CHAPTER I.

Many years ago, in one of the New England States near the banks of a small lake, stood a beautiful farm house, surrounded by a fine orchard. John Hilton, the owner of this romantic place, was an intelligent farmer and was kind to all people who chanced to come to his house. His family consisted of himself, wife and two children, a son and daughter. Warren, the eldest, was a fine lad of eighteen, with blue eyes and light complexion, and inherited his father’s kind disposition. Minnie was a brunette, a splendid girl of sixteen, with a heart as pure as the wild flowers around her home. She had company. Her cousin, Nettie Spaulding, had come from the city of New York to spend her birthday. Nettie was a lovely girl of eighteen, with dark brown eyes and dark auburn hair which hung in lovely curls around her shapely head. She had come to spend a few days with her cousin in the country. Since her father’s death nothing seemed to please this dreary, kind-hearted child of nature more than to visit her uncle’s house by the lake, where she

could roam at will in the woods and gather wild flowers where nature had planted them so artistically. That Monday morning there was a great bustle around the house. There was to be a party on the Friday night following in honor of the young lady friend, and all seemed to enjoy the pleasure it afforded, except the young lady. She was silent and often in tears, and her cousins could not draw her out of this apathy. That afternoon her cousins were going to town to do some shopping. Nettie preferred staying at home and going down to the lake to gather wild flowers for a bouquet.

“It is so pleasant to gather roses, lilies and shrubs alone by the lake;” thus she said to her cousins as they rode away.

Warren waved an adieu as he said, “Dear cousin, do not go too near the brink of the lake, as you may fall in and there would be no one to get you out.”

6She waved back the adieu as she sadly said, “Be not afraid, cousin. I shall be careful. How happy they are,” she said as she turned and went silently to the house, thinking how kind her cousins were to her, a poor, lonely girl of the metropolis. Thus she mused: “Mother told me my cousins would use me as if I was as well off financially as they were. Oh, if papa had lived perhaps we would not have been bankrupt. Oh, how times will change in a few short months; as soon as papa died nearly all of his creditors wished to have their pay. It was all right for them to have their dues. Poor mamma had to sell nearly all the property, only saving a small sum out of the wreck. We can get along, for ‘where there’s a will there’s a way.’ I am going to do something. One thing certain—my parents gave me a good common education and debts cannot take that away. I will try and turn it to good advantage when I can.” Thus she mused as she went slowly up the path. The tears were slowly trickling down her lovely features and falling

on the little hands. She was deeply engaged in thinking and did not observe her aunt who was coming down to meet her. She was surprised when her aunt said, “Nettie dear, why those tears? Are you not happy? Have your cousins been unkind to you?”

“No, auntie, I was only thinking of papa and what might have been.”

“Yes, Nettie, I know what you are referring to, but God has willed it otherwise and you should be content. My dear, your papa did not know that he was so soon to die and leave his only child nearly penniless. If he was to know it would make him very unhappy, as he dearly loved you. It is well the dead do not know of the living, for if they did how unhappy thousands would be to see the troubles and sorrows of their friends on earth. This is a great mystery we cannot solve; we can only do our duty in helping one another, then, perhaps, we can meet them on that ‘evergreen shore.’”

While her aunt was speaking Nettie was silently weeping. Her aunt said, “Cheer up, Nettie, you and your mother can have a home with us as long as we have one, and we will share 7the last morsel of food with you; your uncle said so a few days ago.”

“Thank you, auntie, we can get along yet a while; something may turn up for us yet,” answered Nettie, kissing her aunt.

“Remember, my dear, you have one true Friend, One who is always near. He will not forsake you in the hour of trial,” said her aunt.

“I remember mamma telling me that God will never forsake one of his children if they will call on him for aid. It seems so strange, though, to be cast down from wealth to poverty, and have nearly all our friends turn from us,” said Nettie sorrowfully.

“They are not your friends; they are only make-believers. No true friends would turn their backs to you because you had lost your wealth. They would help you in the hour of need.”

“Thanks, auntie, for your compliment,” answered Nettie. “I will always be true to myself and all mankind, then I will be able to reap the great reward that is in store for the just.”

“Now, dear, it is time you should be going down to the lake to gather those flowers, as your cousins will be back soon,” and as she spoke these words she kissed her niece, turned, and ran up the steps as sprightly as a young girl.

All the afternoon she was meditating how happy she would make her only brother’s lonely child. “My children shall not mar her happiness by one thought or deed, as I will set the example and they will follow, as they are dutiful children.”

Meantime Nettie wandered down to the lake, gathered a beautiful bouquet of wild flowers, and then sat down on the brink of the lake to arrange them more tastily. She was thinking how she would be eighteen next Friday, and how anxious her cousins were for her to get acquainted with the young people of the vicinity. She exclaimed aloud, “Oh, if I was as light hearted as they how happy I would be. They seem to be very happy indeed, and why should they not be, with everything so pleasant around them; by this little lake I could live always, 8where nature is dressed in green in the summer season. Oh, mother, if you knew how lonely your child is this afternoon and how sad it seems to me to come here for pleasure, and leave you at home with only one companion. I know it is very lonely for you, as I never have left you at home since papa died. Oh, mama! why did you urge me to come and leave you alone. You were very anxious for me to come and spend my birthday with my cousins. Oh, mother! no happiness have I found, although my friends are very kind to me. I hope some

day I may be able to repay you for all the kindness you have shown to me. Oh, dear! I am so melancholy.”

As she uttered those words tears were falling on the flowers in her lap, and in moving some of the most beautiful of them fell into the water. “Oh, dear! what shall I do! I can’t get any more of those lilies tonight; what will auntie say when I return home?”

She had brought a stick and was trying to fish some of them up. So busily was she engaged that she did not observe a tall manly form come out of a clump of bushes near by until he said, “Dear lady, may I not get those flowers for you? Please let me have that stick. Perhaps I can reach the greater part of them.”

She gave the stick to him and stepped back and watched him as he drew the flowers, one by one, out of the water. What a handsome young man he was, as he stood, one foot on the bank and the other on a rock on the edge of the lake, reaching far out into the water after the flowers. His hat lay on the bank; his hair waved in the summer breeze—it was auburn and inclined to be curly. His eyes were dark blue. He was a picture of manliness. This was Paul Burton, the richest young man in the vicinity. He came down to the lake fishing, had torn his net, and was mending it when the lady came near by, and not wishing to frighten her had kept quiet, thinking perhaps she would soon go away. He did not wish to be an eaves dropper, but the circumstances placed him there and he did what any other young man would have done in like circumstances. At last he secured all the flowers. He gently shook the water 9from them and gave them to her, and bowing low said, “May nothing more serious happen to the receiver of these flowers!”

He picked up his hat and turned to go when Nettie said, “Sir, to whom am I indebted for this great act of kindness?”

He turned towards her, handing her a card which read thus: P. B., of Pine Island. She put the card in her portfolio and kindly thanked him.

“You are entirely welcome, and I hope we may meet again.”

He quickly retreated to his work, leaving her standing alone. She watched his form until the bushes hid him from view, then she went slowly homeward, contemplating about the young fellow she had just met. She looked upon him as a hero and wished to know more about him. Thus she mused: “I will find out who he is Friday night. Perhaps he may come to the party, for he can’t live far from here as he is alone. I will not say anything to cousin about whom I saw, but will wait and see what will come to pass.” She went home in a lively mood; she was happier now than she had been since her sojourn in the country. Her cousins had returned heavy laden with dainties for the party. As she came into the house so gaily they demanded to know why she had been gone so long.

“You have not been getting flowers all this time; mother said you went away as soon as we were gone,” said Minnie.

“Yes,” said Warren, “I was thinking of coming down to find you, thinking you had wandered far out into the woods and got lost, or was drowned in the lake.”

“No, cousin, I lost some of my flowers in the lake and had to get them.”

“How did you manage to get them,” asked Minnie laughing, “you had to wade out in the water no doubt.”

“No, Minnie, they were fished out with a stick.”

“It must have been great amusement for you fishing for flowers; I wish I could have seen you,” said Minnie, looking at her cousin pleasantly.

10“You would have been surprised no doubt. I tell you, cousin, I have had a splendid time since you have been gone, anyway,” answered Nettie.

She omitted telling them what a fine companion she met by the lake. She seemed more cheerful and took more interest in getting ready for the party. All her friends there wondered what had made her so lively and gay all at once, as she spoke often of the party the remainder of the week. All the young people were busily engaged in getting ready for this grand occasion, which was to be a sunbeam in the life of poor, delicate, lovely little Nettie; she who was discouraged and depressed; and for this reason her mother was anxious regarding the health of her child, and for a change sent her to her uncle’s, who were doing everything in their power to draw her back to be the same lively girl she was before her father’s death.

I will leave them all busily engaged in getting ready for the party, and return to Paul.

After getting the flowers he went back to his net, but he could not work. Time hung heavily on his hands. At last he picked up his fishing tackle and went homeward, musing on what a lovely little being he had found; such little hands. “I saw one tiny little foot as she stepped upon a knoll to see me fish for the flowers, and never can I forget those dark, dreamy eyes. They seem to look into my very soul. I wonder if she is Warren Hilton’s cousin. All the girls around here I am acquainted with. This little lady must be the city cousin Hilton’s people are going to make a party for. Warren has given me an invitation, and I am going, on purpose to see if my conjecture is right.” Turning he went home, and as he came without any fish. His mother met him at the door and said: “Why Paul where are your fish?”

“In the lake, I suppose,” he answered laughing heartily. “Do you not see I haven’t any?”

“I didn’t know but what you left them somewhere about,” answered his mother, rather sharply.

“Now mother do not be cross with your little boy. He has only been fishing and tore the fish net and could not catch 11any,” said Paul, still laughing. “Oh, mother, I found the nicest little human fish I ever saw, and I am going to catch her if I can. What will my mother say to that?”

“My son,” answered the lady solemnly, “if she is good and true I will not say anything, but if she is not, what a life you would live God only knows. My past life you never knew, and may never, perhaps. If I had my life to live over again, I should lead a different life to the one I have been living the past twenty years.”

CHAPTER II.

It touched the honest heart of her son, and he said: “Mother, I know there’s a great sorrow you wish to keep from me. I have found out that my father is living, but why he is an exile from his home I know not, as you have always avoided telling me of him.”

Paul looked wistfully at his mother, hoping she would respond favorably to his last few words and tell him something about his father, whose picture hung over the piano, in the parlor. She had taught him to love it and call it papa, yet would always avoid telling anything about him when Paul in childish prattle would say: “Mamma, where is my papa?”

The answer was always the same: “Paul, my darling son, your papa is gone, gone;” then would break out weeping violently.

His childish questions were quickly hushed, as it always awed him into silence to see his mother in trouble. Yet the same thought had grown up with him, and in later years had troubled him very much. “Why does not mother tell me more about my father—whether he is dead or alive;” these were his thoughts.

12He was sitting under a tree one Sunday evening musing, when he exclaimed aloud: “Is my father dead or alive? Why does mother not tell me and not keep me in misery?”

An old negro servant was passing by and heard him. He went quietly to him, and laying his hand on Paul’s shoulder said: “Young massa, fadda is alibe and is a roving ober the earf, missa and massa had a quarrel and massa went away when you was a little babe. He laid you in my arms and said, ‘Pompey, watch ober dis boy as if he was your own, and God will bless you always; and my prayer will always be for you and my poor little boy, who will neber know he has a fadder.’”

Great tears rolled down the negro’s dusky cheeks and fell on the young man’s shoulder as he said: “Paul, I has always watched you grow up to be a man, and a good, kind man you is, too, and now I is ready to die.”

“No, no,” answered Paul, “do not say die, Pompey. You have tried to fill the place of father to me, and I can remember many acts of kindness you have shown to me in my childhood and I want you to live long with me,” and he grasped the hand of his faithful old servant.

This was how Paul came to know his father was living; and when he was last speaking to his mother and she did not say anything about his father he turned to go and she saw he was deeply moved: she said, “Paul, who is this little girl you spoke so highly of?”

“I do not know, mother, but perhaps I shall before the week is out.” So saying, he went slowly to the barn.

He was the owner of a fine farm of two hundred acres, surrounded by the beautiful forest. Here he had lived ever since he could remember. It had always seemed strange to him why his mother would not live in the city. She would only go to town occasionally and always avoided company while there. She seemed very low-spirited at times, and Paul many times wondered what made her act so strange. She had given him a fine education and taught him to be a good farmer, as she thought he would be compelled personally to go to farming to save the farm, as she, a few years before the opening of our 13story, had mortgaged it to save her father from ruin. She had always managed to pay the interest on it in the strictest secrecy, always preserving the papers in a little drawer in the closet in the garret. She thought no one knew where it was. Paul knew nothing of what o’er-shadowed his birthplace. Happy was he at the age of twenty-one when his mother deeded him the farm, saying, “My son, I freely give this beautiful mansion and large farm to you, my only child. I know you

love your mother and will take care of her as long as she lives, and when she is dead will place a plain marble stone at her grave to mark the resting place of her who gave you birth.”

“Yes, mother,” answered her son. “Never will I forsake you or do aught to give you pain;” and so far he had kept his word.

At this time or period in his career, time was changing with him; there was a little being stepping between him and his mother, or in other words his love was being divided between them. He dearly loved the mother who had nursed him up to manhood and freely resolved ever to do only what was just and right by her. He went to the barn to see his beautiful team of horses, a finer span of blacks there was not for miles around. They were the envy of all the boys in the country. Whenever he drove out to parties they always attracted attention and comment, and their owner was highly esteemed for his true manliness. All the girls said he was too fastidious, as none of them could please him so well as to keep him from fishing. At last all the girls of his acquaintance said he could never be suited. At last his fastidious taste was pleased. The lovely, dreamy girl he met by the lake had won his honest heart. As he cared for his horses he was deeply thinking of her whom he saw at the lake, and he mused: “I will saddle Nellie and go to town

this evening by the way of Hilton’s, and perhaps I will see or hear of this city cousin, as I am very anxious to see this little lady.”

Hastily throwing the saddle on his horse he brought him out of the barn, and handed the reins to his faithful old servant, who was standing near by, and went and told his mother 14of his intentions, omitting of course his going by the way of Hilton’s. As he came out of the house and took the horse by the bridle, Pompey said, “Where now, massa Paul, at dis time ob day.”

“To see my girl and tell her what a good old boy you are,” said Paul, laughing as he went away.

“Bless his young heart; just like his fadder when a boy. How I lobe him. If he only knowed what I does, how sad he would be. I can neber tell him, but will watch all the same;” thus mused Pompey as he went out to see if everything was all right, before retiring.

Paul rode quickly down the road and soon Hilton’s fine farm was in sight. As he passed slowly by the house he heard someone singing. He stopped and listened, and these words came floating out on the evening breeze:

As the sound of the sweet voice died away, he rode off saying, “It is her voice, and it sounds as melancholy as it did down by the lake.” His whole soul seemed to go out to her; his heart was beating violently, as the words just uttered seemed to echo through his whole being. “Can such bliss ever be mine to enjoy? If I can only win the little girl I saw today, I shall be the happiest man on earth.” Thus the young man mused until the village was in sight. He rode up to one of the principal stores, when Ralph Harding, an old chum, came up to him saying, “Paul, have you had a bid to Hilton’s to a party Friday night?” Not waiting for an answer he said: “I have, and I am going too. They say there is going to be a New York girl there, and won’t we have jolly fun. She will call us ‘moss backs’ and stick up her nose at us. They say she is so aristocratic that a fellow can’t talk with her, even. Anyway, I am going up to see her.”

15Paul stayed to hear no more, as he said: “You had better stay away from there or keep your foolish clack to yourself, as no decent man would talk as you do about a person he never saw.”