THE TWO OVERCOATS.

When Amos Derby came out of Levi Rosenbaum's pawnshop, the richer by five dollars, but leaving his overcoat in the hands of the Jew, he made his way directly to Sillbrook's saloon, where, he felt sure, he should meet half a dozen at least of his boon companions.

He was not mistaken. The bar-room was crowded, and a general shout of welcome greeted him as he entered, for Amos was a generous fellow, and was always willing to treat.

The five dollar bill was quickly broken by the jovial bar-keeper, and two hours later when Amos waked rather unsteadily out of the saloon, he had not a cent in his pocket. But this did not trouble him in the least. He had spent too much money in Sillbrook's during the last two years to think anything of squandering in one evening such a paltry sum as five dollars.

As he left the saloon by the main entrance, he saw a man emerge from a side door of the building, and cross the street with rapid strides; a tall man, well dressed, and bearing about him a look of prosperity. He wore a very handsome overcoat with sealskin cuffs and collar, a sealskin cap, and well fitting gloves. Drunk as Amos was he recognized him at once; it was Sillbrook himself.

"Been in the back room countin' up his gains, most likely," he muttered thickly. "He's above standin' behind the bar nowadays."

Amos could well remember when Sillbrook had been only a mill-hand like himself, earning twelve dollars a week. But he had been a prudent, saving man always, and had early made up his mind to be rich, no matter at what cost of conscience and principle. With this end in view he had purchased a saloon, and cordially invited his former fellow workers at the mill to patronize him. This they were very willing to do, for Sillbrook knew how to make his saloon attractive; and he soon had as much custom as he could well attend to. At length he hired a bar-keeper, and after a couple of years was never seen behind the bar himself. He had grown rich very rapidly, and now owned one of the finest houses in the town, and was able to gratify every taste and whim, while those who had helped him to his wealth by drinking his liquors were as poor as ever—many of them poorer.

Amos Derby had been one of Sillbrook's best customers ever since the saloon had been opened, and as a natural consequence had had little to spend in comforts for his wife and children. He still lived in the small cottage he had bought on first moving to the town, and had seen it grow more and more dilapidated every year without making any attempt to repair it.

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.