Chapter 11

But though the outside was far from attractive, the inside was always neat and clean, for, whatever her faults of temper, Jane Derby was a woman who believed thoroughly in abiding by heaven's first law, and who labored early and late to make both ends meet, something she would not have been able to accomplish had she not possessed skill as a dressmaker, for Amos seldom gave her any of his earnings. She was sitting in the kitchen sewing when her husband came in, and a bitter expression crossed her face as she saw his condition.

"Drunk, as usual," she said, harshly, "when were you anything else?"

"When you was kinder spoken, perhaps," answered Amos, with spirit. "This is the sort of welcome I get every night in the week. 'Tain't much wonder I go to Sillbrook's." He dropped into a chair as he spoke, and began to pull off his boots.

"If you didn't have one excuse you'd make another," said Jane, flushing, and bending closer over her sewing. "Perhaps you think I ought to feel pleasant when you come home in this state. Well! it ain't human nature, that it ain't! I mind the time you brought home your wages reg'lar, every Sat'day night, and I was willin' enough then to speak kind to you. Now the children would starve if it wasn't for me. Where's your overcoat?" a sudden pallor creeping into her face as she asked the question. "Yes! where is that overcoat?--what have you done with it that you haven't it on--where is it?"

"Where d'ye s'pose?" said Amos, roughly.

"Down at the pawn-shop, of course," cried his wife, angrily, "where every decent coat you ever had has gone. But you promised me you'd never part with this one, Amos Derby, and you've broke your word. I might have known you would! And to think how I worked for it, and let the children do without shoes! It's too bad! I declare it is! I gave twelve dollars for it only a month ago, and I'll wager you let Levi have it for half o' that. It's a shame, a dreadful shame."

"Stop that. I won't have it," said Amos in a threatening tone. "There's no use whining over it now. If you say another word about it I'll go out again, right off."

"Go!" said Jane, fiercely, "and I wish it was forever! I wish I was never to look on your face again! You're naught but a trouble and a disgrace to us all!"

"All right," said Amos, as he pulled on his boots again, "I'm goin'. I'll take you at your word. You won't see me again in a hurry; now you just mark that. A trouble and a disgrace, am I?"

"Yes, you are!" said Jane, her anger increasing as her mind dwelt upon the loss of the coat she had worked so hard to earn. "I mean all I've said, and more, too! Go! go to Sillbrook's! Ask him to show you the overcoat he's wearin'. I saw it yesterday, and yours wasn't a circumstance to it! Go! Give him every penny you've got! He needs it!" with a bitter little laugh. "His children's feet are all out on the ground, and his wife hasn't a decent dress to her name," with a glance at her faded calico gown. "Help him all you can, Amos Derby, he's in need o' charity."

Amos made no answer. He was considerably more sober than when he had left the saloon, for the walk home through the fresh winter air had done him good, and he felt the force of his wife's words. They rung in his ears as he slammed the kitchen door behind him, and, taking the road which led by the mill, walked rapidly away.

He was soon in the heart of the town, but he did not think or care where he was going. His only idea was to get away from the sound of Jane's sharp voice, and he turned down first one street and then another, without pausing, until he came to Elm Avenue, on which were situated the handsomest houses in the town. There was a large, square brick house on the corner, with stables in the rear, a conservatory on one side, and a beautiful lawn in front, and this place seemed to possess some strange fascination for Amos, for he stopped suddenly at the gate and stood there for fully five minutes, admiring, perhaps, the mansion's air of solid comfort and wealth.

The iron gate was open, and presently, as if impelled by some impulse he could not resist, he entered, and walking softly up the graveled path, looked in at one of the long windows.

The room upon which he gazed was very handsomely furnished. The chairs were luxuriously cushioned, a large mirror hung over the mantel, the carpet was of velvet, a crystal chandelier depended from the ceiling, and a bright fire burned in the open grate, before which sat a lady richly dressed, reading aloud to three children, sitting on ottomans at her feet.

For a long, long time Amos Derby stood by the window, his eyes wandering from one article of luxury to another, a dark frown on his face, and his teeth set hard together.

"My money," he muttered, when at last he turned away. "I've given it to him, cent by cent, and dollar by dollar, and I've naught to show for it, while he! he's got his fine house, and his rich carpets, and his handsome clothes. It's the same money, only I've spent it in one way, and he in another."

As the last words left his lips a hand fell heavily upon his shoulder, and a voice--the voice of Sillbrook--asked him harshly what he wanted.

"A look into your fine parlor," answered Amos roughly. "Strange I wanted to see it, wasn't it? It ought not to matter to me, of course, what use you make o' my money."

"Your money!" said Sillbrook, with a loud laugh. "That's a crazy joke! Come, my man, you're drunk. Get out of here, or I'll have you put where you can make your jokes to yourself."

"You think you're rich enough now to speak to me as you choose," said Amos hotly. "Time was when you wouldn't have dared. But I tell you, Jason Sillbrook, I've come to my senses to-night. It's a poor bargain where the gain's all on one side. We started even, and you've got all and I nothin'. But I tell you now, that, heaven helpin' me, you'll never have another dollar o' mine to spend. You'll never buy another coat like this out o' my money," and he struck in sudden passion the seal-trimmed garment which covered Sillbrook's ample proportions.

"Be off with you," said the saloon-keeper. "You're too drunk to know what you're talking about."

"And who made me drunk? answer that question, Jason Sillbrook," screamed Amos.

"I'll answer nothing," said Sillbrook, and, tearing his coat from the grasp Amos had laid upon it, he strode up the path and disappeared within the house.

The next morning, when the superintendent made his round of the mill, he missed one of the machine hands.

"Where's Derby?" he asked, angrily.

No one could answer his question. No one had seen Derby that day. And no one at the mill saw him for many a day to come.

"I might have been kinder to him," thought Jane, when at last she became convinced that her husband had in truth left her. "Perhaps I did say more'n I should at times. Poor Amos! he was no more to blame than I was, after all. Perhaps he would have kept out o' that saloon if I'd only coaxed 'stead o' railing at him. He wasn't bad-hearted, an' he never meant more'n half he said."

And as the days went by, and she forgot her past sorrows, she had only kind thoughts of her absent husband, and blamed only herself for their mutual misery. She wished with all her heart that she could "begin all over again," and try the effect of kindness and forbearance on Amos.

But no such opportunity was given her, and she had little time for bitter thoughts or unavailing regret.

The superintendent of the mill gave her eldest child, a lad of fourteen, a situation where he could earn $4 a week, and a girl a year younger found work in a millinery store. Thus Jane was relieved of much anxiety, and she was so skilful with her needle that she soon found herself able to "lay by something for a rainy day," as she expressed it.

Gradually the children were provided with comfortable clothes and were sent to church and to Sunday-school, from which they had been debarred for several years, owing to a lack of decent apparel; the house was repaired, new furniture bought, a flower garden laid out in front of the cottage, and a new fence erected. People began to speak of Jane as a surprisingly smart woman, and to say that her husband's desertion had been a blessing in disguise. But in spite of her prosperity there was an ache ever at Jane's heart, and a regret which no good fortune could stifle.

"If I'd only been kinder!" she would say to herself, as she lay awake at night and thought of her absent husband. "It was my fault he drank; I see that now. He was always telling me that my temper'd ruin him in the end, and now his word's come true."

She felt as if she ought to make some atonement for her past sin, even though she was never to see her husband again, and with this end in view she determined to cure herself of the habit of scolding and fault-finding about which poor Amos had complained so bitterly.

After a few struggles at first, she found her new path very pleasant to her feet, and was encouraged to persevere by the artless comments made by her children on the improvement in her temper.

"You're so good, now, mother," they would say, when, instead of the sharp rebuke they had expected on the commission of some childish folly, came very kind words of regret and gentle reproof. "You are so different from what you used to be. If father could only come home and live with us now how happy we would all be."

But Amos did not come. Year after year passed, and he sent no word or sign; and at length both wife and children grew to think of him as dead.

Seven years! Seven years to a day had passed since Amos Derby had left his home, and up the street and past the mill came a tall man, with a cap of sealskin pulled low over his eyes, and handsome overcoat trimmed with the same costly fur over his arm. He whistled as he walked, and seemed in great good humor, for occasionally he would break out into a loud laugh.

But as he came near the cottage where Jane Derby lived, he became more quiet, and an anxious expression stole into his face.

"I wonder if she'll know me," he muttered.

Going up to the window of the kitchen, he shaded his eyes with one hand and looked in.

Jane was setting at supper, her five children about her. The room looked warm and comfortable. A bright fire burned in the stove, the kettle sang merrily, and a big maltese cat dozed among some plants on the broad window seat.

Fred, the eldest son, a muscular young man of twenty-one now, was speaking, and his words came distinctly to the ears of the watcher outside.

"Brooks goes to-morrow," he said, "and we are to have a new superintendent from ----. I hope he'll have a better temper than Brooks, and I wish----Who's that?" as a sudden knock came upon the door.

"The new superintendent," said the tall man, as he walked into the room and threw his overcoat on a chair.

"Jane, don't you know me?"

With a glad cry that was almost a sob, Jane sprang forward, and was folded in the stranger's arms.

"Children," she said, when she could speak, "this is your father, come back to us at last."

"And to stay, please God," said Amos Derby, fervently, as in turn he embraced his children affectionately. "Jane, you shall have no room to complain of me in the future. I mean to make up to you for all I made you suffer before I found out what a fool I was to think more of my appetite than of my wife and children. Do you know what taught me my lesson?--Sillbrook's overcoat; and I've got one just like it. It will be a reminder, you know. And I've something better still--the place of superintendent at the mills here. I've worked hard, Jane, but my reward has come at last. When I left here I resolved never to come back until I could make myself worthy of you and the children. I found a place in the mills at ----, and worked my way up to be superintendent. Where there's a will, there's always a way, you know. I learned that you didn't need my help, so I waited on year after year, and now----"

"We are together, never to part again this side the grave," finished Jane, "Amos, God rules us all for the best. Let us thank Him for the blessings He has bestowed upon us; and then--suppose you let us see how you look in the overcoat you've come by so justly."

The news that Amos Derby was the new superintendent soon flew about the town, and great was the surprise thereat. No one was more astonished, perhaps, at the turn affairs had taken than Jason Sillbrook, and he wondered greatly at the good fortune of the man he had once so despised; but he never knew that it was largely due to the lesson Amos had learned from the saloon-keeper's overcoat.--_The Christian at Work._

* * * * *

CONSUMPTION CURED.

An old physician, retired from practice, having had placed in his hands by an East India missionary the formula of a simple vegetable remedy for the speedy and permanent cure of Consumption, Bronchitis, Catarrh, Asthma and all throat and Lung Affections, also a positive and radical cure for Nervous Debility and all Nervous Complaints, after having tested its wonderful curative powers in thousands of cases, has felt it his duty to make it known to his suffering fellows. Actuated by this motive and a desire to relieve human suffering, I will send free of charge, to all who desire it, this recipe, in German, French, or English, with full directions for preparing and using. Sent by mail by addressing with stamp, naming this paper. W. A. NOYES, _149 Power's Block, Rochester, N. Y._

* * * * *

Honesty of purpose must not be held as evidence of ability.

* * * * *

HUMOROUS

BAIT OF THE AVERAGE FISHERMAN.

H. C. DODGE.

This is the bait the fishermen take, the fishermen take, the fishermen take, when they start out the fish to wake so early in the morning. They take a nip before they go--a good one, ah! and long and slow, for fear the chills will lay them low so early in the morning. Another when they're on the street, which they repeat each time they meet for "luck"--for that's the way to greet a fisher in the morning. And when they are on the river's brink again they drink without a wink--to fight ma- laria they think it proper in the morn- ing. They tip a flask with true delight when there's a bite; if fishing's light they "smile" the more till jolly tight, all fishing they are scorning. An- other nip as they depart: one at the mart and one to part, but none when in the house they dart, ex- pecting there'll be mourning. This is the bait the fisher- men try who fishes buy at prices high and tell each one a bigger lie of fish- ing in the morning.

Whose Cold Feet?

"Are you troubled with cold feet on retiring?" asked Yeast of Crimsonbeak, Saturday night, as they were returning from market freighted with provender.

"I should say I was!" replied Crimsonbeak emphatically, while a regular chills-and-fever shudder was seen to distribute itself over his frame at the recollection which the question recalled.

"I suppose you would like to learn how to avoid them?" replied the philanthropist, smiling at the thought of an opportunity to fire off one of his pet theories.

"I would give almost anything to be fortunate enough to escape them," said the despairing Crimsonbeak, in all truthfulness.

"Well it is easy enough done," went on his companion; "soak your feet in cold water the first thing when you get up in the morning; towards night run about three-quarters of a mile, and then soak your feet again in cold water on retiring."

"Well, I can't see how that is going to keep her feet from troubling me."

"Her cold feet from troubling you!" repeated Yeast, a little confused. "What do you mean?"

"Mean? Why, I mean that my wife's cold feet are the ones that chill me with an Arctic region touch. Whose feet did you suppose I meant, my mother-in-law's?" shouted the excited Crimsonbeak, darting into his gate and leaving his neighbor to his own reflections.

Changed Relations.

"Now that we are engaged," said Miss Pottleworth, "come and let me introduce you to papa."

"I believe that I have met him," replied young Spickle.

"But in another capacity than that of son-in-law."

"Yes--er, but I'd rather not meet him to-night."

"Oh, you must," and despite the almost violent struggles of the young fellow, he was drawn into the library, where a large, red-faced man, with a squint in one eye, and an enlargement of the nose, sat looking over a lot of papers.

"Father," said the girl.

"Hum," he replied, without looking up.

"I wish to present to you--"

"What?" he exclaimed, looking up and catching sight of young Spickle. "Have you the impudence to follow me here? Didn't I tell you that I would see you to-morrow?"

"Why, father, you don't know Mr. Spickle, do you?"

"I don't know his name, but I know that he has been to my office three times a day for the past week with a bill. I know him well enough. I can't pay that bill to-night, young man. Come to my office to-morrow."

"I hope," said Spickle, "that you do not think so ill of me. I have not come to collect the bill you have referred to, but--"

"What? Got another one?"

"You persist in misunderstanding me. I did not come to collect a bill, I can come to-morrow and see you about that. To-night I proposed to your daughter, and have been accepted. Our mission is to acquaint you with the fact and gain your consent to our marriage."

"Well," said the old fellow, "is that all? Blamed if I didn't think you had a bill. Take the girl, if that's what you want, but say, didn't I tell you to bring the bill to-morrow?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you needn't. Our relations are different now. Wish I had a daughter for every bill collector in town."

It Makes a Difference.

"So you have been fighting again on your way home from school!"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Didn't I tell you this sort of business had got to stop?"

"Yes, pa, but--"

"No excuses, sir! You probably provoked the quarrel!"

"Oh, no! no! He called me names!"

"Names? What of it? When a boy calls you names walk along about your business. Take off that coat!"

"But he didn't call me names!"

"Oh, he didn't? Take off that vest!"

"When he called me names I never looked at him, but when he pitched into you, I--I had to fight!"

"What! Did he call me names?"

"Lots of 'em, father! He said you lied to your constituents, and went back on the caucus and had!"--

"William, put on your coat and vest, and here's a nickel to buy peanuts! I don't want you to come up a slugger, and I wish you to stand well with your teacher, but if you can lick the boy who says I ever bolted a regular nomination or went back on my end of the ward, don't be afraid to sail in!"--_Free Press._

* * * * *

One of the Harvard students has fitted up his room at a cost of $4,000. We suspect that the young man's room is better than his company.

* * * * *

"Don't be afraid," said a snob to a German laborer: "sit down and make yourself my equal." "I would haff to blow my brains out," was the reply of the Teuton.

* * * * *

"Yes," said Mrs. Egomoi, "I used to think a great deal of Mrs. Goode, she was always so kind to me; but then, I've found out that she treats everybody just the same."

* * * * *

Jerrold said to an ardent young gentleman, who burned with a desire to see himself in print: "Be advised by me, young man: don't take down the shutters before there is something in the window."

* * * * *

Arthur--"I say, what do you mean by fighting my hog all the time?"

Bismarck--"I means nodding in de vorld; I vash not fighting dot pig. We vash choost playing mit one anudder."

* * * * *

"Yes," said a fashionable lady, "I think Mary has made a very good match. I heard her husband is one of the shrewdest and most unprincipled lawyers in the profession, and of course he can afford to gratify her every wish."

PRINTER'S INK.

Little drops of printer's ink, A little type "displayed," Make our merchant bosses And all their big parade.

Little bits of stinginess, Discarding printer's ink, Busts the man of business, And sees his credit sink.

* * * * *

"Jump on the scale," the butcher said Unto a miss one day, "I'm used to weighing, and," said he, "I'll tell you what you weigh." "Ah, yes," came quick the sweet reply From lips seemed made to kiss, "I'm sure, sir, that it would not be First time you've weighed amiss." The butcher blushed; he hung his head And knew not what to say; He merely wished to weigh the girl-- Himself was given away.

* * * * *

"What did that lady say?" asked Mr. Buyem of his confidential clerk. "I'd rather not repeat her words, sir," replied the clerk. "But I must know, Mr. Blume--must know, sir." "Oh! if you insist upon it, sir, I suppose I must tell you. She said you were all business, but you lacked culture." "So?" exclaimed Mr. Buyem, in astonishment. "Lack culture, eh? Look here, Mr. Blume, d'ye know you' oughter told me that long ago? Let's have some right away before Scribe & Blowhard can get ahead of us."

OUT OF THE DEPTHS.

Our Correspondent's Researches and a Remarkable Occurrence He Describes.

ST. ALBANS, Vt., Jan. 10, 1884.

MESSRS. EDITORS: The upper portion of Vermont is one of the pleasantest regions in America during the summer, and one of the bleakest during the winter. It affords ample opportunity for the tourist, providing he chooses the proper season, but the present time is not that season. Still there are men and women here who not only endure the climate, but praise it unstintingly, and that, too, in the face of physical hardships the most intense. The writer heard of a striking illustration of this a few days since which is given herewith:

Mr. Joseph Jacques is connected with the Vermont Central Railroad in the capacity of master mason. He is well advanced in years, with a ruddy complexion and hale appearance, while his general bearing is such as to instantly impress one with his strict honor and integrity. Several years ago he became afflicted with most distressing troubles, which prevented the prosecution of his duties. He was languid, and yet restless, while at times a dizziness would come over him which seemed almost blinding. His will power was strong, and he determined not to give way to the mysterious influence which seemed undermining his life. But the pain and annoying symptoms were stronger than his will, and he kept growing gradually worse. About that time he began to notice a difficulty in drawing on his boots, and it was by the greatest effort that he was able to force his feet into them. In this manner several weeks passed by, until finally one night, while in great agony, he discovered that his feet had in a short while, swollen to enormous proportions. The balance of the narrative can best be described in his own words. He said: