CHAPTER XXIV.

A FRIEND IN NEED.

It was 'Tilda Jane, breathing like a race-horse.

"What's up with you, sissy?" he asked.

She could not speak for a few seconds, then she gasped with difficulty, "Hank, dear old Hank, he's in there--the loveliest man--he's always ready to do a turn for any one--go in--tell him your business. I've said a little, mind what he tells you, an' you'll get on. He's helped lots of people. He was in the midst of a dinner party. He's so good--he jus' left it an' come. Go--" and she gave him a gentle push and sent him into the parlour, where he blinked his eyes alternately at the lamp on the table, and at a small, dark, quiet man who sat with his hat on his knee.

The small man was breathing hard, as if he, too, had been walking fast, but on seeing Hank, he rose and stood with outstretched hand.

"My name is Tracy," he said, kindly, "and I have come to this town since you left it, but I know your family."

"I know you, too," said Hank, bluntly, "from her letters," and he jerked his head backward, but 'Tilda Jane, after softly closing the door, had disappeared.

Mr. Tracy sat down again, and Hank sat opposite him. A slight and awkward pause ensued, broken speedily, however, by the minister.

"Young man, you are in trouble."

"Yes, I am that," said Hank, gruffly.

"State your trouble," said the minister, kindly.

Hank hesitated an instant, then his words came with a rush. "You've visited creameries, sir?"

"I have."

"Well, there's good creameries and bad creameries. A few years ago, when I was casting about in my mind for something to do, I got in with a Chicago firm known as the White Elephant firm--owing to so many States being spotted with their buildings, loaded on the farmers, and costing too much to keep up. Being a Maine man, they sent me to my own State. I was one of their most go-ahead sharks, now they've fired me to fix themselves right with the farmers. Do you know how they take in a community, sir?"

"No, I don't."

"Well, s'pose you're a shark. You navigate round among the farmers, and make a smother of big talk about hauling in buckets full of money. You get a committee to visit some creamery where the outfit is salted to make an extra showing. You pay the farmers' expenses, you offer 'em a block of stock, and up goes the creamery in their district with machinery from the promoting company, costing two or three times over what everything is worth. When the whole thing's up, it'll usually dawn on the minds of your stockholders that a creamery ain't much without cows, and their cows ain't got enough milk to pay for the fuel they burn. 'Way back here fifty miles, I had whipped up a creamery; I had a man to run the machinery, but he was a simpleton. He ruined the separator, it had to be sent back to the shop, an' I got mad with him.

"Then he blabbed, told everything he knew, an' a lot he didn't, an' the farmers stopped counting their cows long enough to listen. Hasty words flew round, about fraudulent subscriptions, vitiated transactions, no contracts, ruined farms, going to law--an' I thought it was time to skip. The firm had made me stop there up to this, an' as soon as I ran, they bounced me--I'm all played out here, sir. My native State bids me farewell!"

Hank suddenly ceased speaking, his head dropped on his breast, yet before it did so, he shot one appealing, hopeful glance at his listener. Despite his "don't-care" tone, and off-hand manner, it was plainly to be seen that he felt himself in trouble, and knew that there was one at hand who would help him.

"You've been in a poor business," observed Mr. Tracy, quietly. "You want to quit it?"

"Yes, sir," said Hank, meekly.

"Listen then--" and his companion in his turn began to speak rapidly.

'Tilda Jane, flying about the house, sent many an anxious thought to the closed parlour. What was the minister saying to Hank? Would Hank talk to him freely?

"O Lord! Lord! Lord!" she cried, suddenly stopping and raising her clasped hands to the ceiling, "do make his heart soft--soft as mush, an' don't let him be sassy. The minister is smooth an' nice, an' he would stand sass, but it's awful bad for Hank. He's got to sober down. O Lord, make him solemn--jus' like an owl!"

She dashed a tear from the corner of her eye, and went on with her occupation of wrapping various articles in a red handkerchief.

When the parlour door opened, she ran to the front hall, and as Mr. Tracy passed her, she caught his hand and pressed it fervently.

He said nothing, but smiling with the more than earthly sweetness of one who truly loved his fellow men, he hurried back to his deserted guests.

Hank followed close at his heels, and as he stood in the hall doorway, looking already straighter and taller, he smiled patronisingly down at 'Tilda Jane.

"You're a mighty fine girl, sissy, how old are you now?"

"Thirteen o'clock las' week--struck fourteen this--oh, what did the minister say?"

Hank thumped his chest. "He's got me a situation, sissy,--a situation that means bread and butter for you and father, and maybe cake and jam."

The little girl locked her hands in intense excitement. "Where, Hank, oh, where?"

"Here, sissy."

"In Ciscasset?"

"Yes."

'Tilda Jane suppressed a scream. "An' you can live at home?"

"Well, I rather guess so."

'Tilda Jane's pleasure was too deep for words. She stood gaping speechlessly at him.

Hank, in high good humour, beamed benevolently on the orphan girl as she stood beside him. "What are you sticking your head up an down for like a chicken taking a drink?" he said at last.

"Hank, I'm givin' thanks," she said, reverently, "givin' thanks that you've got led out of that roguey business."

"I'll not get into anything of that kind again, sissy," he said, with a shamefaced air. "You may just be sure of that. I've had a great talk with that friend of yours--and sissy, I'm obliged to you."

There was a queer break in his voice. An end had suddenly come to his troubles. He would now be in the way of earning an honest living. And it would be a pleasure to live with his father and this young girl who would look up to him and admire him.

"Sissy," he said, abruptly, "where do you think my new berth is?"

"I don't know--oh, tell me quick."

"In the Waysmith lumber mill. Mr. Waysmith offered a place to your friend Tracy to-day for some young man, and I'm the young man."

"With the Waysmiths?" murmured 'Tilda Jane, "where your father used to be?"

"The same, sissy."

'Tilda Jane could stand no more. "O Lord, I thank thee!" she cried, with a burst of tears, and running into the kitchen, she buried her face in the roller towel hanging on a door.

Hank sauntered after her, and on his way stumbled over a bundle done up in a spotted red handkerchief. He stooped down, picked it up, and opened it. It contained a few lumps of sugar, a Bible, a pair of socks, two handkerchiefs, half a loaf of cake, and fifty cents wrapped in a piece of newspaper.

"My travelling kit," he murmured; "well, if she ain't the best little creature!"

"Hello, 'Tilda!" he called out; "stop that whimpering, and come and tell grampa the news."

The little girl hastily dried her face on the towel, and ran into the bedroom where grampa sat surveying them in bewilderment from the edge of his bed. Some time ago he had come to his room with the intention of undressing. His son's visit had upset him, and he had been sitting confusedly listening to the scraps of conversation he caught from different parts of the house.

"Grampa, grampa!" cried 'Tilda Jane, running in, and excitedly waving her hands, "Hank's goin' to live at home with you, an' me, an' the dogs. We'll be a real family. Oh, ain't it lovely, ain't it lovely?" and catching hold of her skirts she began a sidling and peculiar dance about the room.

Hank laughed till the tears came into his eyes. 'Tilda Jane was good, but she was not graceful. Then his merriment over, he began to yawn, and 'Tilda Jane, as keen of observation as ever, immediately espied this sign of fatigue.

She caught up Gippie, who alone showed no pleasure at the prospect of having another inmate of the house, and danced out to the kitchen.

"Come out, grampa dear," she called, "we'll all have a good supper, 'cause this is a most joyful 'casion."

As grampa started to limp out to the kitchen, Hank quietly placed himself by his side.

The old man looked at him. "I'm not sorry you're going to stay," he remarked, gruffly. "They say there's no place like home."

"You'd better believe that's true, father," said Hank, warmly; "a fellow gets sick of hotels and boarding-houses. We'll have some more funds now that I'm going to get at some decent kind of work. You mustn't bother your head about expenses."

The old man sank into his chair with a sigh of relief. His face was working strangely. Last year at this time he was alone and miserable in a cheerless house. Now his son was with him, a brisk young girl was flying about his kitchen, a bright fire burned in the stove, a fire that was not unpleasantly warm to his aged limbs even on this summer night. A white cloth covered his formerly bare and uninviting table; he was going to have pie, and coffee, and toast and cake for supper,--surely the coming of this orphan had been a fortunate thing for him, and he slowly chafed his hands as he gazed at the glowing bed of coals.

Hank was following 'Tilda Jane from kitchen to pantry, and from pantry to kitchen.

"You're getting to be a great housekeeper," he said, admiringly; "but we must not forget the schooling. It's a great thing to be educated. You can't hold your own in this world unless you know something. You wrote me Mrs. Tracy was teaching you some, didn't you?"

'Tilda Jane paused as she filled a sugar-bowl.

"Yes, three evenin's a week. She's a boss--I mean a good teacher. I learned some at the 'sylum,--no, the asylum, when I warn't--no, when I werent'--no, when I wasn't in the kitchen. And grampa talks to me some. He's a fine scholar."

"That's good--get all you can; but three evenings a week ain't enough. As soon as I can compass it, I'll have some one to take care of father daytimes, and let you go to school."

"To school!" said the little girl, "to learn more--to know how to speak proper! Oh, oh, I'm mos' too happy to live! Hank Dillson, I think you're the mos' beautiful man that was ever made!" and, dropping her sugar-bowl on the shelf, she seized a hand of the ex-creamery shark, and warmly pressed it between her little lean palms.

Hank, in some embarrassment, murmured, "Oh, fudge, I'm not as good as the next one."

"You're a million times better!" exclaimed 'Tilda Jane. "Oh, what a glad man Mr. Waysmith will be to have you in his mill! Come now, let's have supper. Dear ole grampa mus' get to bed. You wouldn't like to kill him with joy the first night you're home."

A few minutes later 'Tilda Jane was beaming behind the big coffee-pot. At last she had become a member of a really happy family. Her dogs were stretched luxuriously on their rag mat by the stove, Grampa, calm and quiet, was sipping his coffee, and listening to some of Hank's travelling adventures.

She could not contain her delight. Her heart was too full, and presently she burst into low, irrepressible laughter.

Her companions stopped talking and stared at her.

"Oh, I can't help it!" she exclaimed, wildly, "I feel as if I'd come through a big sea of troubles to reach the promised land! I'm crazy--I'm crazy!" and too excited to keep still she pushed her chair aside, and rocked back and forth on her feet.

She saw stretching before her a long vista of happy years--the sight was almost too much for her, yet even in her ecstasy she thought of other children less fortunate.

"Hank, brother Hank!" she called suddenly, "the Tracys say to pass on blessings. All the world ain't joyful like us. When you make a little money will you let me write to the lady-boards for another orphan,--the ugliest little orphan they've got,--worse than me, if it's not unpossible."

"You just write it down that I will," said Hank, gazing kindly and benevolently at her flushed face.

"We'll do it," cried 'Tilda Jane. "We'll be good to that other orphan. I know they'll have one, but how can I wait? What shall I do? I mus' hug some one, I'm so happy!"

She flashed a glance at the dogs. They were sleepy and comfortable. "Grampa, I guess it'll have to be you," she said, gaily, and, running to the old man, she threw her arms around his wrinkled neck, kissed his bald head, and fulfilled her promise of a hugging so vigorously that at last he called for mercy.

"Now, I'll go take something," she said, demurely, and, with a last caress, "you darlin' ole grampa--I could eat you--Lord, give me a thankful heart for all these mercies," then, reverently bending her head over her plate, she took up her knife and fork with a long and happy sigh.

THE END.

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY'S

Cosy Corner Series

OF

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=Ole Mammy's Torment.= By ANNIE FELLOWS-JOHNSTON. Author of "The Little Colonel," etc.

=The Little Colonel.= By ANNIE FELLOWS-JOHNSTON. Author of "Big Brother."

=Big Brother.= By ANNIE FELLOWS-JOHNSTON. Author of "The Little Colonel," etc.

=The Gate of the Giant Scissors.= By ANNIE FELLOWS-JOHNSTON. Author of "The Little Colonel," etc.

=Two Little Knights of Kentucky,= who were "The Little Colonel's" neighbors. By ANNIE FELLOWS-JOHNSTON. A sequel to "The Little Colonel."

=The Story of Dago.= By ANNIE FELLOWS-JOHNSTON. Author of "The Little Colonel," etc.

=Farmer Brown and the Birds.= By FRANCES MARGARET FOX. A little story which teaches children that the birds are man's best friends.

=Story of a Short Life.= By JULIANA HORATIA EWING. This beautiful and pathetic story is a part of the world's literature and will never die.

=Jackanapes.= By JULIANA HORATIA EWING. A new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite and touching story, dear alike to young and old.

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=His Little Mother.= By MISS MULOCK. Miss Mulock's short stories for children are a constant source of delight to them, and "His Little Mother," in this new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts of readers.

=Little Sunshine's Holiday.= By MISS MULOCK. "Little Sunshine" is another of those beautiful child-characters for which Miss Mulock is so justly famous.

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=The Water People.= By CHARLES LEE SLEIGHT. Relating the further adventures of "Harry," the little hero of "The Prince of the Pin Elves."

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=A Child's Garden of Verses.= By R. L. STEVENSON. This little classic is undoubtedly the best of all volumes of poetry for children.

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=The Making of Zimri Bunker.= A TALE OF NANTUCKET. By W. J. LONG. The story deals with a sturdy American fisher lad during the war of 1812.

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=The Sleeping Beauty.= A MODERN VERSION. By MARTHA B. DUNN. A charming story of a little fishermaid of Maine, intellectually "asleep," until she meets the "Fairy Prince."

=The Young Archer.= By CHARLES E. BRIMBLECOM. A strong and wholesome story of a boy who accompanied Columbus on his voyage to the New World.

NEW JUVENILES

Our Devoted Friend

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BY SARAH K. BOLTON

AUTHOR OF "GIRLS WHO HAVE BECOME FAMOUS," ETC.

_Fully illustrated with many reproductions from original photographs._

1 vol., small quarto, $1.50

This book of the dog and his friends does for the canine member of the household what Helen M. Winslow's book, "Concerning Cats," did for the feline. No one who cares for dogs--and that class includes nearly all who do not care for cats, and some who do--will admit that the subject of Mrs. Bolton's book is a less felicitous choice than that of its predecessor; while the author's well-known ability as a writer and lecturer, as well as her sympathy with her subject, are a sufficient guarantee of a happy treatment.

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These are just the bedtime stories that children always ask for, but do not always get. Rosamond and Rosalind are the hero and heroine of many happy adventures in town and on their grandfather's farm; and the happy listeners to their story will unconsciously absorb a vast amount of interesting knowledge of birds, animals, and flowers, just the things about which the curiosity of children from four to twelve years old is most insatiable. The book will be a boon to tired mothers, as a delight to wide-awake children.

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