbable! why, i'm sure it's very natural. look how thick the walls are!" "they do seem pretty thick." "o, they are real castle walls; there's no doubt at all about that," said clive, in a positive tone. "why, they are three feet thick, at least. and, you see, there are signs of an additional story having been above it." "yes, i dare say," said david, looking up. "the edges there look ragged, as though some upper portion has been knocked off." "and i dare say it's been a great place for brigands," said clive. "o, bother brigands," said david. "for my part, i begin to think not only that there are no brigands now, but even that there never have been any such people at all. "well, i won't go as far as that," said clive, "but i certainly begin to have my doubts about them." "they're all humbugs," said david. "all of our brigands have been total failures," said clive. "yes," said david; "they all turned out to be the most amiable people in the world. but come; suppose we go inside, and explore this old ruin. it may be something famous. i wish the guide were, here." "o, well look at it first all over, and then ask at the hotel." "yes, that's the way." "but have we time?" "o, of course; it won't take us five minutes." upon this clive started off for the ruined structure, followed by david. it was, as has been said, two stories in height. in the lower story was a small, narrow doorway. the door was gone. there were no windows, and it was quite dark inside. it was about twelve feet wide, and fifteen feet long. at one end were some piles of fagots heaped together. the height was about fifteen feet. before them they saw a rude ladder, running up to the story above. its feet rested near the back of the room. there was no floor to the house, but only the hard-packed earth. "there's nothing here," said david, looking around. "let's go into the upper story," said clive. to this proposal david assented quite readily; and accordingly they both entered, and walked towards the ladder. clive ascended first, and david followed. in a few moments they were in the upper story. here it was light, for there were two windows in front. there was a floor, and the walls were plastered. fragments of straw lay about, intermingled with chaff, as though the place had been used for some sort of a store-house. overhead there were a number of heavy beams, which seemed too numerous and complicated to serve merely for the support of a roof; and among them was one large, round beam, which ran across. at this both of the boys stared very curiously. "i wonder what all that can be for," asked david. "o, no doubt," said clive, "it's some of the massive wood-work of the old castle." "but what was the good of it?" "why, to support the roof, of course," said clive. "yes, but there is too much. they would never have needed all that to support so small a roof. it's a waste of timber." "o, well, you know you mustn't expect the same ingenuity in an italian builder that you would in an american." "i don't know about that. why not? do you mean to say that the italians are inferior to the americans in architecture? pooh, man! in america there is no architecture at all; while here, in every little town, they have some edifice that in america would be considered something wonderful." "o, well, you know they are very clumsy in practical matters, in spite of their artistic superiority. but apart from that i've just been thinking that this is only a part of some large castle, and this lumber work was, perhaps, once the main support of a massive roof. so, after all, it would have its use." david said nothing for some time. he was looking earnestly at the wood-work. "i'll tell you what it is," said he, at last. "i've got it. it isn't a castle at all. it's a windmill." "a windmill!" exclaimed clive, contemptuously. "what nonsense! it's an old tower--the keep of some mediaeval castle." "it's a windmill!" persisted david. "look at that big beam. it's round. see in one corner those projecting pieces. they were once part of some projecting wheel. why, of course, it's a windmill. the other end of that cross-beam goes outside for the fans to be attached to it. this big cross-beam was the shaft. of course that's it." clive looked very much crest-fallen at this. he was unable to disprove a fact of which the evidences were now so plain; but he struggled to maintain a little longer the respectability of his feudal castle. "well," said he, "i dare say it may have been used afterwards for a windmill; but i am sure it was originally built as a baronial hall, some time during the middle ages. afterwards it began to go to ruin; and then, i dare say, some miller fellow has taken possession of the keep, and torn off the turrets and battlements, and rigged up this roof with the beams, and thus turned it into a windmill." "o, well, you may be right," said david. "of course it's impossible to tell." "o, but i'm sure of it," said clive, positively. david laughed. "o, then," said he, "in that case, i've got nothing to say about it at all." in spite of his reiterated conviction in the baronial castle, clive was unable to prevent an expression of disgust from being discernible on his fine face, and without another word, he turned to go down. david followed close after him. as clive put his feet down on the nearest rung of the ladder, he was startled by a noise below. it came from the pile of fagots, and was of the most extraordinary character. it was a shuffling, scraping, growling, snapping noise; an indescribable medley of peculiar sounds. clive instantly drew back his foot, as though he had trodden on a snake. "what's the matter?" cried david, in amazement. "didn't you hear it?" "hear what?" "why, that noise!" "noise?" "yes." "what noise?" clive's eyes opened wide, and he said in a low, agitated whisper,-"something's down there!" at this david's face turned pale. he knelt down at the opening, and bent his head over. the sounds, which had ceased for a moment, became once more audible. there was a quick, beating, rustling, rubbing noise among the fagots, and he could occasionally hear the rap of footfalls on the floor. it was too dark to see anything, for the narrow door was the only opening, and the end of the chamber where the fagots lay was wrapped in deep gloom. clive knelt down too, and then both boys, kneeling there, listened eagerly and intently with all their ears. "what is it?" asked clive. "i'm rare i don't know," said david, gloomily. "is it a brigand?" whispered clive, dismally. "i don't know, i'm sore," said poor david, who, in spite of his recent declaration of his belief that all brigands were humbugs, felt something like his old trepidation at clive's suggestion. they listened a little longer. the noise subsided for a time, and then began again. this time it was much louder than before. there was the same rustling, rubbing, cracking, snapping sound made by something among the fagots; there was a clatter as of feet on the hard ground; then there was a quick, reiterated rubbing; then another peculiar noise, which sounded exactly like that which a dog makes when shaking himself violently after coming out of the water. after this there was a low, deep sound, midway between a yawn and a growl; then all was still. david and clive raised themselves softly, and looked at one another. "well?" said clive. "well?" said david. "i don't know," said clive. "i don't know," said david. "what shall we do?" said clive. david shook his head. then, looking down the opening once more, he again raised his eyes, and fixing them with an awful look on clive, he said, in a dismal tone,-"it's not a brigand!" "no," said clive, "i don't think it is, either." david looked down again; then he looked up at clive with the same expression, and said in the same dismal tone as before,-"clive!" "well?" "_it's a wild beast!_" clive looked back at david with eyes that expressed equal horror, and said not a word. "don't you think so?" asked david. "yes," said clive. then:-"how can we get down?" said david. do. said clive. "i, don't know!" said david. do. said clive. once more the boys put their heads down to the hole and listened. the noises were soon renewed--such noises as,- snapping, with variations. cracking, " do. deep-breathing, " do. scratching, " do. sighing, " do. yawning, " do. growling, " do. grunting, " do. smacking, " do. thumping, " do. jerking, " do. rattling, " do. pushing, with variations, sliding, " do. shaking, " do. jerking, " do. twitching, " do. groaning, " do. pattering, " do. rolling, " do. rubbing, " do. together with many more of a similar character, all of which went to indicate to the minds of both of the boys the presence in that lower chamber, and close by that pile of fagots, of some animal, in a state of wakefulness, restlessness, and, as they believed, of vigilant watchfulness and ferocity. "i wonder how it got there," said david. "that olive grove--that's it--o, that's it. he saw us come in here, and followed us." "i don't know," said clive. "he may have been among the fagots when we came in, and our coming has waked him." "i wonder that the guide didn't warn us." "o, he never thought, i suppose." "no; he thought we would keep by the path, and go straight to the hotel." "what fools we were!" "well, it can't be helped now." "i wonder what it is," said clive, after another anxious pause. "a wild beast," said david, dismally. "of course; but what kind of a one?" "it may be a wolf." "i wonder if there are many wolves about here." "wolves? of course. all italy is fall of them." "yes, but this beast has hard feet. don't you hear what a noise he makes sometimes with his feet? a wolf's feet are like a dog's. i'm afraid it's something even worse than a wolf." "something worse?" "yes." "what can be worse?" "why, a wild boar. italy is the greatest country in the world for wild boars." after this there followed a long period of silence and despondency. suddenly clive grasped the upper part of the ladder, and began to pull at it with all his might. "what are you trying to do?" asked david. "why, we might draw up the ladder, and put it out of one of the windows, you know, and get out that way--mightn't we?" "i don't know," said david. "we might try." upon this both boys seized the ladder, and tried to pull it from its place. but their efforts were entirely in vain. the ladder was clumsily made out of heavy timbers, and their puny efforts did not avail to move it one single inch from its place. so they soon desisted, and turned away in despair. clive then went to one of the windows, and looked down. david followed him. they looked out for some time in silence. "couldn't we let ourselves drop somehow?" asked clive. david shook his head. "it's nearly twenty feet from the window ledge," said he, "and i'm afraid one of us might break some of our bones." "o, it's not so very far," said clive. "yes, but if we were to drop, that wild boar would hear us, and rush out in a moment." at this terrible suggestion, clive turned away, and regarded david with his old look of horror. "it's no use trying," said david; "that horrible wild boar waked up when we entered his den. he saw us going up, and has been watching ever since for us to come down. they are the most ferocious, most pitiless, and most cruel of all wild beasts. why; if we had the ladder down from the window, and could get to the ground, he'd pounce upon us before we could get even as far as the path." clive left the window, and sat down in despair, leaning against the wall, while david stood staring blankly out into vacancy. their position was now not merely an embarrassing one. it seemed dangerous in the extreme. from this place they saw no sign of any human habitation. they could not see the convent. albano was hidden by the hill already spoken of; nor had they any idea how far away it might be. this path over which they had gone had not appeared like one which was much used; and how long it might be before any passers-by would approach was more than they could tell. "well," said clive, "we've lost our dinner, and it's my firm belief that we'll lose our tea, too." david made no reply. clive arose, and walked over to him. "dave," said he, "look here. i'm getting desperate. i've a great mind to go down the ladder as quietly as possible, and then run for it." "no, don't--don't," cried david, earnestly. "well, i'm not going to stay here and starve to death," said clive. "pooh! don't be impatient," said david. "of course they'll hunt us up, and rescue us. only wait a little longer." "well, i don't know. if they don't come soon, i'll certainly venture down." after an hour or so, during which no help came, clive did as he said, and, in spite of david's remonstrances, ventured down. he went about half way. then there was a noise of so peculiar a character that he suddenly retreated up again, and remarked to david, who all the time had been watching him in intense anxiety, and begging him to come back,-"well, dave, perhaps i'd better wait they ought to be here before long." so the two prisoners waited. chapter xxvi. _despair of uncle moses.--frank and bob endeavor to offer consolation.--the search.--the discovery at the convent.--the guide.--the old house.--the captives.--the alarm given.--flight of uncle moses and his party.--albans! to the rescue!--the delivering host!_ on leaving the convent, frank and bob had hurried back to albano, where they found dinner ready, and uncle moses waiting for them in anxious impatience. this anxious impatience was not by any means diminished when he saw only two out of the four coming back to him, nor was it alleviated one whit when they informed him that david and clive had gone to see some subterranean passage, of the nature or location of which they had but the vaguest possible conception. his first impulse was to go forth at once in search of them, and bring them back with him by main force; and it was only with extreme difficulty that frank and bob dissuaded him from this. "why, they're perfectly safe--as safe as if they were here," said frank. "it isn't possible for anything at all to happen to them. the convent guide--a monk--is with them, and a very fine fellow he is, too. he knows all about the country." "o, yes; but these monks ain't to my taste. i don't like 'em," said uncle moses. "it'll take them an hour to get back here from the place. there's no use for you to try to go there, for you don't know the way; and if you did go, why, they might come back and find you gone, and then we'd have to wait for you. so, you see, the best thing to do, uncle moses, is for us all to set quietly down, get our dinner, and wait for them to come back." the numerous frights which uncle moses had already been called on to experience about his precious but too troublesome charges had always turned out to be groundless; and the result had invariably been a happy one; yet this did not at all prevent uncle moses from feeling as anxious, as worried, and as unsettled, on this occasion, as he had ever been before. he sat down to the table, therefore, because frank urged it, and he hardly knew how to move without his cooperation. he said nothing. he was silenced, but not convinced. he ate nothing. he merely dallied with his knife and fork, and played listlessly with the viands upon his plate. frank and bob were both as hungry as hunters, and for some time had no eyes but for their food. at last, however, they saw that uncle moses was eating nothing; whereupon they began to remonstrate with him, and tried very earnestly to induce him to take something. in vain. uncle moses was beyond the reach of persuasion. his appetite was gone with his wandering boys, and would not come back until they should come also. the dinner ended, and then uncle moses grew more restless than ever. he walked out, and paced the street up and down, every little while coming back to the hotel, and looking anxiously in to see if the wanderers had returned. frank and bob felt sorry that he should feel so much unnecessary anxiety, but they did not know what to do, or to say. they had done and said all that they possibly could. uncle moses refused to be comforted, and so there was nothing more for them to do. at length the hour passed which frank had allotted as the time of their absence, and still they did not come. uncle moses now came, and stared at them with a disturbed face and trembling frame. he said not a word. the situation was one which, to his mind, rendered words useless. "o, come now, uncle moses," said frank; "they're all right. what's the use of imagining all sorts of nonsense? suppose they are delayed a few minutes longer--what of that? they couldn't reckon upon being back in exactly an hour. the guide said, 'about an hour.' you'll have to make some allowance." uncle moses tried to wait longer, and succeeded in controlling himself for about half an hour more. then he found inaction intolerable, and insisted on frank and bob accompanying him on a search for the lost ones. frank suggested the necessity of going to the convent first, and getting another guide. he left word at the hotel where they had gone, and why, so that david and clive might follow them, or send word; and then they all three set forth for the convent. on reaching the place, the first man that they saw was no other than the guide himself. at this sight even frank was amazed, and a little disturbed. he asked him hurriedly where the boys were. "de boys?" said the guide. "haf dey not come to de hotel?" "no." "but i did leave dem on de road to go back, and dey did go. dey must be back." "but they're not back. and i want to hunt them up," said frank. "where was the road where you say you left them?" "i will go myself and show you de ver place," said the guide. "do not fear. dere can come no harm. it is not possibile." with these words the guide set forth to take them', to the place. these words of the guide added; if possible, to the deep distress and dismay of uncle moses. he was only conscious now that the boys were without any guide in some unknown, perhaps dangerous place. if he feared while he supposed that they had a guide, his fears under these new and worse circumstances were far greater. on the way the guide explained all about it. he told about the tunnel, about the path which he had recommended as a short cut. he declared that it was perfectly straight, and that it was impossible for any one to get lost between albano and the place where he left them. there was no place, he declared, for them to get lost in. it was quite open--a little valley--that was all. but this gave no comfort to poor uncle moses. he walked along looking ten years older, with his face full of grief. at length the guide came to the path along which he had sent david and clive, and turning into this, he walked along in the direction where he had seen them go. "we haf now," he said, "to walk to de hotel at albano, and you sall find dey did come back, and will be dere at dis moments." "what a joke it would be," cried frank, "if they have got back, and have started off after us! i wonder whether they would. not they. i don't believe it. they're starving, and will think of nothing but their dinners." but poor uncle moses refused to see any "joke" at all. it was a deeply solemn reality to his poor, distracted breast. at length they came within sight of the house. as they walked on, there came to their ears a long, shrill yell. all of them started. at first they did not detect the source of the sound. then it was repeated. "hallo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!" they looked all around. frank saw two figures, one at each window of the old house. "hallo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!" the cry was repeated. it came from these two figures. those must be david and clive; but how in the name of wonder had they got there, and what were they doing? but he said not a word. he merely pointed, and then started off at a full run, followed first by bob, then by the guide, and last by uncle moses, who did not yet comprehend why frank was running, or where. a smart run of only a few minutes brought them to the place. there they saw david at one window, and clive at the other. both of them appeared to be tremendously excited, and were shouting to them most vociferously, both together, in an utterly confused an unintelligible manner. at length some words in the midst of their outcries became distinguishable. "keep back! o, keep back! the wild boar! the wild boar! run for help! keep back! you'll be torn to pieces! keep back! run for help." at this uncle moses shrank back in spite of himself, and the guide looked much disturbed; but frank and bob stubbornly stood their ground. "what do you mean?" cried frank. "don't kick up such a row. what wild boar? where is he?" "underneath!" bawled clive. "he's watching us," shouted david. "he was hid in there, and we came in and waked him. we got up here, and he won't let us out!" "he'll spring at you if you come any nearer," shouted david. "keep back! o, keep back! i hear him now," bawled clive. "go and get help!" cried david. "get a gun--or something!" "help us out soon," cried clive; "we're starving!" "keep back!" cried clive. do. cried david. "go and get help!" cried clive. do. cried david. "get a gun!" cried clive. do. cried david. "help!" cried clive. do. cried david. "take care!" cried clive. do. cried david. "he'll tear you to pieces!" cried clive. do. cried david. etc., etc., etc.! "come back," said the guide, in evident anxiety. "we are too near. we can do notin', we mas get arm." "but do you think there really is a wild boar there?" asked frank. the guide said nothing, but shook his head solemnly, and looked unutterable things. mean while he continued to retreat, watching the small door of the old house, and the rest followed him, as they thought he knew better what ought to be done than they did. the guide took up that line of retreat which led towards albano, and as he did so he watched the door of the house with evident anxiety, as though fearful of seeing at any moment the formidable beast bound forth to rush upon them. but at length, after he had placed a considerable distance between himself and the old house, he began to breathe more freely, and to think about what ought next to be done. "do you think it really is a wild boar?" asked frank once more of the guide. "dey did say dat, dey did see him," said he. "yes; but how do they know? they never saw a wild boar," objected frank. "any man dat sees a wild boar will know him," said the guide. "i didn't know that there--were any about here." "about here?" "yes; so near the town, and public roads. i thought that an animal like the wild boar prefers the moat solitary places, and will never come near where men are living." "dat is right," said the guide. "dat is so. bot sommataime dey go wild--dey lose der young--or sommatin like dat, so dey go wild, and wander, an if dey happen to come near a villa, dey are terrible." "but how could this one have come here?" "italia is full of dem--dey wander about like dis." "but they live so far off." "o, no; dis one come from de mountain--not far--dat old house in de valley, just de place for his den." after this frank could doubt no longer, although he had been so obstinate in his disbelief. the affair of the previous night had produced a powerful effect on his mind; and he was exceedingly unwilling to allow himself again to be beguiled into a belief in any danger that was not real. had the guide not believed this so firmly, and insisted on it so strongly, he would have felt certain that the animal in the house was some commonplace one--a goat--a dog--anything, rather than a wild boar. however, as it was, he had nothing left but to believe what was said. as for uncle moses, he was now quite himself again. the boys were safe, at any rate. true, they were confined in the loft of an old house, with a ferocious wild beast barring the way to liberty; but then he reflected that this ferocious wild beast could not get near them. had it been a bear, the affair would have been most serious; but a wild boar, as he knew, could not climb into a loft. for among the intelligence which david and clive had managed to communicate, was the very reassuring fact that the boar could not get at them, as the loft was only reached by a ladder. the return to albano was in every way satisfactory to his feelings, for he saw that this was the only way of delivering the boys, who could not be rescued without some more formidable arms than their own unassisted strength. in a short time they were back in albano, and soon the news flew about the town. in accordance with the invariable rule, the story was considerably enlarged as it passed from mouth to mouth, so that by the time it reached the last person that heard it,--a poor old bed-ridden priest, by the way,--it had grown to the following highly respectable dimensions:-two wealthy english milors had gone into the alban tunnel in search of adventures. while down there they had discovered the lair of a wild boar, and had killed the young, the old ones being away. they had then made good their retreat, carrying their slaughtered victims with them. the wild boar had returned with the wild sow, and both, scenting their young pigs' blood in the air, had given chase to the murderers. these last had fled in frantic haste, and had just succeeded in finding a refuge in the old windmill, and in climbing into the upper loft as the infuriated animals came up. seeing the legs of the murderers just vanishing up into the hole, one of the beasts had leaped madly upward, and had bitten off a portion of the calf of the leg of one of them. then, in sullen vengeance, the two fierce animals took up their station there, one in the chamber below, the other in front of the door, to guard their prey, and effect their destruction. they had already been there a week. one of the prisoners had died from the effects of his terrible wound, and the other was now dying of starvation. fortunately, brother antonio (the guide) had been told about this in a vision the night before, had visited the surviving milor, had talked with him from a safe distance, had seen the terrible animals, and had now come to albano to get help towards releasing the unhappy survivor. from the above it may readily be conjectured that the call for help was not made in vain. the sufferings of the imprisoned captive excited universal sympathy, and the presence of the wild boars in so close proximity, filled all men with a desire to capture them or slay them. the story that was generally believed was one which may be briefly described as occupying a position somewhere about midway between the above startling fiction and the truth. such as it was, it had the effect of drawing forth the population of albano as it bad never been drawn forth before; and as they went forth they presented a scene such as those of which the mediaeval legends tell us, where the whole population of some town which had been desolated by a dragon, went forth en masse to do battle with the monster. so they now marched forth,- men with scythes. do. " hoes. do. " rakes. do. " shovels. do. " tongs. do. " brooms. do. " bean-poles. do. " carving-knives. do. " umbrellas. do. " stones. do. " earthen pans. do. " bricks. do. " charcoal. do. " chairs. do. " spits. do. " bed-posts. do. " crowbars. do. " augers. do. " spades. do. " stakes. do. " clubs. men with staves, do. " opera-glasses. do. " sickles. do. " colters. do. " ploughshares. do. " wheelbarrows. do. " pitchforks. do. " posts. do. " beams. do. " bolts. do. " bars. do. " hinges. do. " pokers. do. " saucepans. do. " mallets. do. " hammers. do. " saws. do. " chisels. do. " ropes. do. " chains. do. " grappling irons. together with a miscellaneous collection of articles snatched up at a moment's warning by an excited multitude, men, women, and children, headed by frank, who wielded triumphantly an old fowling-piece, loaded with a double charge, that could do no damage to any one save the daring individual that might venture to discharge it. chapter xxvii. _arma virumque cano!--the chase of the wild boar!--the prisoners at the window.--the alban army.--wild uproar.--three hundred and sixty-five pocket handkerchiefs.--flame.--smoking out the monster.--a salamander._ arma puerosque cano! sing, o muse, the immortal albanian boar hunt! how outside the doomed town of albano lurked the mighty monster in his lair. how the frightened messengers roused the people to action. how the whole population, stimulated to deeds of bold emprise, grasped each the weapon that lay nearest, whether bolt, or bar, or tool of mechanic, or implement of husbandry, and then, joining their forces, went forth to do battle against the fell destroyer. how the pallid victims, imprisoned in the topmost tower, gazed with staring eyes upon the mighty delivering host, and shouted out blessings upon their heads. how the sight of the pallid victims cheered the bold deliverers, and drew them nearer to the lair of the monster. and so forth. very well. to resume. stationed at the window, david and clive saw their friends vanish in the direction of albano, and knew that they had gone for help. this thought so cheered them, that in spite of a somewhat protracted absence, they bore up well, and diversified the time between watchings at the window, and listenings at the head of the ladder. from the window nothing was visible for a long time; but from the head of the ladder there came up at intervals such sounds as indicated that the fierce wild boar was still as restless, as ruthless, as hungry, and as vigilant as ever. then came up to their listening ears the same sounds already described, together with hoarser tones of a more pronouncedly grunting description, which showed more truly that the beast was in very truth a wild boar. but clive did not venture down again, nor did he even mention the subject. his former attempt had been most satisfactory, since it satisfied him that no other attempt could be thought of. in spite of this, however, both the boys had risen to a more cheerful frame of mind. their future began to look brighter, and the prospect of a rescue served to put them both. into comparative good humor, the only drawback to which was their now ravenous hunger. at length the army of their deliverers appeared, and david, who was watching at the window, shouted to clive, who was listening at the opening, whereupon the latter rushed to the other window. the delivering host drew nigh, and then at a respectable distance halted and surveyed the scene of action. frank and bob came on, however, without stopping, followed by uncle moses, after whom came the guide. frank with his old fowling-piece, bob with a pitchfork, uncle moses with a scythe, and the guide with a rope. what each one proposed to do was doubtful; but our travellers had never been strong on weapons of war, and the generous alban people seemed to be in the same situation. as frank and his companions moved nearer, the rest of the multitude took courage and followed, though in an irregular fashion. soon frank came near enough to speak. "is he there yet?" was his first remark. "yes," said clive. "where?" "at the left end of the lower room, under a pile of fagots." "can't you manage to drive him out, so that i can get a shot at him?" asked frank, proudly brandishing his weapon. "o, no. we can't do anything." "i wish you could," said frank. "i wish we could too." said david, fervently. upon this frank talked with the guide. the question was, what should they do now? the most desirable thing was, to draw the wild beast out of his lair, so that they might have a fair chance with him; but, unfortunately, the wild beast utterly refused to move from his lair. after some talk with his guide, frank suggested that a large number of the crowd should go to the rear, and the left end of the house, and strike at it, and utter appalling cries, so as to frighten the wild boar and drive him out. this proposal the guide explained to the crowd, who at once proceeded with the very greatest alacrity to act upon it. most of them were delighted at the idea, of fighting the enemy in that fashion; and so it happened that the entire crowd took up their station in a dense mass at the rear of the building; and then they proceeded to beat upon the walls of the house, to shout, to yell, and to utter such hideous sounds, that any ordinary animal would simply have gone mad with fright, and died on the spot. but this animal proved to be no ordinary one in this respect. either he was accustomed to strange noises, or else he had such nerves of steel, that the present uproar affected him no more than the sighing of the gentlest summer breeze; indeed, david and clive were far more affected, for at the first outbreak of that tumultuous uproar, they actually jumped from the floor, and thought that the rickety old house was tumbling about their ears. during this proceeding, frank stood bravely in front of the door, about a dozen yards off, with his rusty fowling-piece; and close beside him stood bob with his pitchfork, uncle moses with his scythe, and the guide with his rope. "he doesn't care for this at all," said frank, in a dejected tone. "we must try something else. what shall we do?" and saying this, he turned once more and talked with the guide. meanwhile david and clive, who had recovered their equanimity, rushed to the opening, and began to assist their friends by doing what they could to frighten the wild boar. "shoo-o-o-o-o-o!" said david. "hs-s-s-s-s-s-s!" said clive. "bo-o-o-o-o-o-o!" said david. "gr-r-r-r-r-r-r!" cried clive. but the wild boar did not move, even though the uproar without still continued. then clive went down the ladder a little distance, far enough down so that by bending, his head was below the upper floor. then he took his hat and hurled it with all his might and main at the pile of fagots. then he went up again. but the wild boar did not move. thereupon david went down, and he went a little lower. he took his hat, and uttering a hideous yell, he threw it with all his force at the fagots. but even this failed to alarm the wild boar. david stood for a moment after this bold deed and listened. the only satisfaction that he had was the sound of a low, comfortable grunt, that seemed to show that the present situation was one which was rather enjoyed than otherwise by this formidable, this indomitable, this invincible beast. they came back to the windows in despair, and by this time frank had finished his discussion with the guide. he was looking up anxiously towards them. "look here," said he; "that miserable wild boar won't come out. the guide thinks the only way to get at him is to smoke him out. the only trouble is about you. will the smoke bother yon, do you think?" "i don't know," said clive. "can you stop up the opening?" "no." "can you keep your heads oat of the windows?" "we'll try. but i wish you'd only thought of bringing a ladder, so as to get us out first, before smoking him." "yes, i wish we had," said frank, thoughtfully. "but never mind," he added, cheerily, "there's no use going back for one, because, you see, we'll have you out of that long before a ladder could be brought here." it was only by yelling at the top of their voices that they were able to make themselves heard by one another, for the crowd behind the house still kept up their yells, and knockings, and thumpings, and waited to hear that the wild boar had fled. as the time passed without any such news, they were only stimulated to fresh efforts, and howled more fearfully and yelled more deafeningly. "there's an awful waste of energy and power about here, somehow," said frank. "there ought to be some way of getting at that wretched beast, without all this nonsense. here we are,--i don't know how many of us, but the whole population of a town, at any rate, against one,--and what's worse, we don't seem to make any impression." meanwhile the guide had gone off among the crowd, and while frank was grumbling, he was busying himself among them, and was engaged in carrying out a very brilliant idea that had just suggested itself to him. in a short time he returned with an armful of something, the nature of which frank could not quite make out. "what have you got there?" he asked. "what are you going to do?" "dey are all handkerchiefs." "handkerchiefs?" "yes; de handkerchiefs of de population of albano. dey are as many as de days of de year." "i should think so," cried frank, in amazement. "but what are you going to do with them?" "do wit dem? i am going to make a smoke." "a smoke? what? are you going to burn them up?" "dere is notin else to burn; so i must burn what i can. see, i make a bundle of dese. i set fire to dem. dey burn--dey smoke--and de boar smoke out. aha! he suffocate--he expire--he run!" "well, if that isn't the greatest idea i ever heard of!" cried frank. "handkerchiefs! why, you must have hundreds of them in that bundle." the guide smiled, and made no answer. it was a brilliant idea. it was all his own. he was proud of it. he was pleased to think that the number of them was equal to the number of days in the year. three hundred and sixty-five handkerchiefs collected from the good, the virtuous, the self-sacrificing people of albano, who were now yelling and howling as before, at the rear of the house, and diversifying the uproar by loud calls and inquiries about the wild boar. the guide smiled cheerily over the handkerchiefs. he was so proud of his original idea! he went calmly on, forming them into a rough bundle, doing it very dexterously, so that the bundle might be tight enough to hold together, yet loose enough to burn, frank watched him curiously. so did bob. so did uncle moses. so did clive. so did david. three hundred and sixty-five handkerchiefs! only think of it! at last the work was finished. the handkerchiefs rolled up into a big ball, loose, yet cohesive, with ends hanging out in all directions. "you had better be careful what you do," said clive. "the end of the chamber below is full of dry fagots. if they were to catch fire, what would come of us?" "o, alla right," said the guide. "nevare fear. i trow him so he sall not go near de wood. he make no flame, only de smoke. nevare fear." at this the trepidation which these preparations bad excited in the minds of clive and david, departed, and they watched the subsequent proceedings without a word. the guide now took the bundle which he had formed out of the handkerchiefs of the population of albano, and holding it under his left arm, he drew forth some matches, and breaking off one, he struck it against the sole of his boot. it kindled. thereupon he held the same to the bundle of handkerchiefs. the flame caught. the bundle blazed. the guide held it for some time till the blaze caught at one after another of the projecting ends of the rolled-up handkerchiefs, and the flame had eaten its way into the mass, and then venturing nearer to the doorway, he advanced, keeping a little on one side, and watching for an opportunity to throw it in. frank followed with his rusty gun, bob with his pitchfork, and uncle moses with his scythe. all were ready, either for attack or defence, and all the while the bellowing of the crowd behind the house went on uninterruptedly. the guide reached at length a point about ten feet from the door. then he poised himself and took aim. then he threw the burning ball. but his aim was bad. the ball struck the side of the doorway, and fell outside. in an instant frank rushed forward, and seizing it, threw it inside. it fell on the floor, and rolled towards the foot of the ladder, where it lay blazing, and smouldering, and sending forth smoke enough to satisfy the most exacting mind. then frank drew back a little, poising his gun, while bob, uncle moses, and the guide, took up their stations beside him. the smoke rose up bravely from the burning mass; but after all, the result was not what had been desired. it rolled up through the opening above, and gathered in blue masses in the room where clive and david were imprisoned. they felt the effects of the pungent vapors very quickly, more especially in their eyes, which stung, and smarted and emitted torrents of tears. their only refuge from this new evil was to thrust their heads as far out of the windows as was possible; and this they did by sitting on the window ledge, clinging to the wall, and projecting their bodies far forward outside of the house. for a time they were sustained by the hope that their enemy below was feeling it worse than they were, and that he would soon relax his vigilant watch and fly. but alas! that enemy showed no signs of flight, and it soon became evident to them and to those outside, that all the smoke went to the upper room, to oppress the prisoners, and but little spread through the lower room; so little, indeed, that the wild boar did not feel any inconvenience in particular. "can't you do something?" asked clive, imploringly. "we can't stand this much longer," said david, despairingly, with streaming eyes, and choking voice. their words sounded faint and low amidst the yelling of the crowd behind the house, who still maintained their stations there, from preference, and kept up their terrific outcry. amid the yells there came occasional anxious inquiries as to the success of their efforts. at times messengers would venture from the rear to the front to reconnoitre. these messengers, however, were only few in number, and their reconnoitring was of the most superficial description possible. the latest experiment of the guide was the cause of more frequent and more urgent inquiries. so many handkerchiefs had been invested in this last venture, that it was brought nearer home than before. each man felt that he was concerned personally in the affair; that, in fact, he, in the shape of a representative of so important a kind as his own handkerchief, was already inside, and assailing the obstinate monster with a more terrible arm than any which had yet been employed--smoke and fire. but the clamor of the crowd had not so much effect on the little band in front, as the sight of poor clive and david, who, clinging to the window with their faces flushed, and their eyes red, swollen, and streaming with tears, appeared unable to hold out much longer. "do something or other, quick," cried clive. "i'll have to jump down," said david. and both, of them tried to push themselves farther out, while their faces were turned down, and they seemed anxiously measuring with their eyes the distance between themselves and the ground. chapter xxviii. _the salamander inaccessible to fire.--the last appeal.--frank takes action.--he fires.--casualty to frank and bob.--onset of the monster.--flight.--tremendous sensation.--the guide's story.--another legend of albano.--on to rome._ for some time frank had felt an intolerable impatience, and had been deliberating in his own mind about the best way of ending a scene which was not only painful to the poor prisoners, but humiliating to himself. in spite, however, of the immense odds in favor of the attacking party, frank could not think of any way of making those odds available under present circumstances, when the last plaintive appeal and the desperate proposal of clive and david came to his ears. he saw that they were suffering tortures from the smoke, that they could not endure it much longer, and that they would have to make a descent from the window. to prevent this, and the danger that might result from it, frank resolved upon immediate action. so he grasped his rusty fowling-piece with a deadly purpose, and rushed to the narrow doorway of the old house. bob followed at once with his pitchfork, resolved to go wherever frank led the way, and to stand by him at all hazards. the guide stood looking on. uncle moses also stood still, and made a feeble attempt to order the two boys back; but his words were neither heard nor heeded. at this david and clive stopped in their desperate design, and looked down at frank and bob. frank stood by the doorway. he put his head inside, and looked all around, cautiously, yet resolutely. the interior, however, was always a dark place; and now the fumes of blue smoke made it yet darker. but though his eyes saw nothing of the fierce beast, his ears could detect the rustle and the crackle which were produced by the motion of something among the fagots. this noise showed him plainly where it must be. thereupon he hesitated no longer. he raised his rusty fowling-piece to his shoulder! he took deadly aim! he fired! bang!!! the flash illumined the dark interior, and the smoke from the gun united with the smoke that was already there. bat simultaneous with the bang and the flash, frank felt himself hurled back-ward, and to the ground, knocked down by the recoil of the gun, flat on his back. up rushed bob, full of the deepest anxiety. but just as he reached the prostrate form of frank, there was a hurried clatter from within, and then--down he also went--head first--over and over--struck down by some rushing figure that had emerged from the pile of fagots, burst through the doorway, and was now careering wildly over the fields. uncle moses saw that figure, and then hurried up to his two prostrate boys. david and clive from their stations at the window saw it, and then instantly hurried down the ladder, and out of the house, where they stood panting and staring wildly at vacancy. the guide saw it, and as he saw it there came over his face an expression of an utterly indescribable kind. he clasped his hands together, and then uttered a series of exclamations for which the english language, or indeed any other language but the italian, can afford no equivalent. while he was thus standing with clasped hands, vociferating and staring, in company with david and clive, at the receding figure, frank had sprung to his feet, and so had bob; uncle moses, too, stood gazing at the object of universal interest; and thus all of them stood staring, with feelings that defy description, at the scene before them. what was this scene that thus held their gaze? well, in the first place, there was that valley, already so familiar to david and clive--a smooth slope on either side, some olive trees near, but beyond that all bare, and no houses visible in that direction. now, over this open space there was running--so swift and so straight that it was evidently impelled by pain or panic--what? _a little black pig!_ a pig, small, as has just been said, an ordinary domestic pig--of no particular breed--the commonest of animals. moreover, it was black. it was also, undoubtedly, as has just been remarked, either suffering from some of the shot of frank's rusty gun, or from the terror that might have been excited by its report. and now this little black pig was running as fast as its absurd little legs could carry it--far away across the fields. "o, holy saints!" cried the guide; "it's the little black pig, that we missed from the convent yesterday morning--the pig--the little black pig--the pig--the pig! is it possible? o, is it possible?" every word of this was heard by the boys. they understood it all now. it seemed also that the little black pig, having accomplished as much mischief as any single pig can ever hope to bring about, was evidently making the best of its way to its home, and steering straight, for the convent. this they saw, and they gazed in silence. nothing was said, for nothing could be said. they could not even look at one another. david and clive were of course the most crestfallen; but the others had equal cause for humiliation. after all their gigantic preparations, their cautions advances, and their final blow,--to find their antagonist reduced to this was too much. now, the fact is, that if it had really been a wild boar, frank's act would have been the same; and as he acted under the belief that it was so, it was undoubtedly daring, and plucky, and self-sacrificing; but, unfortunately, the conclusion of the affair did not allow him to look upon it in that light. now, all this time the crowd behind the house maintained their shouts and outcries. under the circumstances, this uproar became shockingly absurd, and out of place; so the guide hastened to put an end to it. on the whole, he thought it was not worth while to tell the truth, for the truth would have so excited the good people of albano, that they would, undoubtedly, have taken vengeance on the strangers for such a disgrace as this. therefore the guide decided to let his fancy play around the actual fact, and thus it was that the guide's story became an idealized version. it was something to the following effect:-the terrible wild boar, he said, had been completely indifferent to their outcry, or had, perhaps, been afraid to come forth and face so many enemies. he (the guide) had therefore determined to try to smoke him out, and had borrowed their handkerchiefs for that purpose, as there were no other combustibles to be had. of this they were already aware. he had tied these handkerchiefs together in such a way that they would burn, and after setting fire to them, had burled the blazing mass into the house. there it emitted its stifling fumes till they confused, suffocated, frightened, and confounded the lurking wild boar. then, in the midst of this, the heroic youth, armed with his gun, rushed forward and poured the deadly contents of his piece into the body of the beast. had it been any other annual, it would undoubtedly have perished; but the wild boar has a hide like sheet iron, and this one was merely irritated by the shot. still, though not actually wounded, he was enraged, and at the same time frightened. in his rage and fear he started from his lurking-place; he bounded forth, and made a savage attack upon the party in front of the house. they stood their ground firmly and heroically, and beat him off; whereupon, in despair, he turned and fled, vanquished, to his lair in the alban tunnel. in this way the guide's vivid imagination saved the travellers from the fury of the alban people, by preventing that fury, and supplying in its place self-complacency. the alban people felt satisfied with themselves and with this story. they accepted it as undoubted; they took it to their homes and to their hearts; they enlarged, adorned, improved, and lengthened it out, until, finally, it assumed the amplest proportion, and became one of the most popular legends of the place. what is still more wonderful, this very guide, who had first created it, told it so often to parties of tourists, that he at length grew to believe every word of it himself; and the fact that he had been an actor in that scene never failed to make his story quite credible to his hearers. at this time, however, he had not advanced so far, and he was able to tell the actual facts of the case to the boys and uncle moses. they were these:-at the convent they kept a number of pigs, and on the previous day, early in the morning, they had missed the very animal which had created this extraordinary scene. he had escaped in some way from his pen, and had fled for parts unknown. they had searched for him, but in vain. he must have wandered to this old house at the first, and taken up his quarters here until he was so rudely driven out from them. the guide could only hope that the little black pig would learn a lesson from this of the evils of running away from home. to all this the boys listened without any interest whatever, and did not condescend to make any remarks. the guide himself became singularly uninteresting in their eyes, and they got rid of him as soon as possible, paying him liberally, however for the additional trouble to which they had put him. uncle moses also had some words of remonstrance, mingled with congratulation, to offer to david and clive; but these also were heard in silence. they might have found ample excuse for their delay in this ruined house; but they did not feel inclined to offer any excuses whatever. the fact is, this reduction of the great wild boar to the very insignificant proportions of a little black pig--commonplace, paltry, and altogether contemptible--was too much for their sensitive natures. it had placed them all in a false position. they were not cowards, but they had all been alarmed by the most despicable of animals. frank felt profoundly humiliated, and reflected, with a blush, upon the absurd figure that he had made of himself in hesitating so long before such an enemy, and then advancing upon it in such a way. bob's feelings were very similar. but it was for david and clive that the deepest mortification was reserved. they had been the cause of it all. it was their vivid imaginations which had conjured up out of nothing a terrible wild beast, which had kept them prisoners there for hours in loneliness and hunger, and which had thrown ridicule upon the population of albano, by drawing them forth to do battle with one poor little harmless runaway pig. as they walked back to the hotel, they kept far in the rear of the citizens of albano; and uncle moses began to "improve" the occasion, and moralized in a solemn strain. "wal," said he, "my dear boys, i must say that you hev one and all the greatest talent for gittin' yourselves into trouble that i ever see. ever sence we landed on these ill-fated shores you've ben a-goin' it, and a drivin' of me wild with anxiety; and the only thing i can say is, that thus far your misadventoors hain't turned out so bad as i have feared in each individdool case. in fact thar's allus ben what they call a anticlimax; that is, jest at the moment when thar'd ought to be a te-rific di-saster, thar's ben nothin' but some trivial or laugherble tummination. now, i'm free to confess, boys, that thus far my fears hev ben gerroundless. i'm free to say that thus far thar hain't ben what we can conscuentionsly call a accident. but what of that? the incidents hev all ben thar. every individdool thing that can make a accident has ben thar--it's ony the conclusion that has somehow broke down. and now i ask you, boys, what air we goin' to do about it? is this to go on forever? is it perrobable that advuss circumstances air goin' to allus eventooate thus? i don't believe it. the pitcher that goes often to the fountain is broke at last, and depend upon it, if you go for to carry on this way, and thrust yourselves in every danger that comes in your way--somethin'll happen--mind i tell you." this, and much more of the same sort, did uncle moses say; but to all of it the boys paid very little attention. in fact, the subject was to all of them so painful a one, that they could not bear to have it brought forward even as the text of a sermon. they only wanted to forget all about it as soon as possible, and let it sink into complete oblivion. on reaching the hotel they found that it was quite late; but they were eager to go on. albano, the historic, had lost all its charms for them. they did not wish to remain, a moment longer. they could not hope now to see rome to advantage, for the daylight would be over long before they could enter the city; still they were determined to go on to rome, even if they had to enter it after dark. accordingly, the carriage was made ready as soon as possible; clive and david procured some fragments of food, which they took into the carriage with them, to devour on their way; and thus they left albano, and drove on to rome. end 