Front matter (continued 5)

"Johnny's would make you laugh, then," said Felix. "It's a little room; and all his bottles are vials, and they're in a small closet."

"But he's learned a lot up in that laboratory," said Sue. "And he can perform ever so many pretty experiments. You can make fire burn under water, can't you, Johnny?"

"Yes: I learned that out of the 'Play-Book.'"

"I don't see how you can make any thing burn under water," remarked Ruth; "for water puts out fire."

"Can't you tell, Felix?" asked Johnny.

"How can I tell?"

"You remember about the gunpowder burning shut up in the holes the men drilled?"

"Yes. That was because fire is produced by the oxygen of the air uniting with the carbon and hydrogen in other substances; and although the air is shut out in the drill-hole, there is oxygen in the nitre, which unites with the sulphur and charcoal."

"Bravo, Felix!" exclaimed Pierre: "you may be a scholar yet! I didn't think Johnny had got you as far as that."

"Oh, yes! What with Johnny and you and uncle Frank, I'm getting quite learned, I guess. Can't you begin to call me professor, girls?"

"Not till you know more than that," said Sue; "for I know that."

"Felix has got the idea about the fire under water, I guess," said Johnny. "You see, I mix some nitrate of potash, powdered charcoal, sulphur, and nitrate of strontium, and put it into a long narrow paper case, tightly closed with gum. I set it on fire at the bottom, and sink it in the water by a piece of lead hung to it."

"And sometimes the fire is red," said Sue.

"Yes; but I have a different mixture for the red fire. You see, Ruth, the reason water puts out fire is because it shuts out the oxygen by shutting out the air. If you can furnish oxygen to a combustible material under water, you can burn it under water. As I put something in my mixture to furnish oxygen, I have a fire without any trouble. But I have seen a larger laboratory than the one you saw, Julia."

"Where?"

"Oh! I've seen one in everyplace I ever was in.—That's a riddle for you. See who'll guess it first."

"No, you haven't seen one in every place you were ever in; for you haven't seen one here at the beach?" replied Julia.

"Yes, I have."

"It's some nonsense," said Felix. "We'll give it up. There's no fun in trying to guess riddles that have a catch in them: you never can guess them."

"I can see a part of a great laboratory from where I am sitting," returned Johnny, who was sitting on the doorstep. "Or, at least, I can see a part of one of its distilleries."

Pierre began to smile.

"I can't see any of its great retorts," continued Johnny, "nor the furnaces under them, nor the gas burned as it comes out. But I can see a good many of the contrivances for storing up heat so that it can be kept cool in a very useful, beautiful form until the heat is needed, when it can very easily be brought out again in flames. And I can see some more of the stored heat that has gone through a second process, by which it serves the purpose of slow combustion, which gives heat and force without any light."

Pierre began to laugh. "Can't you guess the riddle now?" he said.

But the children still looked puzzled.

"Oh! I haven't been trying to guess," said Felix: "I think riddles are more trouble than they are worth."

"There is a good deal of the slow combustion going on in this veranda," continued Johnny, "and some of the stored-up force; though the machines might be made a good deal more active, if it were not just after dinner-time, when the fuel that's been put in is in a pretty compact form, and hasn't begun to be distributed much. In an hour or two the machines may get quite antic."

"He means us, by the machines, don't he?" said Julia.

"But what do you mean by the great retorts?" asked Felix.

"And the heat stored up in a cool form?" added Ruth.

"And the big distillery?" queried Sue.

"I should think you would know about the big distilleries, yourself, Sue. Come and sit here by me, and you can see quite a piece of one of them."

Sue came and sat down by Johnny.

"Now look right ahead."

"I don't see any thing but the water, and a blue strip of land beyond."

"And which would the distillery have in it? land or water?"

"Why, water.—He means the sea."

"I mean the Atlantic Ocean for one of the distilleries, a part of which I see from here."

"What do you call that a distillery for?" asked Felix.

"Why, distilling is obtaining a liquor in a pure form, by vaporizing it, and then cooling the vapor back into liquid form. Vapor is pure liquid: no mineral substances can be taken up in it. I have a little apparatus at home for distilling water. I can take well-water, which has mineral substances in it, and obtain the water quite free from any thing else. That is what is going on from the oceans, and, in a smaller way, from the rivers, lakes, and ponds. The heat of the sun causes the water, which, you know, here at the ocean is very salt, and full of other impurities, to rise in pure vapor, and form clouds overhead. The winds carry the clouds over the land: they become condensed by cooling, and fall in rain. The rain, which is pure water, except for the little particles of various things floating in the air which it brings down with it, soaks into the ground, forming springs, and helps to swell the ponds and lakes and rivers, and so it gets mineral and other substances in it again, especially salt, which is found in small quantities in all spring-water, and this impure water is carried to the ocean again to be purified; that is, it is carried back to the great distillery, to be made into pure rain-water. What I can't make out is, what is to keep the ocean from getting too salt by and by, since considerable salt is always coming into it from the rivers. What do you think about it, Pierre?"

"There are various ways by which the ocean gets rid of some of its salt, the most important of which is the making of salt, by men, out of salt water; and the natural manufacture, by the salt water lodging in the rocks, and then evaporating, and leaving the salt, which is collected in large quantities. There may be some way of its escaping, too, that has not been found out. I am pretty sure there is some natural provision by which the ocean can never become too salt, as long as the earth is intended for the home of man."

"I thought the reason why the ocean is salt, is because there is a great deal of salt in the bottom, which washes up into the water," remarked Ruth.

"That may be one reason," replied Johnny; "though the books don't say so. Don't you think, Pierre, that a good deal of the salt may have come from salt deposits under the oceans?"

"I don't see why not. There is a great amount of surface under the oceans, and it would be a wonder if there were not great deposits of salt there, as well as on the land; although they must be pretty well covered up by this time, by ocean deposits."

"But how about those retorts?" asked Felix, who had seen Johnny's experiment of making a little retort out of a clay pipe.

"I don't know what a retort is," remarked Julia.

"Nor I," said Ruth.

"A retort is a place where you heat any combustible very hot, without letting the air get to it. Of course, if there is no oxygen at hand, it can't burn; and so the heat merely causes the hydrogen to separate from the carbon, in the form of gas. They have large retorts at the gas-works, in which they heat soft coal excluded from the air; and, you know, the gas that is driven out is carried through pipes into the houses and stores, and then, when the gas is allowed to escape from one of the jets, they light it, and, because there is oxygen around, it burns steadily until you shut it off; that is, until you exclude the air."

"But how about your retorts in your big laboratory?" asked Felix.

"The largest that I have heard of," continued Johnny, "is around Pittsburg. That is in the soft-coal region. The heat in the earth has driven off the gas, or hydrogen, from the coal in the mines. Once, when they were boring a well, some of this pent-up gas, which was where they happened to be boring, burst out in a kind of explosion, tearing their boring apparatus all to pieces, and frightening the workmen pretty thoroughly. Afterwards the gas at this hole got on fire, and burned in a great big jet. But it was some time before the Pittsburg folks got it through their heads that nature had some monstrous big gas-works under them, so that they had only to pipe the gas, and bring it into their houses and manufactories, to get rid of using the coal that made Pittsburg such a black, smoky city. But they found it out after a while; and now they have not only natural-gas lights, but gas-fires in their manufactories, so that the atmosphere is as pure in Pittsburg as in any other manufacturing city."

"Then, the coal from which the gas came must be coke," said Felix, "something like that folks buy at the gas-works, after they have got the gas out?"

"Yes: it is the carbon of coal without the hydrogen, and so it does not burn with a flame; the flame of a fire is the burning of the hydrogen which escapes from the coal or wood when it is heated, and its burning, as it rises, makes the flames that leap up and curve about so in a fire. The anthracite coal is coal which has had most of the hydrogen driven out by heat."

"I wish you would tell us now," said Ruth, "about the stored-up heat in a cool form. I've been wondering about that most of all."

"You know plants can't grow without sunlight, Ruth?"

"Yes; that is, I know that if they don't have sunlight, they will grow very white, as they do when they are in a cellar."

"If the cellar were perfectly cold and dark, they would not grow at all; but they grow, as you have seen them, because there is some sunlight and sunheat, even in a cellar. The heat of the sun causes the plants to grow by taking in carbon from the air, and hydrogen from the water in the earth, and in rain and dew, and so the carbon and hydrogen are gradually stored up in the plants and trees; of course, there is the largest quantity in trees, because they grow large and solid. And it has been proved that you can get just as much heat by burning these things afterwards, that is, making the carbon and hydrogen unite with the oxygen from which they had been taken away, as there was heat of the sun expended in the process of their growing, or gathering up carbon and hydrogen."

"I remember about your telling that before, at the doctor's when I hurt my head; but I don't see how they ever proved it," said Felix.

"You could understand by studying it up. I have books that tell how it was proved. So, you see, it amounts to this,—that the heat from the sun is stored up some way, in the things that have grown out of the earth; and the very amount of heat stored, without a particle of waste, can be got out of the combustible a thousand or more years after it was bottled up in that way."

"Not a thousand years!" exclaimed Julia. "Trees don't live to be a thousand years old."

"Yes,—the big trees of California," said Ruth.

"That's so," said Johnny; "but I was thinking of the coal mines which are old, buried forests packed hard under ground, where the stored heat has been preserved so long, and will be preserved for no one knows how many hundreds and thousands of years to come."

"But it will get used up sometime, and all the forests get cut off: I've heard my father say so," said Felix.

"I suppose so; but by that time we shall have found out how to burn water."

"To burn water!" exclaimed all but Pierre.

"Yes. They can burn water now, only the process is too expensive; but by that time they will have found some very cheap way. That is what the scientific men are pretty certain of. Water is composed of hydrogen and oxygen; and, you see, hydrogen is very inflammable, being what we burn for gas, and that which burns in a fire to make the flame, while oxygen is the very gas it must have in order to burn."

"Then, I don't see why water isn't very inflammable indeed," said Felix wonderingly. "I wonder the oceans and rivers and lakes haven't burned up and set all the rest of the world on fire."

"Why, you see, the hydrogen in water won't unite with the oxygen in the air, because it has all the oxygen it wants already. It has got to be separated from the oxygen it has, before it will be ready to take in oxygen, and so cause fire."

"Oh!" said Felix. "But I shouldn't think it would be so hard to get it away from its oxygen."

"It is, though," said Johnny; "for hydrogen and oxygen have a very great liking, or affinity, for each other."

"I should think, then," said Felix musingly, "if water is composed of hydrogen and oxygen, that, when hydrogen combines with oxygen in the burning of gas or a common fire, they would form water."

"So they do," said Johnny.

"Oh, no, they don't!" exclaimed Julia.

"Yes; although you do not notice it, because the water is in the form of a fine vapor which passes off through the air. But I could prove to you, if you were in my laboratory, that the flame of even a little taper produces water. I have performed that experiment a good many times."

"Yes, he has," said Sue; "I've seen him: the water settles on the glass, just as if you had breathed on it."

"And it can be done so that the drops will trickle down the sides of the receiver," said Johnny.

"But how about the slow combustion going on in this veranda, Johnny?" asked Sue.

"Slow combustion goes on in animals. They eat the plants in which the sun has stored up heat, or other animals whose bodies have been formed out of the stored heat in plants, and the carbon and hydrogen go into their blood, and are carried by the blood to the lungs, where they come in contact with the oxygen of the air, under a moderate heat, to make more heat, by uniting with the oxygen to form carbonic-acid gas, which is breathed out into the air to help furnish carbon for the plants."

"But there are no animals in this veranda, except a few flies," said Julia.

"Oh, yes!" said Sue. "There's you and I, and Johnny and Felix, and Ruth and Pierre!"

"I am not an animal!" exclaimed Julia indignantly. "Am I, Johnny?"

"The part of us that dies is animal," replied Johnny, "just as much as Clyde or these flies are animals."

"No," persisted Julia: "we are folks."

"Our bodies are the highest kind of animals," said Johnny, smiling. "You and Ruth are very good-looking animals."

"That's a pretty compliment!" exclaimed Julia. "Now I have been called an animal, I have a mind to go right home. At any rate, I am going home to see if I can find my kitten. If she is coming back at all, I am sure she has come by this time."

"Let me go with you," said Felix mischievously.

"No, you don't! But Sue can go."

"You come, too, Ruth," said Sue.

"No, thank you," replied Ruth. "I think I ought to be going down to the cottages by this time: I will ask your mother to excuse me a little while, while I go to inquire if any one wants to hire a children's maid."

"I think I'll go up with Ruth to see mamma, then," said Sue, "for I am to go down to the cottages with Ruth."

"Why, they'll think you want to hire out, too, Sue," replied Julia.

"I don't care if they do. Come, Ruth."

Sue took Ruth's hand, and they went upstairs, while Julia ran home to find the kitten. By this time, Pierre had fallen asleep in the hammock.

"I guess, while the girls are gone, I'll go out and pick some huckleberries for supper, father is so fond of them," said Johnny; "and Katie says we haven't more than half enough. She wanted us all to pick some; but it was too warm after dinner, and I don't believe the girls will be back in time. It is getting cool now, because there is such a breeze."

"I'll bet there'll be a storm before long," replied Felix, looking at the sky. "But it's too stupid picking berries! Can't we do something else?"

"Perhaps you can, but I promised Katie," replied Johnny, going to the kitchen for a tin pail. As Felix did not want to be left alone, and could not think of any thing better to do, he followed Johnny to the huckleberry pasture behind the house, with a tin cup in his hand. "It is easier to pick in a cup than in a pail," he said.

"Why?" asked Johnny.

"Because it fills up sooner, and that is encouraging."

Pretty soon the boys saw Oliver harnessing the dog-cart; and, a little after, Julia came out into the pasture with a pail, saying she could not find the kitten, and she fully believed Jack had carried it off, whether Felix knew about it or not.

"He hasn't done any such thing!" returned Felix: "he couldn't have taken it without my seeing it, and I am positively certain he had no kitten with him when we went down the road."

The dog-cart was brought around to the door, and Sue and Ruth drove down to the row of cottages. When they reached the first cottage, Ruth got out, and inquired at the door if they would like to hire a nurse-girl. Sue drove to the pavilion, and then, having hitched the pony, joined Ruth in the tour of inquiry. In the whole row of cottages, they found only one where a girl was wanted: this was a neat yellow cottage with red blinds, which was set quite a way back from the beach. There were a number of children playing about the piazzas. They seemed fretful and quarrelsome; and when Ruth asked one of the little girls what her name was, she replied, "None of your business!" The lady of the house was a short, fleshy woman, with a good many rings on her fingers. She looked at Ruth coolly from head to foot, asking her a good many questions, especially in regard to her references.

"My uncle keeps the lighthouse, ma'am, and he'll come down and tell you about me."

"But I don't know any thing about the lighthouse keeper. And if he is your uncle, of course he will recommend you."

"My mother will tell you what a nice girl she is," said Sue.

"And who is your mother?"

"She's Mrs. Le Bras."

"That lives in Mr. Louis Le Bras' cottage this season?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Very well, that will do: I will try to come up and see Mrs. Le Bras, to-morrow or next day."

After the cottages had all been visited, and they were walking back to the dog-cart, Sue said,—

"I did not like that woman with the rings at all."

"I didn't think the children were well behaved, either," replied Ruth soberly; "but then, I don't suppose there could be a place just right, perhaps, and they are the only family that want a girl: and if I change my mind about wanting to hire out, I am afraid my aunt won't like it at all; though my uncle will be glad."

"I wouldn't go there, anyhow," said Sue; "folks are moving out and in these cottages almost every week, Oliver says, and there may be some nice family who will want a girl before long. But I think it will be nicer to stay with your uncle, and then we can visit back and forth, and have good times. If you get hired, they won't let you visit, or any one come to see you."

"I'm afraid my aunt won't let me visit, or have any one come to see me, either," replied Ruth, wiping a tear from her eye: "she wouldn't have let me come over here to-day, if she hadn't thought that maybe it would help me get a place to work."

"I don't think she is nice at all!" exclaimed Sue.

Ruth made no reply.

"Why! how awful dark and windy it's getting!" said Sue: "I guess we'll have to hurry home, or we'll get caught in the rain."

Ruth had been so taken up with sober thoughts, that she had not noticed the change in the weather; but she and Sue now hastened their steps, and were soon driving home as fast as the pony seemed willing to take them, which was at a rather moderate trot.

They had gone but a little distance, before there was a rumbling of thunder, and some large drops flew in their faces.

"I'm awful 'fraid we can't get home before it comes right down; and I'm kind of 'fraid of thunder, aren't you?" said Sue. "I do wish I'd brought that whip!"

"I am not afraid of thunder or lightning," replied Ruth encouragingly. "My uncle and I sometimes go up into the lighthouse to see the lightning: it is better than fireworks."

There was a team driving very fast behind them. Sue turned to one side to give it plenty of room.

"Hallo, youngsters!" said a familiar voice.

"Why, papa!" exclaimed Sue.

The carriage with the two gentlemen stopped.

"Hold on, Sue!" said Mr. Le Bras.

Sue stopped.

"They must get in with us, and let the pony shift for himself; since he will never get there before the shower," said a hearty voice that Sue did not recognize. She looked up just as the light buggy stopped at the side of the dog-cart, and saw a large, fine-looking gentleman in the buggy with her father. He was holding the reins. He and Mr. Le Bras quite filled up the narrow seat of the light vehicle. "Hand 'em over," continued the gentleman, as Mr. Le Bras alighted.

Mr. Le Bras helped Ruth out first, and put her in the buggy. The stout gentleman took her on his knees, and gave her a hug.

"Well, my dear!" said he, "we'll save you from a wetting, if possible." Mr. Le Bras put Sue in, and, after tying the reins over the pony's back, slapped him, and told him to hurry up. The pony jogged on at a very little faster pace; while Mr. Le Bras got into the buggy, and took Sue in his lap. Mr. Frothingham started the fast horse. They left the pony behind them. The drops came thicker and faster, a flash of lightning half blinded them; but they reached the house just as the storm came on in its fury, with thunder and lightning, and pelting rain. The pony was far behind, coolly making his way at his ordinary jog-trot, like a sedate philosopher. Oliver took Mr. Frothingham's team to the barn, and gave the horse some oats. Mr. Le Bras ushered his guest into the parlor. Mr. Frothingham followed him, leading Ruth and Sue by the hand.

"So you are the lighthouse keeper's niece?" he said to Ruth, as he seated himself in the great arm-chair, which Mr. Le Bras drew forward for him, and took a girl on each knee: "why, I've played with him many a time, when we were barefooted boys together."

"You!" exclaimed Ruth.

"You don't mean that you were ever a bare-footed boy, and lived about here?" exclaimed Sue, equally astonished.

"Why not, now?" replied Mr. Frothingham laughing; while Mr. Le Bras went up-stairs to ask his wife to come down and see their guest.

"Because," said Sue, "you're all dressed up, and wear a diamond pin. And aren't you the man that lives up in the big cottage, and that Felix says is a millionnaire, with more money than he knows what to do with?"

"That may all be true, my dear: but you know we live in America, where a barefooted boy may have as good a chance as any man, and perhaps better; because, you see, if I hadn't been a barefooted boy, who knew how to work and how to save, as very few do know how except poor men's children, I might never have been able to wear a diamond pin,—though that isn't of much consequence,—or build a cottage by the grand old sea, and have time to come and spend a summer in enjoying nature, when I am getting to be too old and heavy to want to work as hard as a young man can."

When Mrs. Le Bras came down, she, too, was surprised to learn that Mr. Frothingham had been born in that neighborhood, and had lived there until he was almost a young man.

"Certainly," said Mr. Frothingham. "I was born in a little brown farmhouse over towards the quarry: my father was the minister of the church over on the hill. He had a very small salary, and the farm helped support us."

"The white meeting-house with green blinds?" asked Felix; for he and Johnny had come in to see Mr. Frothingham.

"The very same, my boy: only it has been repainted and repaired inside, since my day. This little girl's grandfather was a near neighbor of ours, and one of my father's best parishioners. He was a very honest, kind-hearted, straightforward man; and his wife was a very dear friend of my mother's. Ethan was the oldest of the family, and worked hard, from the time he was big enough to handle a hoe; he had the hardest time of any of the children, and didn't get the schooling the others did; but that was partly because he was so ambitious about working, that he would not stop to go to school. It was a mistake, but he meant it all right; and he's helped his folks, and been an industrious, saving man. As for this little girl's mother,—and she looks just like her,—how well I remember Lucy! she was always one of the best scholars in school: we were in the same class. I saw her nearly every day of my life, and never too often, until I went to the city. When I came back, and found she was married to a nice young farmer here, I was a good deal taken back, for a while.—You see, it was my love for the old scenes that made me build a cottage here. When a man gets along in life, he likes to come back to the place where he was born: no other place can be quite so dear. I hoped once to have my children spend half of every year where I passed my childhood; but they are both gone. Mary, a girl of about Ruth's size, died over a year ago, and my wife hasn't been like herself since. Our boy died before the cottage was finished, and Mary only spent one season here."

"I am so sorry for you and your wife," said Mrs. Le Bras: "I don't know what I should do without my children."

"I have been telling Mr. Frothingham what I should do," remarked Mr. Le Bras.

"Yes," said Mr. Frothingham; "but, as I said in reply, there are some objections."

At that moment, the tea-bell rang; and, as it was still raining, Mr. Frothingham was persuaded to go out to tea with them.

"How came you home so early, father?" asked Johnny. "Mother thought you wouldn't be back until in the evening."

"We saw the squall coming up," replied Mr. Le Bras; "and I told Mr. Frothingham, as your mother was so timid, I thought, as we were not far out, we had better put in before the storm."

"I am so thankful you did," said Mrs. Le Bras: "I should have been worried; I have heard of so many accidents to yachts lately."

"Mine is not one of that kind, and I have a very expert man to sail it," replied Mr. Frothingham; "but I never like to have a lady unhappy if I can help it, and so I made for land as soon as your husband told me how easily you are frightened."

It stopped raining about the time tea was over, but still looked dark and lowering. Mrs. Le Bras said she must take Ruth home, according to her promise; or, if the gentlemen thought it would rain again, she would send her with Oliver, and call on her uncle and aunt some pleasant day herself.

"Why, I can take the child home, with my fast horse, without danger of getting caught in the next shower," replied Mr. Frothingham. "I would like to see Ethan too: I haven't been over to the lighthouse yet this season, for a wonder, or I should have known of his good luck in getting possession of Lucy's girl."

So it was concluded that Ruth should go with Mr. Frothingham. Oliver brought the team around; and after the children had said good-by, and that Ruth must come again soon, Mr. Frothingham put her in the buggy, got in himself, and drove off, taking the road across to the shore, to be ahead of the rain that seemed threatening. He talked sociably and kindly and interestingly all the way; and Ruth almost forgot it was a great man by her side instead of a boy of about her own age, he laughed so heartily, and took a child's view of things so easily. The fact was, Mr. Frothingham was one of those men who never wholly outgrow their childhood: he could feel like a boy after he was a middle-aged man.

When they reached the lighthouse, Mr. Shepard, who had seen them coming, was standing on the doorstep to welcome them.

"How do you do, Ethan?" said Mr. Frothingham, grasping Mr. Shepard's hand warmly.

"How d'y' do, Henry?" replied Mr. Shepard as heartily; "so it's you that have brought home that gal of mine! Glad enough to see you."

Mr. Shepard led the way into the parlor, and threw open all the window-blinds in a hurry.

"I can't see what wimmin want to keep out all the daylight for," he said; "but that's Martha's way.—You go tell yer aunt there's a friend of mine here, Ruth, an' I'd like to introduce her."

Ruth went to tell her aunt, and Mr. Shepard continued,—

"I b'lieve you ha'n't seen my new wife yet?"

"No. I hope you've drawn a prize in the lottery, Ethan."

"Wall, I don't know what I've drawn; somethin', that's sure." Here Mr. Shepard looked ominously sober. "The wust thing I've found out yet is that she's plaguey jealous."

"Jealous!" exclaimed Mr. Frothingham, in astonishment. "Why, it can't be possible, Ethan. You are not the kind of a man to give a woman the slightest excuse for jealousy."

"Wall, you see how't is, Henry: she's jealous of that pretty little niece of mine."

"Jealous of that dear little girl!" exclaimed Mr. Frothingham, in astonishment.

"Well, yes. I s'pose it's kind o' nat'ral, perhaps, bein' as she's jest married, or not onto a year yet, that she might want to be the only person of consequence 'round: that's what they tell me. But as my fust wife wasn't like that, I wasn't a-lookin' for it in another woman."

"I see!" replied Mr. Frothingham gravely: "she don't treat Ruth badly, does she?"

"Well, no; she don't do that exactly; she knows 'twouldn't be safe; but there's ways of making a child mighty on comfortable, I find, without out and out abusin' her."

"Exactly."

"You see, it's plain enough to Ruth that she don't want her here, and she isn't pleasant with her like; and so the gal is lonely and homesick. There was a lot of children at home,—and Lucy was mighty pleasant, you know."

"Yes, yes! Lucy was a gem!"

"Well, losing her mother and all, and it bein' sech a change here with Martha, it's putty hard on her; and she's took it inter her head, and my wife she's pressed the matter, that she'd ruther go and take care of children in some pleasant family than live here at the lighthouse. I thought as how you'd find out pretty soon, an' I might as well tell you fust as last what it means. You know well enough that it an't like me to let my own sister's child, and sech a sister as Lucy was, go out to work if I could help it; but I ha'n't no home but this to give her, and if she'd ruther go somewheres else,—and I can't blame her none,—why, I don't want to stand in her way; and so I haven't said she couldn't go, if she can find a good place; though I do feel mighty bad about it, all 'round."

"This is very serious, Ethan. I'm sorry enough for you. We must see what can be done. There's always more than one way out of a difficulty, if we set to work to find it."

"I thought, the minute I saw you coming a-bringing Ruth, that you were the very man to go to for advice. If she must go out to work, perhaps you'd know of some good family where she'd be kind o' treated like one of the family, and not put upon. She's a mighty smart gal to work, neat and orderly, jest like her mother, for all the world, and she's got her nice pretty ways about her; she's handy with a needle too; and sech a hand for books and papers! She's a mighty smart scholar, so they say, those that knew her in town."

Just then Mrs. Shepard came in, with her best dress on, to see the great millionnaire, whom her husband had the honor to be acquainted with. She appeared at her very best, seeming quite amiable, and did not even remind her husband that he had let all the flies into the room, and it would take her half a day to get them out again. Mr. Frothingham was very polite to her. She thought him a very charming gentleman indeed. As he rose to go, he said,—

"I must say good-by to Ruth, of course: we are old friends now."

"Oh! she's got on her common dress, and won't want to come in," replied Mrs. Shepard. "I'll tell her you left a good-by."

"I never leave my good-bys, with children of her age, anywhere but on their lips, if I can help it," replied Mr. Frothingham. "I've had children of my own, Mrs. Shepard, and I'm very fond of all children for their sakes, if for no other reason; though I think I'm naturally fond of young folks."

Mr. Shepard had left the room as soon as Mr. Frothingham asked for Ruth; and he now entered, leading her by the hard.

"Here she is, Henry," he said. "Isn't she lots like Lucy now?"

"That she is," replied Mr. Frothingham, kissing her. "Good-by, my little friend. I sha'n't let you forget me, though; for I shall be over to the lighthouse pretty often, and I'm going to bring my wife with me next time. She is very fond of little girls."

Before Mrs. Shepard could recover from her astonishment at this demonstration regarding Ruth, Mr. Frothingham was in his buggy, and driving homewards very fast, over the road by which Felix and Johnny had come to the lighthouse that evening, which was the nearest way to the great cottage. The sky was very dark, and there were more mutterings of thunder.

CHAPTER XIII.

GOING TO THE HARBOR.

Mr. Le Bras told Pierre that a friend of Mr. Frothingham, who was a guest at the large hotel at the Harbor, had gone out with them in the yacht, and had stated, incidentally, that he was anxious to find some good teacher of German to instruct his son in that language; since the young man was to travel in Germany in the fall, and it would be an advantage to know something about the language to begin with. He said he had spoken of Pierre, and recommended him; and the gentleman was anxious that he should come down to the hotel the next day, and hold an interview with himself and his son. Pierre was much pleased: he understood the German language as well as he understood English, and this would give him an opportunity to earn something during vacation. Mr. Le Bras said they would go down to the Harbor, then, in the morning, and Mrs. Le Bras and the children could go too, if they wished. Mrs. Le Bras replied that she had other plans for the next morning, and the children could ask Julia in her place, if they liked. The invitation was, accordingly, given to Julia, much to her delight. She said she liked to go to the hotel, it was such a gay place, and her mother always let her wear her best clothes when she went there.

They started the next morning about ten. Mr. Le Bras said they would not be home to dinner, but would dine at the hotel, so as to spend the afternoon, and give the children a good chance to see all the sights at the Harbor. He should go into town on business in the afternoon, and if the children and Pierre preferred to go with him rather than remain at the Harbor, they could do so.

Julia was dressed very handsomely, and wore a diamond ring, which shone brightly through her delicate, colored mitts.

"I wish Ruth was with us too," said Sue, as the horses pranced off down the shell road.

"What! in that blue calico?" replied Julia, laughing.

Sue, thus reminded, thought, herself, the blue calico would look rather odd in the fine carriage, by the side of their best clothes; and yet, somehow, it didn't seem as though it ought to, since the blue calico was the best dress Ruth had, and it was not her fault that she could not dress as well as they did.

"She's a real nice girl, anyhow," said Sue, "and just as good as we are,—if not better."

"It don't make any difference about her being good," returned Felix: "rich folks are rich folks, and poor folks are poor folks, and they can't go together."

"Yes, they can," returned Sue: "we went together yesterday, and had a real good time."

"I mean they can't go together and take dinner at a big hotel: they can't go together where folks have to be dressed up and look smart."

"I think it's too bad, anyhow," said Sue emphatically.

"So do I!" said Johnny. "I guess that's the reason folks don't like to be poor: they can't have as good times as rich folks, and they have to be looked down upon. I shouldn't like to be poor."

"I am poor, and yet I have a pretty good time, Johnny," remarked Pierre.

"And you and I are not rich, my son, and yet we manage to be pretty cheerful," added Mr. Le Bras.

"But we're not so very poor," replied Johnny: "Pierre dresses well, and so do we, and no one would think of calling us poor."

"Then, it is about as good as if we were rich," said Mr. Le Bras; "and perhaps it is better, though we are not apt to think so. It is my opinion that Pierre enjoys that new suit of his far more for having had to work hard in my office to earn it; and I don't enjoy seeing you and Sue in your best clothes any the less, because I have had to do some writing and talking in my office, or some speech-making in court, to purchase them. I cannot have just the kind of enjoyment Mr. Frothingham has in his fine yacht; but perhaps I manage to have just as good a time some other way, even when I do not have the advantage of your uncle's cottage by the sea. You and I have had pretty good times, before this summer, Johnny."

"Oh, yes!" said Johnny. "I think we have grand times at home."

"And often with nothing more costly than a book out of a free library. Don't go to having the dreary thought that persons who are not rich cannot enjoy themselves; for if that were so, the great portion of the people in the world would be miserable, and that would be a sad thing to think of. I shouldn't wonder if Ruth were enjoying herself in some way over at the lighthouse, as much as we are here in the carriage."

"I don't believe she is," said Sue; "because her mother is dead, and her aunt don't like to have her stay there."

"But that isn't because she is poor. If her own mother were there, she might be happy."

"Oh, yes! I could be real happy there, myself, seeing the waves, and hearing them clash, if you and mamma and Johnny were there; and it wouldn't make any difference if I had on my very worst dress."

"Wouldn't you be just a little happier if you had on a diamond ring like Julia's?" asked Felix quizzically.

"Perhaps I should for a little while; but I would rather papa should have a diamond pin like Mr. Frothingham's. Didn't it shine beautifully?"

"A diamond is nothing but carbon," remarked Johnny; "and charcoal is carbon too. I will give papa a piece of charcoal to wear."

"Ho, ho!" laughed Felix: "that's a yarn! A diamond is just as different from charcoal as possible!"

"How?" asked Johnny.

"Why, it's white, and charcoal is black; it's transparent, and charcoal isn't; it won't rub off, and charcoal will; it won't burn up like charcoal, and it's worth no end of times more."

"But they are both carbon just the same; and those lozenges you are eating are principally carbon, too, although they are a good deal whiter than charcoal. You haven't any idea how much charcoal you are eating, when you eat sugar or candy. There isn't any particular difference between the whitest of sugar and charcoal, except that the particles are so arranged as to reflect or absorb light differently. I can take a handful of white sugar, and, by putting in something to change the arrangement of the particles, make it look as much like charcoal as it is, just as black as your boot, and spread out into a great deal larger space than it occupied before."

"Yes, he can," said Sue: "I've seen him do it."

"Well, I'd like to see him do it, before I believe it."

"I'll do it when we get home, to-night, if you will give me five cents, and papa will get me some acid to do it with, when he goes into town. The kind of acid I want will cost five cents."

"All right! here's your five cents," replied Felix, taking the amount from his pocket-book.

"After you have seen it proved that sugar is like charcoal, perhaps you can believe more easily that a diamond is. The particles of carbon in a diamond are packed very closely together, and in such a way as to reflect the rays of light beautifully, and separate them like a prism, when it is cut right. It is so hard, that it is not easy to burn it,—that is, to separate the particles by heat, and make them combine with the oxygen in the air,—but it will burn up if subjected to very strong heat indeed. There's no danger of your diamond burning up, though, Julia, even though you should drop it into the fire by accident; for a fire in a stove wouldn't be hot enough."

"I'm glad of that," replied Julia.

"I don't see as chemistry does so very much good," remarked Felix: "it only tells you about things; it don't make any thing."

"O Felix!" exclaimed Johnny: "there are hardly any of the arts that can be carried on without chemicals, or things chemists have learned how to make; and some of the most useful discoveries in the world have been made by chemists."

"Tell him about the way they learned how to make Bessemer steel out of common iron, as an example, Johnny," said Pierre.

"Well. You see, Felix, they can't make Bessemer steel out of iron that has much phosphorus in it; and most of the iron in the world has a good deal of phosphorus in it; and about all in our country and England has. So the English had to buy the pure iron in Spain, or some other country, and bring it over at a great cost, to make Bessemer steel of."

"Why didn't they take the phosphorus out of the iron?"

"Ah! that's just it! They didn't know how. They studied and studied to do that very thing; for if they could find an easy way to get the phosphorus out, they could make railway steel out of their own iron, and stop buying of Europe. Mr. Thomas, a young English chemist, did not believe what other folks said, who had tried experiments to get phosphorus out of iron: they said it could not be driven out by heat. So he and a friend of his set to work, with a little kettle, to try again. When iron ore is melted, the phosphorus has such an affinity for iron, that it will leave the stone, and go into the iron; or if there is any in the coal or limestone used, it will leave either of them to get into the iron. But Mr. Thomas and his friend found by experiment, that although the phosphorus had a greater affinity for iron than any thing else up to a very high temperature, yet, if the iron was heated up to twenty-five hundred degrees, it would leave the iron to go into limestone; and you must keep it at that heat until the limestone with the phosphorus in it was drawn off from the iron, or the phosphorus will go right back to the iron again. So, by a patent process which Mr. Thomas and Mr. Gilchrist invented, one of the principal things about which is the putting of a quantity of limestone into the furnace with the iron ore, as a bait to attract the phosphorus when it is heated to twenty-five hundred degrees, they can get pure iron in England out of very common ore, and so sell us railroad-steel a good deal cheaper than we can make it; and England does not have to send to Spain and other countries now, as it used to, for iron that has no phosphorus in it."

"That is a pretty good story, Prof. Tell us some more chemistry stories."

"No," said Mr. Le Bras: "we can't have Johnny teaching all the way to the Harbor. And you, young man, must begin to look up information in books, as Johnny has, without always troubling some one to tell you; and then you can begin to inform others of some things, and not always take the place of a learner. Pierre, you must begin to put this young man into a solid course of reading, where he will be gaining some information of value by his own efforts. Isn't he out of stories yet?—that is, don't he read any thing else?"

"I was intending to ask you pretty soon," replied Pierre, "if I hadn't better go into town and see if I can find some book of information. I have begun to have him read items of importance in the papers, but there is no suitable book at the cottage."

"Get him a book to-day, any thing you please, and I will foot the bill."

"Don't get me any thing awful dry, will you, Pierre?" said Felix. "If you do, I shall just read it without knowing a word I have read."

"I'll see to that. Perhaps I shall have to send to New York for what I want. But I think I can fix you, sir. I don't mean that you shall forget any thing you read that is worth remembering, even if I have to catechise you every day about it."

"Well, anyhow, I don't have to read but an hour a day," returned Felix; "and I guess I can stand it a while longer."

"That is all put on," said Pierre to Mr. Le Bras, in a low tone: "he is beginning to like his hour of reading in the morning; he told me so yesterday."

"And does he keep on improving?"

"Oh, yes! he is doing finely."

Before long, they reached the harbor, which was the broad mouth of a beautiful river. There was a white, sandy beach, with long rows of bathing-houses at one point, and a great shore-dinner room with pavilion. Farther down was a wharf, about which were sailboats and yachts, and a beautiful little steamer, that ran between the harbor and the town. A great hotel stood a little back from the shore, near which stood a number of pretty cottages for lodging some of the guests of the house. At intervals along the beach were handsome great cottages, as large as Mr. Frothingham's. There was also a lighthouse on the beach. At a little distance back of the lighthouse was a pretty grove with seats, swings, and revolving hobby-horses. The children spent the rest of the morning in the grove, and along the shore. Then came the novel event of the day,—dinner in the great dining-room at the hotel, with colored waiters, and all the courses, from soup to nuts. The tables were filled with handsomely dressed, merry persons. The show and clatter, discussion of the bill of fare, and the courses with their long pauses between, made it easy to spend so much time at the table that a good part of the afternoon was gone before they left the dining-room; and so the children concluded they would not go into town that day.

As they were passing out through the hall, Johnny noticed that a good many men were sitting with newspapers in their hands. He stopped as they passed the desk, and asked of the clerk,—

"Does any boy sell papers here?"

"No," replied the clerk.

"Where do all these gentlemen get their papers?"

"Some of them come by mail, and some get them when they go into town."

As they were going down the steps toward the wharf, to see Mr. Le Bras and Pierre off for town,—since they had decided to go in the steamer, and leave the carriage for Oliver to take the children for a drive along the beach,—Johnny said,—

"There are no papers brought here to the hotel: I have a mind to go over to town mornings, and get some papers and bring them up; if I could sell a good many, I could make considerable money, and have a good time, by coming to the town and Harbor every day."

"But you might not sell enough to make it pay," replied his father.

"I can afford to try it one day. I feel rather badly about not earning any spending-money this summer, and so I should like to try."

"But how could you get into town every day?"

"Why, Pierre will come over mornings to teach that young man, won't he?"

"Yes; that is decided: but he only comes as far as the Harbor."

"I can go to town and back in the steamer."

"But that will cost you twenty cents a day."

"Yes; but I expect to earn more than that; and then, I shall get my money's worth in the sail; I expect to spend some of the money I earn, in having a good time."

"Very well: you can try the experiment, if you have any money to risk in the enterprise."

"I brought two dollars with me of money I earned myself, and so I think I will try it."

"What's the use of taking all that bother for some money?" said Felix. "Won't you give him all the money he wants, uncle Frank?"

"I cannot very well afford to give a boy all the money he wants," replied Mr. Le Bras; "and, besides, I think it is a very bad plan."

"I like money better that I've earned myself, and I like what I buy with it better than I do the things bought with money other persons have earned," said Johnny. "Besides, I belong to The Independents, who don't spend money themselves that they have not earned."

"But you have to: you can't buy your own clothes."

"I don't spend the money for my clothes: my father buys those things for me. But I earn all my own spending-money, and have these two years."

"I'm glad I don't have to," said Felix.

"Ah! but you don't know what great fun it is."

As Mr. Le Bras and Pierre stepped on board the little steamer, Johnny handed his father the five cents Felix had given him, rolled up in a little slip of paper. "Please get me the acid, father," he said: "I've written the name of it on that slip of paper."

After the steamer had gone, the children remained some time on the pier, looking at the yachts, particularly Mr. Frothingham's, which was named "Grace," after his wife. It was the largest yacht there, and the handsomest. Then they went up into the grove to stay until it was cooler, after which Oliver was to take them to ride all about the Harbor, and down to see the fort, which was half-way between the harbor and the town.

As they were riding back from the fort, up the Harbor road, about five o'clock, a very handsome carriage came into the road at a turn just ahead of them, with a span of black horses wearing very handsome harness. On the back scat were a lady and a girl, and a gentleman sat opposite talking with them. The driver was in livery.

"Why! There's Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham! and—and Ruth, I do believe!" exclaimed Felix.

At that moment, Ruth observed the children, and said something to Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham, who turned and bowed. Mr. Frothingham spoke to the driver, who drove more slowly as he turned in the direction of the Harbor; so that Oliver speedily overtook him, and the two carriages were side by side.

"So you are alone by yourselves?" said Mr. Frothingham.

"Father and Pierre have gone into town," replied Johnny, "and we are riding until they come back. We came down this morning, and took dinner at the hotel."

"Ah!" said Mr. Frothingham: "that was a good idea. I think, Grace, we had better take Ruth to the hotel for an ice-cream. Suppose we all take some cream or ices?"

Mr. Frothingham then said, turning to the children, "Mrs. Frothingham and I have been over to the lighthouse to get Ruth: she is to make us a visit. We rode around here to give her a little drive before we went home. You must come up to the house and see her this week: I expect she will be a little homesick at first, away from her uncle."

But Ruth did not look at all homesick yet; her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were glowing; she looked so happy and so handsome, that even the plain dark-blue calico seemed very becoming.

When they reached the hotel, Mr. Frothingham insisted upon their all going in for ice-cream and cake and maccaroons.

Julia was rather horrified at first, at entering the big hotel dining-room, with its groups of richly dressed guests, accompanied by a girl in a calico dress; but seeing that the waiters treated Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham with great deference, and the gentlemen and ladies bowed very respectfully as they passed, she concluded that the honors of the occasion quite offset the disgrace, and enjoyed the entertainment very much. Ruth, in her pretty, modest way, seemed quite happy and animated, much more so than at the time she had spent the day at Mr. Le Bras', with, the going down to the cottages to find a place to work on her mind.

Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham and Ruth rode directly home after leaving the hotel; and as Mr. Le Bras and Pierre had not returned, Oliver drove the children up and down near the pier until they arrived. It appeared that Pierre, having come across an old grist-mill in the suburbs, as Mr. Le Bras and he were walking about the town, had wished to stop and sketch it, and Mr. Le Bras had waited for him; for the sketch was to be a present to Mrs. Le Bras, who might like to make a painting from it.

"I must begin to make some sketches too," said Johnny.

"So must I," said Sue.

"Why, you can't draw, can you?" replied Julia, who did not know how to use a pencil with any skill herself.

"Oh, yes!" said Sue. "At least, I can draw pictures from nature that are good enough for my sketch-book. I didn't bring my sketch-book, but I can paste the pictures in afterwards. Did you bring any paper and drawing-pencils, Johnny?"

"No; but mother has plenty she will lend us; she told me I need not pack any."

"Did you remember the acid, uncle Frank?" asked Felix.

"Yes," replied Mr. Le Bras, taking a little vial, wrapped in white paper, from his pocket, and handing it to Johnny. "The druggist labelled it 'Poison,' I noticed; so be careful of it."

"I know it is poison well enough without the label," replied Johnny. "I have learned what it is made of, how it is made, and all about it, from my chemistry."

When they reached home, Sue was telling her mother about Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham taking Ruth home for a visit, and how they all had ice-cream together at the hotel.

"Just think!" said Felix: "there was Ruth in that old calico dress."

"No Felix: it is a new calico," interrupted Sue.

"Common calico, I mean; and there was every one else all dressed up. I should think Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham would have been ashamed of her."

"I respect them very much for not being ashamed of her," replied Mrs. Le Bras: "persons who are ashamed of other people for circumstances for which the persons who suffer most from them are not to blame, ought to be ashamed of themselves. I shall always be proud to say that I made the acquaintance here this summer of a millionnaire and his wife who were not spoiled by having a great amount of money, but were true gentleman and lady. No one can be a true gentleman or lady who is not kind-hearted, and free from foolish pride and assumption. Ruth seems to be as nice a little girl as I ever saw, and it is nothing to her discredit that she cannot dress finely."

While they were at supper, Johnny poured some water into a tumbler, and added so much sugar that it was soon quite a sirup.

"I like sugar and water: I guess I'll have some too," remarked Felix, putting a little water into his tumbler, and drawing the sugar-bowl towards him.

"Johnny isn't going to eat that, Felix," said Sue.

"What is he going to do with it, then?"

"You wait and see," replied Johnny. "I want the sugar to get well dissolved by the time supper is over, and so I mixed it now."

After supper, Johnny took the vial from his pocket, and asked Kate if she would be kind enough to bring him a common teaspoon. When the spoon was brought, Johnny handed the vial to Sue. Now that the paper was removed, the vial was seen to contain some nearly white fluid.

"You pour it in gently while I stir," said Johnny.

Sue took out the cork, and began to pour the fluid slowly into the tumbler, while Johnny stirred the sweetened water, etc., briskly. Presently the contents of the tumbler grew very black, and began to solidify, rising rapidly in the tumbler, while what Felix called "smoke" issued from it.

"Put your hand on the tumbler, Felix," said Johnny.

Felix did so, but drew it back quickly. "It burns," said he.

"Yes," said Johnny: "chemical union causes heat, and there are two substances uniting here. You know the uniting of carbon or hydrogen with oxygen produces heat, and it's so with many other substances."

"It's going to run over!" said Sue.

Johnny slipped a saucer under the tumbler; and the black mass overflowed, half filling the saucer also.

"Now, you see," continued Johnny, "the particles of matter have changed very much; for one thing, it is plain enough that they are farther apart; the acid and the sirup would not have half filled the tumbler with their particles as near together as they were to begin with; but now they fill the tumbler and part of the saucer. Who says that there isn't charcoal for you? Just think, Felix! if you had eaten that sirup, you would have eaten so much charcoal: it would probably be more than you could burn up in your lungs to-day or to-morrow, with all the rest of the articles having carbon in them that you have eaten, and so you would have laid it up in extra fat on your body to use some other time, unless you keep on taking in more fuel than you need all the time; and, in that case, it would stay as stored fuel in the shape of fat, I suppose, unless the blood managed to carry off some of it to the lungs to be burned as waste matter. I don't exactly know about that: I haven't got very far in physiology yet."

"It's stopped smoking now," said Felix, taking up some of the black mass in his fingers. "I suppose it isn't good to eat with that poison acid in it."

"And it don't look very appetizing, either," replied Johnny. "But a person who had the right kind of apparatus, and knew how, could get all the sugar I put in there back again, so that it would be just as good to eat as it was before. I suppose that smoke was a gas escaping. I haven't studied into this experiment as I ought; but I shouldn't wonder if the oxygen in the water united with the acid, and that set the hydrogen in the water free, so that the 'smoke' was hydrogen gas. But I am not certain. I'll find out exactly how it is when I get back where my books are. Or, like enough, Pierre will tell us all about it."

"Well! This does look amazingly like charcoal," said Felix, "only it is sort of sticky. I guess we had better put it away till it dries."

"I don't believe it will dry," replied Johnny; "because that acid has such an affinity for water that it will collect moisture. It will stay just about as it is now; and, after you have looked at it enough, I had better throw it in the fire, where it will be out of the way: mother don't like to have any thing with poison in it about."

CHAPTER XIV.

ODDS AND ENDS.

The time flew very fast and happily by the sea. Johnny and Felix went to the Harbor every morning directly after breakfast, with Pierre, the reading-hour being postponed until their return. Johnny had great luck with his papers from the very start; and his little pocket-book grew so small for his money, in a few days, that he had to transfer a portion of it to another receptacle in his trunk. Felix accompanied him to the Harbor and town "for the fun of it," as he said, but he soon began to want to sell something himself; and so Johnny proposed that he should buy candy in town at the wholesale, and retail it at the Harbor; since candy could be bought there only at the shore-dinner room, where there was a very poor assortment. Felix was considering the subject, when something happened, about a week after they began their morning-trips to the Harbor, which threw him into disgrace, and prevented the immediate execution of the scheme.

About a week from the day on which Ruth had visited at the cottage, Oliver went up on the hay-mow to pitch down some of the straw which had been placed there, and which was the same that was on the floor the night the boys slept out. As the barn was used only in summer, and there was plenty of pasture about, very little hay was stored in the barn. The straw had been brought for the stables. So it happened that Oliver was seldom on this second floor of the barn. While he was throwing down the straw that afternoon, and Mr. Le Bras was standing in the barn-door giving him some directions, Oliver heard a very strange sound off in one corner. "There's a queer noise up here," said he: "I should think there was some live thing about somewheres."

"What does it sound like?" inquired Mr. Le Bras.

"That's more'n I can tell," replied Oliver. "It 'pears to be over here in the corner."

Oliver at once began to explore in the direction from which the sound proceeded. "Golly!" he exclaimed, in a tone that excited Mr. Le Bras' curiosity so much that he ascended to the mow. Oliver was just removing a stone from the top of a large box in the corner. Having taken off the stone, he removed the cover of the box, which had been placed on in such a way as to leave an opening at the end about an inch and a half wide. He then drew the box forward, and disclosed therein, to Mr. Le Bras' astonished view, an emaciated kitten, lying apparently helpless, uttering weak, pitiful sounds, hardly distinguishable as the voice of a cat.

Mr. Le Bras sprang to the door, and called, "Felix! Johnny!" while Oliver took the kitten out, and laid it upon some hay on the barn-floor, where it lay quite motionless, still making the weak, mournful cry.

Johnny, Felix, and Sue were picking huckleberries in the pasture: so the boys heard Mr. Le Bras at once, and came running to the barn. "Look here," said Mr. Le Bras, pointing to the sad sight. "Can either of you explain this?"

Both Johnny and Felix were horrified, but of course Felix alone looked guilty; and, although Mr. Le Bras had called Johnny as well as Felix, he had no suspicion that Johnny knew any thing about the imprisonment of the kitten.

"Why—I—I"—replied Felix, looking very much confused, and very much ashamed, and very sorry—"I knew about her being shut up, and I meant to—to have let her out that very night; but every thing happened about then, and—and we've been to the Harbor every day, and I haven't come across Jack since, and so I—I forgot all about it. I'm awful sorry, uncle Frank: I never once thought of having her stay there; I got sort of put out with Julia, and I thought I'd like to tease her a little; and so, when Jack spoke of doing something with the kitten, I just helped him for fun, and I proposed shutting her up, instead of drowning her, as he wanted to."

"We shall have to hold another court, to-day, Felix," said Mr. Le Bras gravely: "didn't you say you knew nothing of what had become of the kitten?—Johnny, run to the house at once, and get a saucer of milk."

"I said," replied Felix, looking still more ashamed, "that I knew nothing about Julia's kitten; and when she asked me if I knew where her kitten was, I said 'No;' because this was not her kitten at all, but Jack's."

"This is very much like the other case, in some aspects," replied Mr. Le Bras gravely,—"another plain instance of prevarication. I had hoped, Felix, that after our previous talk in regard to the real nature of truth and falsehood, you would avoid prevarication as much as you would avoid a direct falsehood."

Felix hung his head, and made no reply.

Sue, who had remained picking berries, on seeing Johnny come out of the house with a saucer of milk in his hand, called out, "Have you found a cat, Johnny?"

"Yes," called back Johnny: "we've found Julia's kitten!"

Sue at once put down her pail, and, without coming to the barn first, ran directly across the pathway through the strip of woods, to the back part of the next cottage, and rushed into the first door she came to, calling out, "Where's Julia? They've found her kitten!"

So, while Sue waited at the door, the girl went to tell Julia the good news; and a moment afterwards, Julia appeared, in a high state of excitement, exclaiming, "Where is it?"

"In the barn, I guess," said Sue: "that's where Johnny was carrying the milk."

Julia at once ran towards the barn, as fast as she could go; and Sue followed her. When they entered the barn, Johnny was stroking the kitten, and trying to get her to drink some of the milk in the saucer, which was placed close by her mouth; while the kitten made no effort to drink, but only continued the faint, pitiful cries. Mr. Le Bras, Oliver, and Felix were standing near,—Felix with his hands behind him, and a very sober, perplexed look upon his face.

As soon as Julia and Sue saw the poor, emaciated object, Julia screamed, and Sue turned away and began to cry. Then Julia began to cry bitterly, and exclaimed,—

"Oh, dear! my beautiful little kitten! She's dying! She's been dreadfully treated! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What shall I do!"

Mrs. Le Bras, who was sitting in the veranda, heard the wailing, and ran out to the barn in a great fright. She was followed by Mary and Kate. When the full group were collected about the kitten, its cries were quite drowned in the chorus of lamentation.

"I shall have to take the part of a physician for this patient," said Mr. Le Bras finally: "I prescribe perfect quiet, to begin with. We must leave the kitten wholly alone, for at least an hour: it will be much more likely to notice the milk, and recover appetite for it, if its attention is not distracted elsewhere. Come, let us all go; and you, Oliver, shut the barn-door after us, and fasten it. Felix can go to his room, and stay until supper-time. After supper is over, he can go to the parlor with me, and we will hold court."

Julia then ran home, without saying another word; she ran into the room where her mother was sitting, threw herself on the floor by her side, buried her face in her lap, and began to cry quite hysterically; so that Mrs. Peterson would have been at a sad loss to know the cause, if Sue had not followed close behind Julia.

"Why, the kitten's found, 'most dead and starved," said Sue, who was still wiping her eyes. "It's just as little as nothing, except its head, and that looks awfully big,—I guess because it's about all that's left; and it's crying and crying, and can't drink the milk; and Felix must be to blame about it, 'cause father's going to hold court with him after supper; and I never saw Felix look half so sober before, so I expect he's awfully to blame, somehow."

"I knew he and Jack did it," sobbed Julia; "and he went and lied about it! If that kitten dies, I'll never speak to him again as long as I live! I don't believe I'll speak to him anyhow! He is one of the hatefulest boys that ever lived! I thought he was going to be better than he was last year; but this is just as mean,—and meaner, too, than the things he used to do last year. I hate boys, anyway!—all except Johnny."

Felix came down to supper with a very long face. The meal proceeded with unusual gravity and silence all around. As yet, the kitten had not touched the milk, and her death was expected at any time. Sue had reported Julia to have gone to bed early with a headache. After supper, Felix followed his uncle into the parlor. When the testimony in the case was all in, and Felix had made his defence, Mr. Le Bras proceeded with his argument for the opposite side, and for truth and right-doing in general, and then, as judge, pronounced the extent of Felix's guilt, and proceeded to the sentence.

"Now, Felix," said he, "if it were Johnny who were deserving punishment, and we were at home, I should, very likely, forbid his reading or studying for a certain number of days, which would be a great punishment for him; but, in your case, it seems to me that study is a punishment, and yet it is something for your good. I always endeavor, in punishing my children, to deny them something, or have them do something, which will be of some use to them besides the punishment. When I tell Johnny he must not read for a week, I do it partly because I know a pause in his reading, and more exercise and open air in consequence, will be for his good. So, in my previous sentence regarding you, I proposed that you should read an hour a day for the summer, because it would be a punishment in the first place, and yet would improve you very much, and give you a habit which would soon be a great pleasure as well as profit to you."

"Yes," replied Felix. "I rather anticipate my hour's reading with Pierre now, and I shouldn't like to give it up: but then, I get tired by the end of the hour, and I shouldn't like to have any more put on, if I can help it; because there are such a lot of other things that I want to do."

"Yes: I think an hour's reading is sufficient, especially in vacation. And I am hesitating about giving you any more fixed confinement. Still, as you do not go to school steadily, or study very hard the rest of the year, there is less objection than there would otherwise be. On the whole, I think I will offer you your choice between two kinds of punishment, this time. You can spend a half-hour a day in the practice of letter-writing, in which you say you are so deficient that you cannot write a letter to your father and mother,—although Johnny and Sue have already sent two,—or you can remain away from the Harbor three weeks. You can take your half-hour a day for writing, at any time upon which you and Pierre can agree. But you will probably prefer merely the deprivation of the morning-trips to the Harbor."

"How long shall I have to spend a half-hour a day studying letter-writing?"

"I think four weeks will answer. That will be twelve hours in all, which will be quite a punishment, and also be long enough to learn how to write a letter neatly and correctly."

"Then, I shall prefer the half-hour a day. I wouldn't give up going to the Harbor for a good deal, because I am to try and see if I can begin to earn some money to-morrow: I shouldn't like to give that up. If Pierre is willing, I'll take my half-hour before breakfast, and have it over with; for I always have a little while, between the time I get up, and breakfast-time, that I don't exactly know what to do with."

"Very well. But there is one thing more: you must go over to see Julia to-morrow, explain the matter fully, tell her how sorry you are, and ask her forgiveness."

"That will be the hardest of all," replied Felix, making a wry face; "because I don't believe she will forgive me, and I know she won't if the kitten isn't better. I am awful sorry, uncle Frank: I wouldn't have really hurt the kitten for the world; and I've cried some myself at thinking how miserable it looks, and what a hard time it's had, and how it may die."

"I don't think you are cruel or hard-hearted, Felix: your trouble is thoughtlessness; but, you see, thoughtlessness may amount to the same thing sometimes, in its effects, as real cruelty. I have known thoughtless persons who have even been the cause of the death of their dearest friends; so we will be thankful that, in this case, it is only a kitten who has had to suffer severely. Yet we should be very thoughtful, even of dumb animals; for they cannot think for themselves, and are peculiarly dependent upon us."

"I am awful sorry, truly," replied Felix, looking down gravely: "I will try to be more thoughtful, uncle Frank. But then, if you knew how much I've improved this summer, I think you would be some encouraged."

"I am a good deal encouraged, my dear boy, I assure you," replied Mr. Le Bras, putting his arm around Felix. "I expect great things of you, my boy. There's the making of a noble man in you; and, in many ways, I am proud of you already."

"I'm awful glad I've been with you and auntie and Johnny and Sue this summer," replied Felix, brushing a tear from his eye. "I suppose I'd have gone right on being horrible, if it hadn't been for that. But, somehow, I didn't know how to be any better,—or, anyway, I couldn't be."

At that moment, there was a soft rap at the door.

"Who is it?" asked Mr. Le Bras.

"It's me," said Sue. "Mother just sent me to say Oliver has come in, and says the kitten has drank up the milk, and so he guesses she'll begin to be all right by to-morrow; and I'm going right over to tell Julia, so she won't feel so bad."

"I guess I'm glad!" exclaimed Felix. And then his uncle opened the door, and told him the court was adjourned sine die, and he could go and arrange with Pierre about the half-hour.

So, the next day, Felix went to the Harbor as usual, and began his trade in candy, with very good success. The kitten had drank its milk all right for breakfast, and was able to stand up. Felix brought home a box of caramels for Julia, and took them over with him when he went, after dinner, to make his confession, and ask forgiveness. Julia could not withstand his humble manner and the box of caramels. She forgave him very prettily; although she added, that she did not know whether she could have forgiven him or not, if the kitten had died. Felix told her Jack said he didn't want the kitten himself; in fact, his mother did not like cats, and had said she was glad it had gone, and that she would not have it brought back; but yet he thought Julia deserved some punishment for carrying it off, and so had proposed, at first, to tie a stone to the kitten's neck, and drown it, when they went fishing. But Felix had objected to this plan, decidedly, and had compromised by proposing to shut the kitten up, fully intending to let it out that night or the next morning, and, if he kept it imprisoned over night, to carry it something to eat.

The next day the kitten could walk around, although very feebly. She was still kept in the barn, because that was a convenient place for her progress to be watched by all interested. The children made frequent visits to inquire after her health, and were assured each time, by her more cheerful and stronger "Mew!" that she was better.

That afternoon, as the children were in the veranda, Felix and Johnny sitting together in the hammock reading the "St. Nicholas" and "Wide Awake," which had just arrived, and Julia and Sue playing with their dolls, Mr. Frothingham's carriage came in sight, up the shell road, immediately drawing their attention from their books and dolls.

"There is a little girl with them," said Julia, "but it isn't Ruth. What a pretty girl she is, and how beautifully she is dressed! She doesn't look much like Ruth, does she?"

"I guess it's some of their relations, come to visit with Ruth," replied Sue.

"Poh!" said Felix: "no city girl would be sent for to visit with Ruth, it isn't likely! I guess it's some one from the Harbor, that they are carrying home. I've seen a girl at the Harbor, who lives in one of those big cottages, that looks just like her."

"I think it is Ruth herself," said Johnny; "only her hair is loose, and waved, and banged, and she's got different clothes on."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Julia, in disdain.

"Johnny thinks he can see better with his spectacles than folks can who don't have to wear any," remarked Felix, laughing.

"I really believe it is Ruth," said Sue breathlessly.

"Yes," added Johnny: "she's smiling, and waving her hand to us; and don't you see she's got Ruth's way of sitting up straight, and holding back her head?"

Felix whistled, which was his ordinary way of expressing great astonishment. "If that don't beat all!" he exclaimed.

Then they all ran down the steps, and stood, an expectant and curious group, awaiting the nearer approach of the carriage; while Mr. and Mrs. Le Bras, who had been sitting in the balcony, came down-stairs, and stood out on the veranda, with smiling faces, ready to welcome the occupants of the carriage.

There was no longer any doubt that the fine young lady in the carriage was Ruth, though she did look so radiantly stylish and handsome.

"Of course, dress makes a great difference in persons' looks; but I never saw a more striking example," remarked Mrs. Le Bras.

"Ruth was a very sweet-looking girl in her plain clothes, though," replied Mr. Le Bras: "I rather expected something of this kind, when she should be dressed more like other children."

"Why! did you know they were going to dress her up?" asked Felix.

"I thought it probable," replied Mr. Le Bras.

"But she'll feel all the worse when she has to put on her calico dress, and go home," said Julia.

The carriage was now too near for further remarks. The driver drove up to the door, and stopped; while Mr. and Mrs. Le Bras came out, and shook hands, and asked Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham and Ruth to come in.

"We came down to get the children," said Mr. Frothingham. "We want them to come and take tea with Ruth, and then drive over with us to see the fireworks at the Harbor. We will bring them back in good season this evening.

"They will be very happy to go," replied Mrs. Le Bras.

Mr. and Mrs. Le Bras urged their callers to come in, and stay until the children were ready. As Julia was included in the invitation, she ran home to ask her mother if she could go, while Felix, Sue, and Johnny went to get ready; Mrs. Le Bras having called Kate to help Sue to dress.

Ruth was dressed in white, and wore a broad hat of fine straw, trimmed with a long cream-colored plume and satin ribbon. She was just as modest, unassuming, and at her ease, as she had been in her blue calico, and, as Julia told her mother, "didn't seem to mind being dressed up." The fact was, the poor child was thinking so much of how nice it was not to be at the lighthouse with her aunt, that she had little thought for the other advantages of her situation, to begin with.

When the company were seated in the parlor, Mr. Le Bras said,—

"I judge you had good success in your interview with Mr. Shepard."

"Yes," replied Mr. Frothingham: "all things considered, bad as he felt to part with his little niece, he decided that it was for the best all around, under the circumstances. He will be able to see her often, and watch her growth and progress. We are to go through the legal forms as soon as possible, so that her future will be assured in case of my death."

Ruth was so horrified at Mr. Frothingham's speaking of dying, that she came up to him, put her arm around his neck, and said, with tears in her eyes, "You aren't sick, are you?"

"Why, no, indeed!" replied Mr. Frothingham, taking her on his knee, and laughing heartily. "Do I look like it? But I might get upset in my yacht, you know, or run over by the cars; and so, you see, I ought to be just as particular how I leave my affairs, little girl, as though I wasn't one of the healthiest persons in the world."

Mrs. Frothingham, who was sitting by the side of Mrs. Le Bras, said, "Did you ever see any thing like the way that dear child has come to us, as if she was sent from Heaven, when we were mourning the loss of our own little girl of just about her age? When my husband came home that night, and told how strongly your husband had advised him to adopt a child, I felt, as he did, that it was a pretty risky matter; for we have some friends who adopted a boy from an orphan asylum a number of years ago, and he is turning out a very wild young man, almost breaking their hearts. And then, only a few days afterwards, while we were thinking the matter over, we found that this child, belonging to a nice family, whom my husband's folks thought so much of years ago, was to be sent out to work, because her aunt did not want her in the way; and, just to think! she is the daughter of the very girl of whom I have heard Henry speak admiringly so often, as his schoolmate and the nicest girl in the village. He says Ruth looks just like her. The child and he take to each other so, and she and I take to each other just the same! It almost seems like having my own little girl back. Do you see how perfectly Mary's clothes fit her? There was not a single alteration needed. And do you see how happy Henry is? He is so fond of children, especially little girls! I thought it would break his heart when Mary died, and his being so lonely has worried me more than my own loneliness."

After Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham and the children had disappeared up the road, looking back, and waving their handkerchiefs, Mr. Le Bras said,—

"What a contrast Mrs. Frothingham is to Mrs. Shepard! Mrs. Shepard is so afraid her husband will like any one except herself, that she has acted in a manner which must always cause her husband to distrust her, if not positively dislike her; while Mrs. Frothingham, by being so glad to have her husband have some child to love, and so ready to love the same child herself, and be the happier for her presence, is increasing her husband's affection and admiration for herself."

"Jealousy is such a mean trait!" replied Mrs. Le Bras; "but it carries its own punishment with it, like most other selfish traits. If Mrs. Shepard had only been wise and kind-hearted enough to have kept Ruth, and treated her as she would an own daughter, how happy she and Mr. Shepard and Ruth might have been!"

"Perhaps it is just as well, for all except Mrs. Shepard," replied Mr. Le Bras; "for it has secured a much happier life for Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham, who were suffering so keenly for the loss of their children; and Mr. Shepard cannot but be proud of the bright prospects before his little niece."

"I don't think any thing can make up for domestic discomfort," replied Mrs. Le Bras; "and I am afraid they never can be really happy at the lighthouse, with the memory of the way Mrs. Shepard treated Ruth always before her and her husband."

"And between them," said Mr. Le Bras; "but the best thing has been done that could be done, under the circumstances. Let us be thankful that so much happiness has come to three persons at least."

Before long Johnny and Felix carried on so much business at the hotel and cottages at the Harbor, that they were called "The Young Merchants." Johnny had orders for almost every kind of a paper that could be had in town, and Felix for all sorts of fine candy. They found enough to do just to fill their orders, and so did not have to run any risks on their own account. Felix's great perplexity was what to do with his money; since he had spending-money enough, that his father had given him before he left. This difficulty he laid before his uncle. Mr. Le Bras proposed that he should buy some books, as those seemed to be the only things he lacked; saying that, if the books were bought with money Felix had earned himself, he would be the more likely to read them carefully, again and again, and prize them highly. In the course of time, he could add to his collection from his regular spending-money, unless he preferred to earn them in some way, until he had as large a library of his own as Johnny had, or larger. As Felix was beginning to like reading very much, he was pleased with this proposal, and began to lay out his earnings in books, taking Pierre's and Johnny's advice as to what books to purchase, in order to be sure that they would be not only interesting, but instructive, and such as he would not be likely to outgrow soon.

They generally got back from the Harbor in time for the morning-bath at the beach. Sometimes they went up to Mr. Frothingham's to bathe; because he was teaching Ruth to swim, and had promised to teach Julia and Sue at the same time; and the boys liked to dive from the wharf, for Johnny had learned to swim some, under Oliver's instructions. Pierre, too, was learning to swim; but he usually went off with some young men, with whom he had become acquainted at the Harbor, where he was a great favorite.

The sail-boat was in frequent requisition, and the boys often took the girls out in the row-boat; although Mrs. Le Bras would not allow them to go out of sight of Oliver, who was always somewhere upon the beach to watch them. This precaution was taken principally on account of Felix's thoughtlessness when he had one of his merry or mischievous fits, and because the row-boat was not flat-bottomed, and so would turn over more readily if it were swayed to one side.

Mr. Frothingham sometimes took them all out in his yacht, and at such times they often had what Felix called "big fishing;" that is, they caught bluefish, codfish, and mackerel, which could not be caught near the shore. On one of these occasions, Mr. Le Bras, greatly to his astonishment, drew up a large lobster, which was caught to his hook by one of its claws. He wondered greatly how it could have happened, and finally concluded that the lobster had been dropped from some boat. But when, shortly afterwards, he had the still more singular fortune to draw up a wicker flask, which he had seen on board the yacht in their own lunch-basket, he demanded an explanation of both these mysterious occurrences, upon which Felix exclaimed merrily,—

"Didn't I tell you I'd pay you off about Clyde?"

Felix had attached the lobster and the flask to Mr. Le Bras' hook, by drawing up his line when his attention was diverted in another direction. The lobster was one which had been brought for bait, and which Felix had begged of Mr. Frothingham, as Mr. Le Bras had not noticed it.

Mr. Le Bras was obliged to return to his office after a few weeks; but he came to the cottage every Saturday, remaining until Monday, and sometimes into the middle of the week. Pierre staid all the time, as he had agreed to give the young man at the Harbor lessons daily for the summer.

Sundays they generally went to the church in the village, but sometimes they drove into town. Once they attended service in the summer-chapel at the Harbor.

Ruth was very happy in her new home, and made such improvement, that, in a short time, no one would have suspected she had not always had the same advantages she was now enjoying. Mr. and Mrs. Frothingham were more and more fond of her; but they were too sensible to spoil her, and took great pains to encourage her in being sensible and self-reliant. Mrs. Frothingham was teaching her to cook, and do other kinds of housework, just as she had taught her own little girl; and Mr. Frothingham not only taught her to swim, but to ride on horseback, and promised to get her a tricycle when they returned to the city. As Mr. Frothingham's city-house was in the same place where Mr. Frank Le Bras lived, Johnny and Sue had the pleasure of knowing that their acquaintance with Ruth would continue. Mr. Frothingham would not return to the city, however, until October; while Johnny and Sue and their mother were to go home in September.

And so the happy summer sped. September came, and with it Mr. Louis Le Bras and his wife, who arrived at the cottage on the tenth. Mrs. Le Bras had improved greatly in health, and was very grateful to her brother-in-law and his wife for having enabled her to leave, by taking charge of Felix. When she and her husband saw how much Felix had improved in his manners, and appearance in general, they were still more grateful for the pains that had been taken with him. His letters had, however, somewhat prepared them for the change, as they were such great contrasts to the letters he had been accustomed to write; although it was very seldom that he had been induced to write a letter, until his uncle and Pierre took the matter in hand. When Felix showed them the library he was buying, with money he earned himself, they could hardly believe their eyes and ears, especially when they saw the books were not simple story-books, like those Felix had been accustomed to look over so carelessly, and stumble over in the reading, but substantial works containing useful information, several of them being "Science Primers," written by famous professors. But their astonishment was not at an end; for Felix further informed them that he had read all these books aloud to Pierre, and could understand and pronounce every word in them. After this, Mr. Le Bras told his brother and his wife how all this wonderful change had come about in so brief a time, and advised his brother to continue similar methods with Felix by hiring Pierre, who fully understood how to manage and interest such a boy, for his tutor for the next year. Mr. Louis Le Bras said he should be only too glad to engage Pierre, and would give him a good price for his valuable service.