Front Cover
 Title Page
 Havering Hall
 The clockmaker of Lyons
 The orphans of Elfholm
 The Christmas rose
 Fanny's fancies
 Union Jack
 Back Cover

Group Title: Havering hall and other stories
Title: Havering hall
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00049548/00001
 Material Information
Title: Havering hall and other stories
Physical Description: ca. 150 p., 15 leaves of plates : ill. ; 17 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Sargent, George E ( George Etell ), 1808 or 9-1883
Groombridge and Sons ( Publisher )
Publisher: Groombridge and Sons
Place of Publication: London
Publication Date: 1879
Subject: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Juvenile literature -- 1879   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1879
Genre: Juvenile literature   ( rbgenr )
fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
Statement of Responsibility: by G.E. Sargent and others.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00049548
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 001518227
oclc - 21966736
notis - AHD1352

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
    Title Page
        Page i
    Havering Hall
        Page 1
        Chapter I
            Page 2
            Page 3
            Page 4
            Page 5
            Page 6
        Chapter II
            Page 7
            Page 8
            Page 9
            Page 10
        Chapter III
            Page 11
            Page 12
            Page 13
            Page 14
        Chapter IV
            Page 15
            Page 16
            Page 17
            Page 18
            Page 19
            Page 20
            Page 21
        Chapter V
            Page 22
            Page 23
            Page 24
            Page 25
            Page 26
        Chapter VI
            Page 27
            Page 28
            Page 29
            Page 30
            Page 31
            Page 32
            Page 33
            Page 34
            Page 35
        Chapter VII
            Page 36
            Page 37
            Page 38
            Page 39
            Page 40
        Chapter VIII
            Page 41
            Page 42
            Page 43
            Page 44
            Page 45
    The clockmaker of Lyons
        Page 46
        Chapter I
            Page 47
            Page 48
            Page 49
            Page 50
            Page 51
            Page 52
            Page 53
            Page 54
            Page 55
            Page 56
        Chapter II
            Page 57
            Page 58
            Page 59
            Page 60
            Page 61
            Page 62
            Page 63
            Page 64
            Page 65
            Page 66
            Page 67
            Page 68
            Page 69
            Page 70
            Page 71
        Chapter III
            Page 72
            Page 73
            Page 74
            Page 75
            Page 76
        Chapter IV
            Page 77
            Page 78
            Page 79
            Page 80
            Page 81
            Page 82
            Page 83
            Page 84
            Page 85
            Page 86
        Chapter V
            Page 87
            Page 88
            Page 89
            Page 90
    The orphans of Elfholm
        Page 91
        Chapter I: The village friends
            Page 92
            Page 93
            Page 94
            Page 95
            Page 96
            Page 97
            Page 98
            Page 99
        Chapter II: Great quarrels
            Page 100
            Page 101
            Page 102
            Page 103
            Page 104
        Chapter III: The separation
            Page 105
            Page 106
            Page 107
            Page 108
            Page 109
            Page 110
            Page 111
            Page 112
            Page 113
        Chapter IV: The breach made wider
            Page 114
            Page 115
            Page 116
            Page 117
            Page 118
            Page 119
        Chapter V: Setting up and setting down
            Page 120
            Page 121
            Page 122
            Page 123
            Page 124
            Page 125
        Chapter VI: The flood
            Page 126
            Page 127
            Page 128
            Page 129
            Page 130
            Page 131
            Page 132
            Page 133
            Page 134
            Page 135
            Page 136
            Page 137
    The Christmas rose
        Page 138
        Chapter I
            Page 139
            Page 140
            Page 141
            Page 142
            Page 143
            Page 144
            Page 145
            Page 146
            Page 147
            Page 148
            Page 149
            Page 150
        Chapter II
            Page 151
            Page 152
            Page 153
            Page 154
            Page 155
            Page 156
            Page 157
            Page 158
            Page 159
            Page 160
            Page 161
            Page 162
            Page 163
            Page 164
        Chapter III
            Page 165
            Page 166
            Page 167
            Page 168
            Page 169
            Page 170
            Page 171
            Page 172
            Page 173
            Page 174
            Page 175
        Chapter IV
            Page 176
            Page 177
            Page 178
            Page 179
            Page 180
            Page 181
            Page 182
            Page 183
            Page 184
    Fanny's fancies
        Page 185
        Chapter I
            Page 186
            Page 187
            Page 188
            Page 189
            Page 190
            Page 191
            Page 192
            Page 193
        Chapter II
            Page 194
            Page 195
            Page 196
            Page 197
            Page 198
        Chapter III
            Page 199
            Page 200
            Page 201
            Page 202
            Page 203
            Page 204
            Page 205
            Page 206
        Chapter IV
            Page 207
            Page 208
            Page 209
            Page 210
            Page 211
            Page 212
            Page 213
        Chapter V
            Page 214
            Page 215
            Page 216
            Page 217
        Chapter VI
            Page 218
            Page 219
            Page 220
        Chapter VII
            Page 221
            Page 222
            Page 223
            Page 224
            Page 225
            Page 226
            Page 227
            Page 228
            Page 229
            Page 230
    Union Jack
        Page 231
        Chapter I
            Page 232
            Page 233
            Page 234
            Page 235
            Page 236
            Page 237
        Chapter II
            Page 238
            Page 239
            Page 240
            Page 241
            Page 242
            Page 243
        Chapter III
            Page 244
            Page 245
            Page 246
            Page 247
            Page 248
            Page 249
            Page 250
            Page 251
            Page 252
            Page 253
            Page 254
        Chapter IV
            Page 255
            Page 256
            Page 257
            Page 258
            Page 259
            Page 260
            Page 261
            Page 262
        Chapter V
            Page 263
            Page 264
            Page 265
            Page 266
            Page 267
            Page 268
            Page 269
            Page 270
            Page 271
            Page 272
            Page 273
    Back Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
Full Text

. . . .

The Baldwin Library

' of'

.~~1 ,J I '

p. 1| 11I
," :." ,|*.
y.it :'4

it ."..,
i Ii.'i,' -i
K ii .' i

,,',l* '? ,

'.. .
i ,i

1. ,.. ,~ j~ ,

4,' ;' I
ii i*I~.


[, I
ii I i '

I' ;

V. -s _, ..

.. I
* .1 11
;i /' i

*. ,
I ._ ,: -.

-. ___..-"
~~8 .. .. "L_._ ". !_

A ... -,



pk -- --.. .-/= -: .< ; ....o ,. ..-.

S.- -~
r -
.ts.. t, ~-,...ce'.







_ :. ----.
-- -..

I I1 l _
J -- --- -- ---_ _- ---

-; .. .._ _-
sY ______ ---

*1 N _ _

*1 '

~~i__ tij--\
r-= -


Nor Kent nor Sussex should have charm,
While Loyalty, with loud alarms,
Calls him to council and to arms!"

W ILL our readers come with us to the village of
S Havering? They may travel along roads which
on every side present objects for admiration. Wooded
parks, with their mansions partially visible, hills and
dales, apple orchards, cherry orchards and gardens,
churches and farm-houses, with glimpses here and there
of the meandering river. All these they may see, on
their way to our village, after they have entered the
beautiful county in which it is situate. In the sum-
mer and autumn seasons, another beauty also is added
to the scenery; for in the county of which we write is
The flow'ry hop, whose tendrils, climbing round
The tall aspiring pole, bear their light heads
Aloft in pendant clusters."
These pendant clusters, so rich and graceful, can hardly
fail to please the eye of even the least sensitive beholder.
The neighboring cottagers used to look upon them
with hopeful or anxious eyes, according as the prospects

B *


of the crop might vary; for they seemed to feel a sort of
part proprietorship in them, as the picking, when suf-
ficiently ripe, was looked forward to by them as their
exclusive right. The hop-picking afforded lucrative
employment for days and even weeks, and many a
nimble-fingered mother, with the help of her older
children, would earn her year's rent, or her doctor's
bill, or shoes for her family, as the case might be. But
now, they say, "that is all altered, and it's those rail-
ways have done the mischief; for numbers of people
come by rail from London and other large towns, and
the hops are all picked and gone in next to no time."
Unfortunately, in this part of the country, especially
among the poorer classes, the feeling is very predo-
minant, that what has been is what ought to be; and it is
very difficult to make them understand that any altera-
tion which gives even a temporary inconvenience to
them, may nevertheless be a great and general good.
We shall give an instance of the effects of this feeling
before we have finished our story.
But, first, as you have accompanied us thus far into
this beautiful county of Kent, we will now take you to
the particular village of Havering, which is the principal
scene of our story.
Here is the old church, so overgrown with ivy that
the daws build their nests in it, and so strong is it
grown there, that occasionally an adventurous boy may
be seen scaling the high tower by its aid, and peeping
into the nests, and causing such a chattering as none
but daws can make. But the building, though it is
tume-marked, is not neglected; the pathway to it is
neatly kept, and a pleasant sight it is, on the day of
rest, to see the villagers flocking to it. Many of these


live in that group of neat little cottages at the foot of
the hill, and are employed during the week at that
large mill in the valley, which is itself hard at work
turning rags into paper. We will linger yet a minute
to admire the weeping willows and the waterfall, and
then, having looked at the substantial and elegant modern
mansion on the rising ground just by, we shall have
noticed the chief places of interest in our story; unless,
indeed, we could venture-where, I fear, modern dresses
would scarcely permit us-through that thicket of under
wood, and then we should see, overgrown with grass,
huge irregular mounds, with here and there a great
yawning cavern, which tell where cellars had been,
and where ale and Burgundy had once been stored.
Could we penetrate that thicket, we should stand on
the ruins of Havering Hall, which was many years
ago destroyed by fire. How many tales of strange
sights and sounds, supposed to have proceeded thence,
have since scared the villagers, we will not stay to
It was here that, in the reign of the first Charles of
England, lived an enthusiastic cavalier, named Sir
Arthur Havering. He was one of those numerous
country gentlemen who had hastened to welcome James
I. to his English kingdom, and on whom that monarch
bestowed the order of knighthood, as the reward of
prompt and ready loyalty. If plain Arthur Havering
was a loyal man before this event, he was almost loyalty
mad afterwards. On his return to his home in the
south, he spent two or three hundred pounds in feasting.
This was a large sum in those days, but Sir Arthur was
rich and not niggardly, so he invited all his more genteel
neighbours and farm tenants to a magnificent dinner at


his hall, and had tables spread upon the village green
for all who chose to keep holiday.
Feasting was the order of the day, and, according to
the custom of those times, an ox was roasted whole,
before an enormous fire of faggot-wood, upon the village
green. It was computed that as much strong ale was
drunk on that occasion as would have floated a good-
sized barge. As to the company at the hall, their drink
was Burgundy, and plenty of it.
At fifty years old, Sir Arthur was far from being so
rich as at five-and-twenty. He had found that there are
some drawbacks even to knighthood. And one of these
drawbacks is, that it is more expensive to be a knight
than a simple squire.
Besides this, he had late in life married a lady with
much pride and little money, so that no wonder the
knight became poorer and poorer.
Ten years later, Sir Arthur was away with King
Charles's army. His hall got sadly out of repair, his
broad acres, or a good many of them, passed into other
hands, and somehow or other his money melted away,
and even the tenants that remained to him forgot to pay
their rent.
It happened, too, that while Sir Arthur was gone to
war, his only son and heir had contrived to fall in love
with young Mistress Deborah Randall, the daughter of
one of Sir Arthur's former tenants, who was as staunch
a Puritan as Sir Arthur was a Cavalier
Here was a pretty piece of business! As soon
as the affair was discovered, her ladyship, in much
grief and indignation, despatched a long letter to her
husband, which caused him to return from the army;
and young Master Arthur was sent off to France, to


be far away from the attractions of pretty Miss
A few more years passed, the King's army had been
scattered and his cause ruined, himself had been be-
headed, and Cromwell was master in England. This
was cold comfort for Sir Arthur, and to add to it he had
become poorer than ever. His estate had been diminished
by his own expenses in the army, then by contributions
to the failing cause of the King, and then by a good
round fine laid upon him by Parliament. Indeed, this
same Parliament would have taken Sir Arthur's estate
from him, Hall and all, if it had not been for his former
tenant, Paul Randall, who had grown rich and powerful
as Sir Arthur was becoming poor and weak, and who
exerted his influence in keeping this last stroke from
falling on the old knight.
Sir Arthur was humbled but grateful, and soon after
this piece of good service, the bright eyes and pretty
modest face of Mistress Deborah Randall were occa-
sionally seen in the old oak parlour of Havering Hall.
Young Master Havering was recalled from France, and
it is not hard to guess what followed.
Into that old church, with the ivy growing then as it
grows now, passed a bridal procession; the bride being
Mistress Deborah, and with her young Master Arthur
got back a few of his father's former acres as a dowry,
and a small sum of money as well.
In process of time, after two other processions, more
mournful than that of which we have just spoken, had
passed through the churchyard gate, Master Arthur
Havering and Deborah his wife were in sole and undis-
puted possession of Havering Hall.
To be sure the Hall had no longer a knight for its


owner, but the absence of a title which had brought only
loss and vexation was little regretted. Arthur Havering
had a good wife, and he was content. It is said that
her good management helped to prop the falling house.
She married off her daughters as soon as they came of
age. She sent her eldest son to college, and her second
to London to learn a business.
But in the course of time, the death of Mistress
Deborah buried the head of the house in grief. There
was no more prosperity at Havering Hall for a long
time. The guiding mind was gone, and whether the
ground was cropped and reaped, or whether it lay fallow,
was a matter of indifference to its widowed owner.
After a few years of perpetual mourning, he died and
was buried.
Their eldest son lived but a few years to enjoy his
inheritance, and dying a bachelor, his brother, Miles,
who was in business in London, became the owner of
the Hall.

"Thus we go up, up, up,
And thus we come down, down, down."
IT is to Miles Havering that our village is indebted for
the possession of a paper-mill. He left the business
in London to the care of. his son, and entered into pos-
session with a determination to work all manner of
reforms in his poor, torn, and worn inheritance. The
mansion was put into repair, and the land, for the
first time since his mother's death, began to be fairly
And now also Miles Havering put into execution a


scheme upon which he had long set his mind. There
was a fine stream running through the Havering estate,
and abundant facilities for a mill-dam. In short, a mill
there should, be. So, in the course of a few weeks,
engineers, and architects, and builders were at work;
and in the course of a few months the astonished vil-
lagers beheld a large paper-mill in the valley, with its
huge water-wheel without, and its machinery within,
ready for action.
And very soon a wonderful alteration was perceptible
in the. rustic village. Every woman and child capable
of w working, and willing to work, found employment and
good pay at the mill; new settlers were drawn to the
spot; and those among the gentry, who at first sneered
at the bold innovator, began to envy him for the fortune
he was evidently making.
As to Miles Havering himself, never a busier man
than he trod the earth around Havering Hall. He was
up early in the morning, down at the mill by the
time his work-people had begun their duties; back
again to his breakfast, and then superintending the
labour of the farm; down at the mill again, and throw-
ing all his energies into that business, as though he had
nothing else to think about. In his office hard at work
over daybooks, ledgers, and letters, then back to the
Hall to his late, solitary dinner, and passing the evening
in his library alone, till all his household were in bed.
Solitary and lonely, for he was a widower, and had
no child but John, whom he had left in London to
manage the business, and who rarely came down to
Havering; until at last he came down as its master,
which happened sooner than had been expected, for
Miles Havering died suddenly. He was found dead,


one morning, sitting upright in his chair, in his library,
where he had retired in the evening in his usual
His son John found the estate in a more flourishing
condition than it had been for many years; and the
paper-mill alone was a good inheritance. And was
there not a change at the old Hall ? No more solitary
dinners now, nor silent unoccupied chambers. The new
owner was a married man, and he had a family also;
and very soon the old Hall echoed with childish shouts,
and merry youthful voices.
As to the business in London, which had laid the
foundation for returning prosperity, that, like some
other old friends who have had their day, was discarded,
and John set up for a thorough-going gentleman. He
bought hunters and hunted; bought race-horses and
raced; gambled and won; gambled again, and lost;
kept open house for visitors, and had the honour of
entertaining a noble lord or two; and did many other
foolish things, to prove himself of the true old stock.
Meanwhile the mill-wheel went round and round,
splashing and dashing into the mill-stream, and rags
became paper, and paper was turned into gold.
But not fast enough. Somehow or other the whole
machinery got out of gear, and John was not the man to
set right what was going wrong. Then fell under the
woodman's axe every timber tree on his estate; then
came duns to the hospitable Hall; then came money-
lenders; then-well, everybody knew what was going
to happen soon.
But one thing happened first, which they had not
foretold. One dark night, John Havering was driving
home from an assize ball at the county town, his wife


and two daughters being with him in the carriage, when
a bright red light in the horizon suddenly burst upon
him, and, uttering a hasty exclamation, he whipped his
pair of horses furiously.
"Look at the moon rising," said Miss Havering,
waking up frcm, a nap.
"The moon! Look again, girl. Is that the place
for the moon to rise? The moon! It is a fire !"
A fire!" Two other sleepers were roused by this
time. "A fire! where, where ?"
"At Havering Hall!" exclaimed the gentleman in
a tone of horror, as, reaching the summit of a rising
ground, he beheld, at the distance of two or three miles,
flames rising high above the old family mansion, burst-
ing out of its windows, and illuminating the atmosphere
all around.
Yes, Havering Hall was in flames; and, before the
flames were subdued, Havering Hall was burned to the
How it happened no one could tell; only it was
found out that, in the absence of the master, his ser-
vants had been carousing, and that some of them had
gone to bed intoxicated. No lives were lost, that was a
comfort; but everything else was lost, and thus it was
that Havering Hall came down at last.
As to its owner, this stroke completed his ruin. A
few weeks later, and the estate was sold by auction,
paper-mill and all; and the now beggared former
owner disappeared from the scene. His family disap-
peared, too, all but one puny little fellow, who, being at
the time out at nurse, at one of the work-people's cot-
tages, was left behind, with a sufficient payment in ad-
vance for a year. Alas! before the year had expired,


the little puny fellow had no mother, his father had left
the country, and brothers and sisters were scattered
far and*wide.
What was to be done with little Arthur Havering
then? The parish authorities settled that question.
The boy was removed to the parish workhouse, being at
that time some four or five years old. Meanwhile the
mill-wheel went round and round as briskly as ever,
splashing and dashing into the mill-stream, turning
rags into paper, and the paper was turned into gold.
But not for Arthur Havering. The owner of the mill
was a descendant of Paul Randall.

"Rest, rest afflicted spirit, rest awaits thee
There, where, the load of weary life laid down,
The peasant and the king repose together."
SOMEWHERE about fifty years ago from the present time
of writing, a funeral procession, issuing from a neat
whitewashed cottage, passed slowly up the village of
Havering, towards its ivy-covered church. It was a
very plain, unostentatious funeral; the cheap coffin was
covered with a rusty-black pall, hired of the village
carpenter, who headed the procession.
Three persons followed as chief mourners. One of
these was a woman of yet scarcely middle age, dressed
in deep mourning and wearing a widow's cap under her
black crape bonnet. By her side, and holding tightly to
her right hand, was a boy, probably twelve years of age,
and evidently the widow's son. On the right hand of
the boy walked, or rather hobbled, supported by two


sticks, a man whose white hairs, wandering eye, and
feeble gait gave evidence of extreme old age, and pro-
bably of impaired intellect also. This last impression
would have been deepened in a spectator's mind by observ-
ing that while the woman and boy were bitterly weeping,
the old man's countenance expressed only vacant wonder.
Arrived at the churchyard gate the tolling bell ceased,
and the procession was met by the clergyman, and by the
glorious words of the blessed Redeemer-" I am the
resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that be-
lieveth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live;
and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never
die." Then the funeral service proceeded, until the
coffin was lowered into the grave dug on one side of the
churchyard, at a little distance from a heavy, defaced
monument, half-hidden by tall grass and nettles. It
would have needed good eyes to make out all the in-
scriptions on the four sides of that large old monument,
but a name was here and there visible, and it corre-
sponded with that on the coffin lid.
It was the same name, too, as that borne by the little
sorrowing boy; and during a part of the service he
might have been seen with his- eyes intently fixed upon
it. For though he was all the time attending, as a child
could, to the solemnities in which he was engaged, and
though his feelings were with the father of whose re-
mains he was now taking a last farewell, and with the
sorrowing mother by whose side he was standing, yet
the name of Arthur Havering, with a Sir" before it,
seemed, as with a magic spell, to attract his notice.
There were a few spectators at that funeral, not
many, and it was soon over.
It's all right, I suppose," said the old, old man, as,


led by a compassionate villager, he followed the weping
woman and boy on their road homeward.
"Yes, sure, old Arthur," returned the woman oo2.
ingly, as though she were talking to a child.
But who is it they have put down there ?" the old,
old man asked in a low troubled voice.
"Why, sure it was your own grandson," said the
woman, also speaking low.
"My grandson! my grandson! did I know him ?"
Yes, sure you knew him; and that is his little boy
on before-your great-grandson, Arthur Havering."
"Ah, the Haverings were great folks once, I have
heard, but that was a long time ago," said old Arthur.
"1 I reckon it was, old man; before ever I was born,
anyhow," said the woman, lending the help of her hand
to the poor old pauper-for pauper he was--as he nearly
stumbled on the bridge.
Mother," said the fatherless boy, when the mourners
had again reached their now lonely habitation, Mother,
on the grand old monument in the churchyard, there is
a name like mine and old grandfather's."
"Yes, yes, I know that," she replied.
Did you know it, mother; I never saw it before."
"Well, my boy, and now you have seen it, what of
it ?" she asked. "Are there not many persons in the
world with their names alike, and like those on tomb-
stones too ? Why, there are four William Marsh's in
the village, and they do not count for relations."
Perhaps not, mother," said the boy; but I should
like to know why I have got the same name as that
that seemed to look at me so to-day from the mornment.'"
"Do not trouble yourself about it, child; your
father's name was Havering, and we called you Arthur


because it was his grandfather's name. If we have got
the name of grand folks we have not got their money,
and I do not see why you should care about your name,
only to mind and not disgrace it."
"Well, I hope I shall not do that," replied Arthur;
and Arthur resolved then that he would try to be, more
than ever, a comfort to his mother, and supply to her,
as far as it was possible, the place of his father; but he
could not banish the wish to know something more about
the name on the monument. Here, however, the subject
dropped, except that his old grandfather repeated what
he had just before said, Ah, the Haverings were great
folks once, I have heard, but that was a long time ago."
And this is what the Haverings had come to. Here
was old Arthur, born at the Hall, outliving the downfall
of his race some ninety years; outliving, also, his own
son born in poverty, and his grandson born in poverty
too; outliving his intellects, always feeble; and all but
outliving the memory of his family, even in the place
that bore his name. The name might truly be found in
old records, and leases, and deeds, and, as we have seen,
on the old monument in the churchyard; but it was a dim
tradition, fast wearing out, that connected the old pauper
Arthur, and his only surviving descendant, young Arthur,
with the old family that gave a name to the village.
Other things besides the fortunes of the old family
had undergone a change. The village, for instance, con-
tained twice as many cottages, and three times as many
inhabitants as of yore. This was to be attributed to the
paper-mill, which gave employment to many able-bodied
men and boys, and to double the number of women and
children as rag pickers and sorters, and so forth. The
mill itself had undergone much alteration, since its first


erection by Miles Havering; new drying rooms and
warehouses had been added to the original structure,
and increased power had been given to the machinery,
which turned old rags into new paper.
Though the old Hall had never been rebuilt, another
mansion had arisen lower down in the valley nearly
adjoining the mill. A large red brick house it wa:s,
with pleasure-grounds, gardens, and shrubberies; and
with a busy, rich man for its owner, whose name was
still Paul Randall. To his daughter we will introduce
our readers in the next chapter.

"Cold, cold, my dearest jewel; thy little life seems gone:
Oh let my tears revive thee, so warm that trickle down."
"N low, Miss Deb, do you think I may trust you ?"
"Trust me, Susan ?"
Yes, miss; trust you, like a good little girl as you
are. I want you to sit here quite still and quiet until I
come back," said the nursery-maid, indicating by the
" here" a mossy bank, bordering a winding-path on one
side of the mill-dam. Behind the said path was a plan-
tation of firs, thick and shady. The season was summer
and the time of day would have been stated on a railway
time-table, if railway time-tables had been printed then,
as 7.30 p.m.
"Where are you going, Susan ?" asked Miss Deb,
with the natural curiosity of a-a young lady, even
though that young lady happened to be a Randall.
"Young ladies like you, miss-of your age, I mean
-should not be inquisitive," said the maid.


"Ought anybody to be inquisitive, then, Susan ?"
demanded little miss.
"That depends on circumstances," replied Susan,
"Because you were very inquisitive about where
papa and mamma were going when they drove out to-
day, and what time they would come home," rejoined
Miss Deborah Randall.
"That's different," said the ready maid. "There
were good reasons, of course, for my wanting to know.
And, besides, you are only nine years old, and I am-"
Nine-and-twenty, Susan."
No, miss, and nothing near it," said Susan tartly.
"I should think I know my own age better than that.
But what has that to do with it ? I want you to stop
here on this pretty bank, nice and good, till I come back."
Shall you be long gone, Susan ?"
There, again; you will ask questions. No, miss,
only a few minutes ; and if you behave properly, you
shall have some nice preserve on your bread and butter
for supper."
Cook will give me that," said little miss, with the
faintest toss of the head possible, and a merry, silvery
laugh, whether I behave properly or not, Susan."
"Well then, miss, don't I know that too ? Cook
spoils you, like all the rest of us, you are such a dear
darling," said the flatterer; but though it was flattery,
Susan might have been further from the truth. Little
Deborah was a universal favourite in her father's house,
and out of it too. But if I must tell you where I am
going, it is only just to say a few words to-a friend,
about some very particular business, miss. So you won't
go away from this nice place, will you, dear P"


"Very well, Susan; but I may gather some flowers ?"-
suggested Miss Deb.
Oh certainly, miss," replied Susan, glad to attain
her object; only don't go into the wood, because of
the snakes and adders." And with this parting caution
Susan disappeared in search of the friend to whom she
wished to say a few words on particular business.
Now, it happened that this friend was, on this occa-
sion, more easily sought than found; and Susan wan-
dered further than she had intended. This put her a
little out of temper, and when the friend was found, it
took some time to soothe and smooth down her ruffled
spirits before the "particular business" could be entered
upon. Meanwhile, the little lady, left alone to amuse
herself, strolled a little way along the winding path and
back again, and then backwards and forwards, gathering
now and then a flower, and thinking her own thoughts
as well. If these thoughts had been written down, perhaps
they would have run in something like the following
fashion :-
"I am, upon the whole, a fortunate little girl. I
have kind parents, and they are rich, so that I have
everything I want. My father has got a fine mill; and
he must get a great deal of money for the paper he
makes out of old rags. He does not make it with his
own hands, though; I should think not, indeed But
he employs such a lot of people, and they eamn money,
so that papa does a good deal of good in the village of
Havering. I wonder whether it is true that that old
man-the oldest man for miles around they say, and
whose name is Havering; and Arthur Havering, who
works in the mill with his mother, and whose wages
papa has raised lately because he is a good steady boy, as


papa says, and because he has lost his father-I wonder
whether it is true that their ancestors, ever so long ago,
were as great and rich as my papa is now. It does not
matter thinking about that, though; but I wonder
whether I should be happier if I had any brothers and
sisters. How strange it is that the. poor people all
about here have mostly so many children to provide for,
and that papa and mamma, who have so much money,
have only poor little me. I almost wish I had a brother,
or a sister, I think that would be better; or why not
have both ? I am pretty sure papa would like it,
for "
So far, I suppose, little Miss Deborah's thoughts ran
on glibly and smoothly, and then they turned into another
channel, wondering who Susan's friend was, perhaps;
and what they could have to say so particularly to one
another; and how long she would be before she came
back. Then she began to gather flowers again, taking
care not to approach too near the thicket, in which she
half believed snakes and adders to be lying in wait for her.
But in avoiding the thicket, Miss Deb approached very
near the margin of the bank on the opposite side, which
sloped down steeply to the mill-pond; and there, on that
bank, low down and close to the water's edge, she spied
a beautiful little clump of Forget-me-nots.
Now, Susan, in her carefulness to warn the young
lady of the perils of the wood, forgot the perils of the
water, although, in fact, they were far more to be
dreaded; for the bank, as well as being unprotected and
almost precipitous, was also slippery and treacherous;
while the mill-pond below was many feet in depth up
to the very bank. It may be that Susan did not know
this: certainly Miss Deb didn't.


And the Forget-me-nots she must have. Was there
ever a prettier flower than the Forget-me-not? So,
cautiously holding on by a tuft of weeds at the top with
one hand, Miss Deb let herself down the bank, and
stretched out her other hand to secure the prize. She
had almost reached it when her foot slipped, and the
treacherous tuft of weeds gave way. The little lady
uttered a loud shriek of terror and despair, and then
there was a great splash in the mill-pond.
Now, it happened that just at that terrible moment,
a lad in a fustian jacket, very fluffy with loose fibres of
rags from the mill, and who, in fact, was the very Arthur
Havering of whom Miss Deborah had been thinking,
was coming along the path, and, hearing the scream
and the splash, he hastened forward, and the first thing
he saw were a pretty straw hat, and a parasol, and a
bunch of flowers in the path, but nobody near them.
And then he looked down into the pond; and-oh, hor-
rors !--there was a white dress floating on the water, and
a pair of little, fair arms, wildly beating the surface, and
gradually sinking down, down, below it. In another
moment the fluffy fustian jacket was on the path, and
the heavy shoes were kicked off the boy's feet; then
there was a second splash in the water, and before one
could have counted ten, little miss was held tightly by
the hair of her head by one hand of the boy, while the
other was striking out vigorously.
It happened fortunately that a few yards further on
the bank sloped down more gradually, and the water
was shallower; it was equally fortunate that the boy
knew this very well, for he h!d often bathed there early
in the morning. In less tiAe than it would take to tell,
therefore, young Arthur Havering had found the bottom,


and was scrambling up the bank with Miss Deb in his
arms. But what was to be done next, when he had safely
landed this pretty water-nymph, and had laid her down
gently on the mossy bank on the other side of the path,
and stood, in a great puddle made by the water that
drained from his head to his feet, while he panted and
gasped from the exertions he had made? Dreadfully
alarmed was Arthur when he saw how quiet and inani.
mate the poor child lay, with eyes closed and breath
suspended. And yet, for the life of him, he could not
help, even then, admiring with all his heart, the soft
cheeks, and plump lips, and dimpled chin-though there
was no colour at all in the child's face-and the soft
eye-lashes from which hung great water-drops, and the
golden hair which lay on the grass, though it was limp,
and wet, and tangled, and uncurled. Arthur knew very
well who it was that he had risked his life to save; and
he thought less of his risk than of the audacity which
had dared to take Miss Deborah Randall by the hair of
her head so roughly and unceremoniously. He should
never be forgiven; he was pretty sure of that; and cer-
tainly he should never forgive himself.
All this passed through Arthur Havering's mind as
swift as lightning, but it did not prevent him from
making some efforts to restore Miss Deb to consciousness.
I don't suppose that the boy had ever read the rules of
the Humane Society for restoring animation to the appa-
rently drowned; and if he had, it is ten to one if they
had come into his mind when they were most wanted.
The boy had common sense, however, and being in for
a penny he might as well be in for a pound, you see; so
he sat himself down on the bank, and gently lifted the
poor child, put his arms round her, pressed her to his


warm breast, and crying piteously all the while, so that
his hot tears fell on her cold cheeks plentifully, he sobbed
out, Oh please, miss, do open your eyes-please speak
a word-oh, what shall I do ? Do tell me, miss;" with
a great variety of other adjurations, which it is not
worth while to set down here.
And miss did open her eyes at last, and looked
up into the boy's face; then she heaved a very heavy
sigh; then a gash of warm tears burst from her eyes;
and then the colour returned hastily to her cheeks and
lips; all this to the great joy and rejoicing of the heart
of her preserver, who very audibly expressed his satis-
Then, after a minute of mute wonder on the part of
little miss, and extravagant demonstrations on that of
Arthur, the rescued child raised herself, with the boy's
help, on the bank, and sat up supported by his arm; and
he was very earnestly explaining how and where he had
found her, while she, yet unable to speak, was con-
fusedly listening, with her pretty, small, soft, white hand
on his shoulder-when another hand, neither small nor
soft, nor particularly white, but, on the contrary,
large, hard, and brown, fell, not upon Arthur's shoulder,
but his ear, and with no gentle force either, accom-
panied by-
"Well, impudence! If ever I saw anything like
this before in all my life! Goodness me, Miss Deb,
what have you been doing ? and what has that most im-
pudentest, impertinentest, good-for-nothingest boy been
saying to you ?"
Arthur did not stop to hear more. Glad to escape,
with a tingling ear and burning cheek, from the clutches
of enraged Susan, he hastily retreated, snatched up his


fluffy jacket and boots, and ran homeward, half believ-
ing in his own mind that he was everything he had been
called, and more.
Arthur Havering's subsequent reflections somewhat
reassured him. It was with a beating heart, neverthe-'
less, that on the following day he obeyed a summons,
which reached him while he was at work in the mill, to
go at once to the great house. It was with a flushed
cheek and a glad heart that he returned half an hour
afterwards; for hadn't he been praised and thanked
for his bravery, instead of scolded for his audacity,
as he half expected to be, by Mr. Randall himself?
And hadn't Mrs. Randall shaken hands with him, and
thanked him also, again and again, with tears in her
eyes ? And hadn't Miss Deborah, more blooming and
smiling than ever-and oh, how beautiful she seemed tt
Arthur! and how he wondered more and more at his
own presumption !-but didn't Miss Deborah prettily
thank him, too, for having saved her from being
drowned ? And hadn't- but never mind what else
was said or done; all I have to add is, that this was a
day to be marked with a white stone in Arthur's
memory and history.

"a That fairy land that looks so real
Recedes as you pursue it;
Thus while you wait for times ideal,
I take my work and do it."
WE will now take a hop, step, and jump over three
years, from the date of Arthur's exploit.
Concerning those three years, indeed, we have not


much to tell, except that within that time Arthur's
great-gra4dfather died, and was buried; and that Ar-
thur's wages, added to his mother's earnings, made
about enough for their comfortable subsistence. And
so at fifteen or sixteen years old, Arthur was a tall, lithe,
and active youth; a capital hand at cricket, and a good
hand in the mill.
Arthur sometimes remembered his plunge into the
mill-pond, when he chanced to see Miss Deb in the
distance, and would think what a good thing it was
that he happened to be going along the winding path
just then. And his pulse would quicken a little
when she spoke to him, as she always did when they
met, and smiled kindly up to him, too, inquiring of his
mother's welfare and of his own.
There were some things, however, in the boy which
those about him could not make out. His mother, for
instance, would wonder what made Arthur so inquisitive
about the old family from which he was descended;
for thus much he had learned to believe was a fact-the
tradition of the, older villagers told him that the name
on the monument, which had so attracted his attention,
was indeed owned by one of his ancestors. But his
mother would never encourage him to talk about it, nor
try to answer his inquiries.
She did not know anything about it," she would say.
"She reckoned that, somehow or other, they all came
down from Adam; and if he wanted to go back further
than that, she could not help him out. Well, no doubt
her husband's grandfathers, some of them, were great
people, and built the mill, for anything she knew to
the contrary; but what of that? If there was not
money, what was the use of being born high ? They


were poor enough now, and were like to be more so, if
Arthur would go troubling his head about what was
past and gone."
You had better-keep your thoughts for your work,
mny boy," she would sometimes tell him; "and while
you are industrious, and do in all things as you would
be done by, you will be happier, may be, in this: cottage
than you would be if you lived in a hall as grand as
that that was burnt down. At any rate, what you. have
not got you will never lose."
It was with some such replies as these that his
mother usually silenced Arthur in his genealogical
inquiries. Nevertheless, by the help of the parish
clerk, with whom the boy was a great favourite, and by
searching the parish registers, Arthur had come to a
pretty correct understanding of the matter.
Then there were the old ruins on the hill, where the
fire had been a hundred years ago. A wonderful charm
they seemed to have for Arthur, who was laughed at for
sometimes visiting them.
Lastly, the people of Havering, who were themselves
rather dull in such matters, wondered why Arthur
should spend so much of his leisure time in reading,
and why in the winter evenings he took lessons of the
parish clerk, who was also the village schoolmaster, in
writing and ciphering. All this he did, but Mr. Randall
had not a more steady and industrious hand employed
in his mill than Arthur.

It was when Arthur was about fifteen or sixteen
years old, that a strange workman, travelling for em-
ployment, as it seemed, offered his services to Mr.
Randall, and was readily engaged; for it was at a


time when business was brisk and workmen were
The new hand was a young man, and a German.
He could speak only broken English, and not much of
that; but he was sober, industrious, and clever, and
this, I am afraid, is more than could be said of all the
workmen in the mill.
Was it this, or was it the fact of his being a foreigner
which drew down upon Frank Miiller, first their jealousy
and then their persecution ? Perhaps it was both of
these causes combined, for certainly our villagers had as
great an aversion to furrinerss," as they had to any
modern invention or improvement; and this designa-
tion of furriner" was applied by them, with a mixture
of jealousy and scorn, to any one known to come from
beyond the borders of Kent. At all events Frank Miiller
was constantly persecuted and annoyed by them, and
though this did not drive him away, it made his life
sufficiently uncomfortable.
The only one who did not join in either passive or
active opposition to the young German was Arthur
Havering. The injunction of his mother, to try always
to do to others as he would be done by," was happily
a habitual rule of action with him. Happy would it be
for the world if this Divine command were more con-
stantly kept in view. In the present case it led Arthur
to cultivate the acquaintance of Frank, that he might
show him some little kindness, and shelter him in some
measure from the rudeness of his fellow-workmen. Soon
a kind of friendship sprung up between them, which was
very beneficial to young Arthur.
Frank Mfiller, in spite of his broken English, was
remarkably intelligent and well educated. and he led


irthur on to the acquirement of much knowledge
which would otherwise have been beyond his means to
obtain. In process of time the young German lost much
of his ignorance and awkwardness in Arthur's vernacular
tongue, and the English youth, aptly enough, took to
learning German. He was a quick scholar, and in some-
thing less than a year, he and his companion were able
to converse tolerably well in either language.
This friendship with Frank Miller lasted nearly
two years, and it was then broken (the companionship,
at any rate, was) by the sudden departure of the young
German, in consequence of a letter he received from his
native home.
You have been my very good friend ever since I
first came here," said Frank, when he had shaken hands
with Arthur at parting, and I thank you very much
and gratefully."
And I thank you, Miller," returned Arthur, for
you have done me more good than I can tell. Only
think how many things I have learnt from you, and
what patience you have had in teaching me."
Oh, that is nothing," replied the young German.
I am very sorry that you are going away," said Ar-
thur; I am afraid we shall never see one another again."
Who can tell ? You will come to my country some
day, perhaps, and then I may be able to return your
kindness a little."
Arthur shook his head. "It was not likely that he
should ever leave England," he said.
Less likely things sometimes happen," replied the
German. I did not think to be in England six, four,
two months before I left Fatherland; and yet, lo! I came.
I will give you my direction," Frank added, and then,


even if you do not come to find me, you can write
to me."
And then, after writing down his address, the young
German shook hands again with his English friend, and
they parted

I dare do all that may become a man;
Who dares do more is none."
A GREAT sorrow befell Arthur Havering a few months
after his parting with his German friend; this was the
death of his mother. Her health had been long failing,
and the stroke was not altogether sudden and unex-
pected; but it was severe and painful. Poor Margaret
Havering, though neither learned nor polished, had
ever been a kind and loving mother, and when she was
laid in th6 grave beside her dead husband, Arthur felt
how friendless and solitary he had all at once become.
Not many evenings after this event, Arthur took
his way to the old ruins which still bore his own name.
It was a fine summer evening, but the sun was setting
just as he reached the thicket by which those ruins
were surrounded, and the deep gloom within those
recesses harmonized with the solemn and sorrowful
feelings which were just then predominant in the young
man's mind. "Here," thought he to himself, "lived
my ancestors; and all that is left of their memory are
these useless mounds, and a neglected churchyard
monument. A few years more, and I also-perhaps
the last of the race-shall join them; and, meanwhile,
what will be my course ? Labour, obscurity, and- .'"
Arthur seated himself in a retreating angle of the


ruins, and rested his head on his hands as he pursued
his mournful thoughts; and little heeded the darkening
twilight which was gathering around him. In truth, he
was weary in body with much watching by his mother's
bedside before she died, and with sleepless nights after
her death; and gradually his senses became more and
more confused, till at length he sank into a deep and
profound sleep.
How long Arthur remained in this state of insen-
sibility he had no means of judging; but he was at
length awakened by the confused sound of voices, and,
on opening his eyes, he saw, by the light of the now
risen moon, that a number of men, twenty or more, had
taken possession of the ruins, and were seated in groups,
engaged in earnest conversation. Many of the voices
were familiar to him, as belonging to the workmen in
the mill; and the words which reached him in his
involuntary hiding-place very soon revealed, to Arthur
the object of their midnight conference. But that our
readers may understand it, a few words of explanation
will be necessary.
Up to the time to which our story has reached, all
paper had to be made by the slow and laborious process
of hand-work. That is to say, after the rags had under-
gone the various processes necessary to reduce them to
pulp, a man would dip a mould of fine-woven wire, fixed
upon a wooden frame, into a quantity of prepared pulp,
and then shake it to and fro, in a horizontal position,
while the water drained away, and the fibres became so
interwoven as to form one uniform fabric. The sheet of
paper had then to be turned off, upon a felt, in a pile,
with many others, a felt intervening between each
sheet. The whole pile had then to be heavily pressed,


to squeeze out any remaining water. The sheets were
then dried, and again heavily pressed without the felts.
They were then dipped into a tub of size, and again
had to be pressed, to remove any superfluous size; each
sheet had afterwards to be carefully examined and hung
up to dry before it was finished.
About this time a machine (called, from the name
of its inventor, a Fourdrinier machine) had recently been
introduced into England, and was being adopted in
several of the larger paper-mills. This machine was
intended to supersede hand-labour, to some extent, and
to supply the manufactured article with far greater
It has accomplished all that was expected of it;
instead of employing moulds and felts, of limited size,
as was originally the practice, the great merit of the
invention consists in the adaptation of an endless wire
gauze to receive the paper pulp; and, again, an endless
felt, to which, in progress, the paper is transferred; and
thus, while the wire at one end receives a constant flow
of liquid pulp, we may see that pulp, in the course of two
or three minutes, wound off as paper on a roller at the
other end. Instead of counting sheets in course of
production, or even measuring the length by yards, the
paper is made and wound up miles, it may be, in length;
and that process which used to occupy about three
weeks, is now, with far greater ease and certainty, ac-
complished in as many minutes. This machine Mr.
Randall was about to introduce into his mill.
Under these circumstances, it was natural enough
for the workmen to take alarm, and to think their
craft in danger. Perhaps it was natural also for them
to combine and plot together to avert, if possible,


the calamity with which they believed themselves to be
threatened; at any rate, they did this, just as at dif-
ferent times workmen, in other branches of trade, and
agricultural labourers, have combined and plotted for
the destruction of their masters' interests, in the very
erroneous idea that what tends to enrich and advance
the prosperity of the higher class must impoverish'and
keep down the lower. At various places, therefore, the
workmen in paper-mills are known to have opposed,
often by unlawful means, the introduction of the paper-
making machine.
We have already spoken of the villagers of Haver-
ing as being peculiarly prejudiced against any altera-
tions, and it is not, therefore, to be wondered at that, on
hearing of their employer's intention of putting up a
Fourdrinier machine in his mill, they loudly expressed
their disapprobation. Mr. Randall, however, was not
to be moved by their murmurings and threats; and, at
the time to which our story has reached, the obnoxious
machine was positively on the premises, and was about
to be put up.
"Now or never !" said the discontented workmen.
A secret club was formed, into which were admitted, in
addition to themselves, some half-dozen desperate cha-
racters, who, as notorious smugglers, and consequently
professional law-breakers, were known to be ready for
any lawless adventure, and who, moreover, sympathized
with those whom they believed to be groaning under
oppression, or who, at least, were threatened' with it.
These club-meetings were held at night; and, for
greater secrecy and security, the old ruins of Havering
Hall had become the place of concourse. And now to
return to Arthur Havering.


A few minutes sufficed to convince him that his
situation was dangerous, as well as decidedly disagree-
able. Without intending to be a spy, he had become
one, and heard deliberately planned-amidst oaths and
curses, and horrid threats of vengeance against any one
betraying the design-the destruction of their master's
property. The smallest degree of punishment to be
inflicted on Mr. Randall was the entire demolition of his
"new-fangled machine;" and hifits were thrown out
that it would be easy enough to set the mill on fire, and
light up the country for miles round. The time also
was fixed for the wicked deed; and then, once more,
an oath of secrecy was administered to each of the con-
spirators, by one who was evidently at the head of the
Hitherto Arthur had maintained his privacy, not
venturing, however, to stir in his dark corner, nor
scarcely to breathe. His only hope of escape from dis-
covery was, that now the business seemed to be over,
the men would disperse; and then he, too, would steal
away. What he should do afterwards, he could not
so easily determine, excepting that, at all hazards, he
would warn his employer of the danger to which he was
exposed in the destruction of his property.
But the men were not disposed to disperse. The
business which brought them together being ended, they
struck a light, and kindled a fire of dry sticks, which
were plentifully scattered about. Then, from some
secret crypt in the ruins of what had once been a cellar,
one of the smugglers produced a small keg of spirits,
and very soon the effects of the stimulant began to be
manifest. Arthur breathed hard. If he should be
discovered now ?

____~-~--~~ *- .-- -. .

-- -- ---- -.-------Cl ~ -
____ .-- -. -. t -

dro IL-= I~T
- -- -- -r

C -'
'ii=T-- ~
'4 -----------------__



.- -- --- -= -

~ -~~- z-1,_~ ~ -

"NEVE' ~ ~ ~Ei~.r TELL A. L\h8~PiFI TI OSV ORLF


Should he try to escape ? By creeping along the
side of the ruins, in the dark shade cast by them, it was
just possible. At any rate, he would try; for his state
'of suspense was unbearable.
Gently! softly Well done Half a dozen stealthy
steps more, and he will be safe in the shaw, as the
thicket was called. Four steps now will do-it-two--one.
Not so fast, Arthur. You forget there are such things.
as sentinels. In a moment rough hands are upon him;,
and he is dragged back among the ruins, and the light
of the blazing fire falls on his countenance.
A spy, are you, young fellow? The better for us
to have caught you; the worse for you." This, with
'many oaths and variations, and horrid contortions; of
angry countenances in that red light.
"No spy; only here by accident." Thus spoke
Arthur, as boldly as he could, as he was forced down
upon a green mound, like a grave. This was met by a
loud laugh from a dozen throats, and more execrations.
"Innocent child !" they exclaimed; "and when youw
were here by accident, you heard nothing? Oh no !
Tell us, now, what have you heard ?"
Never tell a lie, if it is to save your life." Ar-
thur's mother had taught him this from his earliest
infancy; and her voice seemed to reach him now, from
Havering churchyard.
Arthur, though very pale in countenance, was very
brave in heart, and answered firmly, "'I heard all you
said; yes, I heard all."
And you are going to split upon us."
There was no answer.
Will you swear to. be silent ? silent as the grave ?"
No," said Arthur.


Swear or die," savagely shouted one of the con-
spirators, and he held a bright blade glittering in the
"I will not swear, but I do not wish to die,"
answered Arthur, who, though very pale and trembling,
was still brave in heart.
Half an hour passes-an hour-and the prisoner,
bound hand and foot, lies on the mound so like a grave,
while the conspirators consult apart.
They then spoke to him thus-
There is one more chance for you, if you say you
will be silent; we know you well enough to trust you.
You always have been true. We believe you were here
by accident; but you will have to join us now."
Never," said Arthur, with firm resolve.
You must give yoursolemn promisenotto betray us."
"I cannot promise."
That's a lie, at all events; you can."
"I will not promise, then," said Arthur, pale as
death, but strong in heart as conscious right could
make him.

Arthur Havering was not at his work the next day.
The next night a light cart, drawn by a strong, wiry,
horse, traversed the twenty miles which lay between
Havering and the sea-coast. The roads at that time
were lonely at the best, and the district was wild and
desolate; but had any one cared to follow the course of
that vehicle, it would have been observed that the driver
chose the wildest tract of country, and the ruggedest of
by-roads in preference to the more trodden highway.
Sometimes, indeed, the equipage left the roads alto-
gether, striking across open, uninclosed downs and


sheep-walks, the horse apparently knowing, as well as
the driver, the exact course he was to pursue.
In spite of bad roads and no roads, however, the
beach was attained in about a couple of hours; wild
and desolate still, like the country behind. Hark! a
whistle; then another in reply, then another; then a
grating of a boat's keel on the shingle; then whispered
voices; then a low, unmusical laugh; then a bulky
bundle lifted from the bottom of the cart, and into
the boat by two men. Then a faint, imploring voice
from the bundle as it uncoils itself, and shows, in the
light of the rising moon, the human form, and a counte-
nance very pale. "What are you going to do with
me? You will tell me that ? You have not the heart
to shed innocent blood ?"
Then in reply, thus-
"Look ye here, young innocent; we did not" (the
speaker draws his hand across his own throat, and
chuckles) "last night, when blood was up; and we ar'n't
going to do it to-night. But off you go across the her-
ring pond, straight as a line and clean as a whistle. And
don't you ever show your face again on this side; that's
my advice. You're dangerous. Now, Tom, push off;
you know what to do."
Tom did know what to do, apparently; and so did
Bill, who handled the other oar. At all events, the boat,
half an hour later, was slung under the stern of the
"Lively Fanny," contraband cutter, empty. Tom and Bill
were heaving away at the anchor, with the rest of the
crew; and in the skipper's cabin, stretched on a bunk,
and looking anxiously around him by the light of a
swinging lamp, was Arthur Havering.
To return for a minute or two to the mill and the


conspirators. The disappearance of young Arthur created
more stir than had probably been anticipated; and the
inquiries set on foot by Mr. Randall awakened his suspi-
cions of foul play to the poor youth, and of evil threatened
to himself. While pondering what steps to take, a letter
reached him by the post, from a foreign port, thus:-
"DEAR SIR,-I write this to say that I am safe, for
which God be praised, for I have been in some danger.
But this is not why I trouble you. When you have read
this, please to burn it for my sake, and please do not let
it be known that you have had a letter from me. Sir,
there is a design to break your new machinery, and
perhaps to set fire to your mill. I cannot write more,
only to thank you for all your kindness to me. I shall
not return to Havering, but I hope I shall get work
here; so no more from your humble, grateful servant,

Thus put upon his guard, Mr. Randall took such
precautions as defeated the designs of the conspirators;
and after a while, quiet and confidence were restored
between the master and his men; although the mystery
of Arthur's disappearance was not cleared up until
many years afterwards.

"One good turn deserves another."
SOME time after the events described in the last chapter,
a young Englishman, foot-sore, woe-begone, and hungry,
entered a German village towards nightfall. Looking
around him with languid interest, he saw at the right


hand of the road, a little lower down in the valley, a broad
stream or rivulet, with a large building on its bank, pro.
jecting in part over the stream itself, and having every
appearance of a busy factory, with many cottages around.
The young traveller's heart was sad, however, and
his body was faint; and after glancing for a moment at
the scene, he walked slowly forward and entered a oaba.
ret, or house of public entertainment, having first of all
ascertained that the contents of his purse (two or three
diminutive silver coins and a few coppers) were safe. In
a few minutes more he was seated at a little table, with a
loaf and cheese and a small measure of beer before him.
One person only besides himself was present in the
apartment, which overlooked the stream and the mill;
this person was the hostess, very stout and good-
tempered in looks, who sat at the window knitting.
Tell me, madam," said the traveller, with a foreign
accent and some little difficulty in framing his words
together, "is there one living in this place, Frank
Miiller by name e"
Surely, surely, you must be a stranger here not to
know that. Are there not two Frank Miillers, the
father and the son ?' See!" and she spread out her
hand towards the mill below.
"It must be the son whom I seek," replied the young
stranger; say, does he work in that mill ?"
"Work!" she exclaimed, and followed her excla-
aation with a merry laugh. "Yes, well, and if he does
work in the mill, would you desire to see him ?"
"Yes, if he be the same Frank Miiller for whom
I ask."
See him here then," responded the landlady; "he
is even now coming down the road. See! "


The young Englishman drew to the open window
and looked out. There was but one person visible, and
he a young man, rather gaily dressed, and on a fine
horse, who was slowly riding up the road from the valley
below, and who happened in passing to turn his eyes
towards the window. In a moment the rider checked
his horse and uttered a sudden exclamation of surprise,
while the young stranger hastily withdrew from the
window, with the colour mounting to his previously
pale cheeks. In another moment the rider had dis-
mounted, and sprang into the room, and, to the very
great surprise of the landlady, caught the wayworn,
shabby guest in his arms.
". Said I not, Arthur Havering, that you would come
to see me some day ?" he exclaimed. And then, in a
graver tone, as he surveyed the traveller from head to
foot, But, my friend, how is this ? But never mind
telling me now. Come with me to my home, come."
And thus it was that the two friends met again; and
then came mutual explanations.
First, Arthur had to tell how and why he had left
England; that he had been put on shore, solitary and
unknown, at a seaport in Holland, by the smugglers.
How he had sought work and obtained it for a short
time, and then been dismissed. How he had travelled
on and on; how he had found his way into Germany,
very poor and seeking employment in vain. How then
he remembered Frank Miiller and the name of his
native place, and found himself not far from it; and how
he had pushed on, in the hope that his friend would
assist him to obtain what he sought.
Then came Frank's explanation. He was the son
of the great paper-maker of Z--, and had. once taken

-'. II .-l:lllll ll l 1 ili 11 4 01111Ili tl"


11 I

? 5

-e c ,



a whim to see England. Moreover, it was a custom
in Fatherland for workmen to travel for employment and
experience from place to place, before settling down in
life; and Frank, the son of the rich Miiller, took a fur-
ther whim to be a poor man for a time, and to do what
his father had done before him, when he was truly a poor
journeyman. Hence his arrival in England, his seek-
ing work at Havering, and all besides, which my readers
already know. Also that he had more than once almost
determined to tell his secret to his friend Arthur, but
had withheld it lest it should seem that he were but a
foolish boaster. How, also, he had many times, since
his return home, intended to write to his English friend,
but had neglected to do so, he knew not why. All this
and more Frank had to tell. And now, Arthy rHa-
vering, good friend, as you dealt with the stranger in
your own country, and as far as lay in your power, so
will the stranger deal with you in his, and as far as lies
in his. You will wander no more for employment. Lo,
it is here." Thus speaks Frank Miiller, as he finishes
his narrative, and once more presses Arthur's hand.

Years pass away. Frank's father is dead; and
Frank has a partner in his mill. That partner is an
Englishman; his name is Arthur Havering. The two
partners are together in their office. A London news-
paper is before them, and in its columns is an advertise-
ment, To be let or sold, the proprietor retiring from
business, the Paper-mills at Havering," etc., etc.
Say, my friend, will it not be a good investment P
I here, you there." Thus, the older partner.
Truly, yes; but ." So the youz-wv, hesitating
and agitated


"Truly, then, thus shall it be."
You have already done so much for me."
"And you for me. Thus we are equal. Now go,
and make a bargain. Heaven speed you."

What's a rhyme to porringer?
What's a rhyme to porringer?
The king he had a daughter fair,
And gave the Prince of Orange her."
IT was with varied thoughts and feelings that Arthur
again turned his face towards his native land. It was
his native land to be sure, but where was his home ?
Where was the friend or relative waiting to welcome
him ? The churchyard, alas! contained all whom he
had ever called relatives. His old fellow-workmen, in
all probability, would not know him; or knowing him,
might, some of them, still owe him a grudge. Since the
time that he had written that warning letter to Mr.
Randall he had heard nothing from him, or from Haver-
ing; indeed, how could he, for no one there knew where
he was. Well, he wondered whether Miss Deborah or
her parents had ever given him a thought since his dis-
appearance from among them; whether the young lady
remembered his adventure on her behalf; whether she
was married; and whether time had so altered her, that
he should not know her. No, that could not be thought;
for he felt sure he should know her kind smiling coun-
tenance anywhere or at any time.
And then he wondered if she would remember him;
most likely not, he thought, for who could, in his pre-
sent circumstances, know him as the youth of the fustian


jacket years ago ? Well, he ought to be very thankful
that it was in circumstances of such prosperity that he
was about to visit Havering; and his heart felt lighter
with the hope that the time was coming, when some of
the dreams of his young days might be realized; when he
should not only "not disgrace the name of Havering,"
but when he should be able, in some degree, to raise it
and save it from oblivion.

Arthur's heart beat with increased rapidity, when,
on the day after his arrival in England, he found himself
approaching near to his native village-not blindfolded
in a smuggler's cart, and through smugglers' by-ways, as
he had left it; but over the highroad and in a post-chaise,
the most rapid and easy conveyance at command.
His heart beat more rapidly when he introduced him-
self to Mr. Randall, as one who would inquire about the
purchase of the mill. He was shown by that gentleman
all over the mill, and trod the ground every step of which
was so familiar to him. In one room, however, which
he entered, the scene was not familiar to him. There,
hard at work, or rather, we should say, working with
beautiful ease, was the Fourdrinier machine, that very
machine which had been the cause of such a revolution
in his life.
The two gentlemen, having completed their exami-
nation of the premises, it became necessary that Arthur
should mention his own name, which until now he had
purposely avoided doing.
"That name used to be well known to me," exclaimed
Mr. Randall, with somewhat of a start of surprise.
"That is, perhaps, scarcely to be wondered at,"
replied Arthur, as it happens to be the same with that


of your village. Possibly it has been a family name
in this place."
It has so," said Mr. Randall, and it is in this
village that I have known the name. But I beg your
pardon for noticing the circumstance; he whom I last
knew of that name was a hand in our mill."
Bearing, perhaps, no resemblance to him who now
addresses you ?" asked Arthur with a smile.
Being so questioned, Mr. Randall looked with more
scrutiny into the countenance of the speaker than he
had done before, and replied, I cannot but say that I
do now see a likeness, and, allowing for time, a great
likeness to him I speak of."
Undoubtedly," rejoined Arthur, for I am, indeed,
that Arthur Havering who was so strangely spirited
away by your rebellious workmen and their assistants
the smugglers, when you were about to establish that
machine, which I am happy to see working so well, in
spite of their endeavours to the contrary."
I am, then, greatly indebted to you for the part
you took in that affair," said Mr. Randall; had it not
been for your timely warning, there would have been
much destruction of property, if not bloodshed. We
have often much regretted that it has never been in our
power to express the same to you."
I only did as I would be done by," replied Arthur.
You did me a good service, at any rate," said Mr.
Randall; and if I may judge from your present errand,
it has not ended very unfortunately for yourself."
I have indeed no cause to regret it," said Arthur, and
he then gave Mr. Randall a brief account of his renewal
of friendship with Frank Miiller, and its consequences.
But we will now, if you please, go to the house,"


said Mr. Randall, where I am sure the ladies will be
pleased to see that you are still in existence, for they
have often spoken of you; and Miss Deborah sometimes
laughs at the remembrance of her unexpected plunge
into the water."
"She is still Miss Deborah, then?" stammered
"Yes, she is still Miss Deb; and here she is with
Mrs. Randall."
They had now entered a shrubbery near the house,
and in it Mr. Randall had caught sight of his wife and
daughter. It was here that Arthur was introduced to
them; and after much explanation and astonishment, he
was installed as a visitor in the house of Mr. Randall.
After the lapse of time necessary for such a transfer,
the purchase was completed; and the mill in the valley
worked hard every day, with its machine within and its
large wheel without, splashing and dashing into the
water which set it in motion, turning rags into paper,
and the paper was turned into gold, for the surviving
descendant of Miles Havering, by whom it was built.

Now, let us take a peep at a scene a few years later.
It is a summer evening; and along a winding path,
by the mill-pond, is a group of youngsters, under the
charge of a governess. They halt at a pleasant spot,
where, on a mossy bank, under the shade of trees, is a
rustic seat; and where, on the opposite side, a strong
open wire-fence separates the path from the steep bank
of the pond.
"Is this where it was, Deb ?" asks a boy six or
seven years old, of his elder sister.
Yes, Arty, just here. I know; for mamma has told


me all about it. It was just here that mamma would
have been drowned, years ago-oh, ever so many years-
when she was trying to get some Forget-me-nots, and
fell in, if papa had not jumped in and saved her."
Good papa-good papa!" shouts another and
younger child.
I should not wonder," continues the first speaker,
thoughtfully, if that is why mamma always wears that
pretty brooch of Forget-me-not flowers in blue stone."
To be sure it is," says Deb.
"And here comes papa and mamma both," exclaims
the boy, running as fast as he can run towards a middle-
aged gentleman, who is jast coming in sight, with a lady,
a few years younger than himself, leaning on his arm.
Before this time, the modern mansion, at which we
glanced in our first chapter, had been built by Arthur;
and the old Havering monument in the churchyard had
been repaired and renovated, and another raised by its
side, on which the name of Margaret Havering is not
the least conspicuous, as a loving and faithful wife and

And so Truth, Courage, Kindness, and Industry
had combined to win back the estate, which Pride,
Extravagance, and Folly had lost.


-ai l

I E II L',

- 1 111=___---,. ,,



-- ,^--

W ITHIN the principal eastern gate of Lyons, there
stood, in the sixteenth century, on the right hand
of the main entrance to the city, a large inn, bearing the
royal sign of the Fleur-de-lis. It was a quaint, roomy
abode, constructed of wooden framing filled in with
bricks, but the bricks were whitewashed, and the wood-
work was painted black, which gave it a cheerful appear-
ance, and its gabled roofs, its dormer windows, its stacks
of curiously-twisted chimneys, its deep eaves, corners,
and crannies which the shadows seemed to love, were
picturesque to the sight, and hospitable to sundry martins
and swallows.
But if the external part of the building proved
pleasant to the winged intruders, what shall we say of
the good cheer and comfortable accommodation pre-
pared within for travellers of every degree by the
popular landlord, Maitre Jacques Morin, whose jovial
face was a security in itself for the excellent living to be
found at his house of entertainment ?
Lyons, at that time only second to Paris in size, in
some respects even surpassed the French capital. It

B *


had received many marks of royal favour, was governed
by its own magistrates, and, surrounded by ramparts,
it was further defended by armed militia. Lyons thus
offered to the peaceful trader or mechanic a safer refuge
in those stormy times than most European cities, and
from this cause strangers from all parts of the Conti-
nent sought therein a comparatively quiet home. The
Fleur-de-lis was well placed to attract that portion of
this ever-increasing tide of immigration which entered
Lyons from the east, and so our landlord drove a thriving
One fine evening in June, 1596, Maitre Jacques, as
was his custom when the labours of the day were done,
was sitting on the benches ranged round the massive
stem of a large linden-tree, which grew in the open
space fronting the inn, and afforded grateful shade in
summer to such as preferred the open air to the closer
atmosphere of the common room of the Fleur-de-lis.
The landlord was tired, for he had been unusually busy
all the day attending upon a party which had now taken
its departure, and he was glad to sit still and rest his
weary limbs while chatting with the neighbours, who
came every evening to quaff the liquors and listen to
the jokes of Maitre Jacques. As the daylight was
waning, his quick ears were attracted by a sound of
something passing under the arch of the great east
gate, and, looking towards it, he dimly discerned a group
of travellers entering the city. As they advanced, he
perceived that the party consisted of three persons. A
young girl rode in front upon a mule, which, besides its
human burden, carried some well-filled saddle-bags; a
boy of about thirteen walked by the maiden's side, with
his arm over the animal's neck. They were followed by


a heavily-laden bullock-waggon, driven by a tall mar-
in a somewhat foreign. costume, who, when ,they reached
the middle of the road in front of the inn, called to
his companions to stop, and, leaving them, advanced
towards the group under the linden-tree. Now Morin
was far too good a landlord to be indifferent to any cus-
tomers, even though they might not be clothed in purple
and fine linen, so, rising at once, he went forward and
met the stranger, asking him what was his will
"I believe," said the young man, pointing to the
sign-board, "that this is the Fleur-de-lis, to which I
have been directed; oan I speak to the landlord, Maitre
Jacques Morin ?"
"Truly you can, young master, and that right soon,"
replied the landlord; for I am he."
The stranger threw a keen glance on the broad, bene-
volent face of Maitre Jacques, and, taking from his
bosom a silver crucifix, handed it to Morin, and said,.
My mother, Lucie Lipp, of Basil, heard, a few weeks
before she died, that you were alive and settled in Lyons;
one of her last commands was that we would seek you
and deliver to you this token, which would tell you
who we were, and secure for us the welcome of our
The landlord took the symbol, and gazed at it long;..
it had been the admiration of his boyish days when he
sat upon his mother's knee; he kissed it reverently, and
embraced the stranger warmly, saying, You are wel-
come, nephew, not only for your mother's sake, but
also for your grandmother's, to whom this crucifix
belonged. Your mother I have not seen since I left
home, when she was a young girl, and now my first
tidings of her are that she is called away to a better-


world. But who," said he, abruptly pointing to the
group in the road, are your companions ?'
My sister Henriette, and our poor brother Pierre,
who is blind."
Maitre Jacques went eagerly towards the travellers,
and lifting Henriette from her saddle, he looked sted-
fastly in her face, and, giving her a hearty greeting,
said, I should have needed no sign to tell me who you
were had I seen Henriette first, for she is the very image
of my poor sister. But don't let us stand here all the
night; take the waggon and mule into the yard, and,
Henriette, come with me and see my only child, your
cousin Lucie."
So saying, he bustled into the house, giving orders
right and left, and calling loudly for his daughter, which
summons was speedily answered by a bright young
maiden, who was not a little surprised to hear of the
arrival of her cousins. The girls differed 'much in
appearance, Henriette being tall and active, with sun-
burnt face and rosy cheeks, whilst Lucie was slight and
pale, with golden hair and her father's soft blue eyes.
They had each lost their mother, and it was a real
delight to Lucie, whose life had been rather a lonely
one, to welcome her Swiss cousin.
Maitre Jacques left them to become acquainted with
each other, and went to look after his nephews, and see
that proper attention was paid to their beasts of burden.
He then gave orders for a great supper to be prepared,
and laid out in the best parlour, and whilst the travellers
were brushing off the dust with which their journey had
covered them, he returned to the group under the linden-
tree to explain the cause of his absence.
"You must excuse me good friends," said he, or


leaving you so long, but half an hour ago I did not know
that I had a single relative in the world; for my only
sister was reported to be dead by one who, ten years
ago, came from my native place, and so when I find
myself richer than I thought, and kinsfolk come to me
with tidings of my childhood's home, it almost upsets
me; but you will all be neighbourly, and take supper
with me, and help Jacques Morin to welcome the new
There was not a dissentient voice in the glad accept-
ance given to the landlord's invitation, and though per-
haps few of those present would have considered in
their own case an influx of relations a cause for rejoicing,
if Maltre Jacques chose to regard it in that light, they
were all ready to join him in the substantial marks of
such an amiable feeling. When everything was pre-
pared, and breathless servants, hurrying to execute the
restless orders of the landlord, had covered the table
with good cheer, it was with no little curiosity that the
neighbours entered the parlour, and a very severe
scrutiny did the visitors undergo as they were introduced
by their uncle. Henriette was regarded with general
favour. Nicholas,the eldest brother, was a pale, thought-
ful-looking man, with a muscular frame which any soldier
might have envied; he had travelled much, and his
heart being warmed by Morin's welcome, he talked with
animation, and soon won not only his uncle's good
opinion, but also that of the more critical company.
He never forgot his poor brother, to whom he seemed
much attached, and after supper he asked the boy to
sing some of the songs of his native land. This Pierre
did with that musical perfection which is often granted
to the blind. The guests were charmed, and loudly


applauded, but the old familiar airs of Switzerland had
brought back the past to the landlord's mind, and for
once he was thoughtful and almost sad. Restraining,
however, till the morrow, all the inquiries which were
rushing to his lips about the loved and lost who slept in
the pleasant skirts of the Alps, he considerately dis-
missed the weary travellers, and, shaking off his unwonted
feelings, made ample amends for the retirement of his
kinsfolk by keeping up the feast himself till after mid-
night. The next morning he drew from his nephew all
the information that he wanted, and then made him
relate the history of his own life and future intentions.
Nicholas told him that he had been brought up to his
father's trade, he being a silk-weaver, but the father was
stern, and Nicholas could not endure the sedentary occu-
pation, so when he reached the age of eighteen, he
obtained permission to set off on his travels, and see a
little of the world, inwardly determining to find some
trade more congenial to his taste. He travelled on foot
through most of the towns of Germany, picking up
knowledge at every place; at last he entered into the
service of a skilful smith in Strasbourg, and learned
from him the mysteries of his craft. Whilst he remained
here, his attention was attracted by a man of the name
of Habrecht, who was constructing for the town a curious
clock. Being occasionally employed by Habrecht, they
became acquainted, and the clockmaker, pleased by the
intelligence of the young Swiss, took a fancy to him,
and imparted to hir much information on the then pro-
gressing art of marking the flight of time by mechanical
means. From this moment a strong desire seized
Nicholas to make his own life eventful by the con-
struction of some wonderful and ingenious clock. Having


learned his trade as smith, he turned his back upon
Strasbourg, hoping to have leisure at home to devote
part of his time to his cherished object. But on reaching
Basil, he found that his father had been dead for some
months, and his mother and sister were earning a scanty
livelihood by gold embroidery. Crushing for a time his
ambitious desires, he set himself steadily to work at his
regular trade, and, being unusually skilful, he succeeded
in supporting his family in comfort. In the spring of
1596 his mother died, and, having heard from a traveller
a short time before her death that her only brother was
not merely alive, but in prosperous circumstances at
Lyons, she desired her son to take the crucifix, which
had belonged to their mother, to this unknown uncle,
hoping that he would, for her sake, receive his rela-
"And she was right," responded Jacques; "if she
had sent me a chest of gold I should not have been so
pleased as to see some of my own flesh and blood once
more. But what are your plans, nephew, now that you
have taken this long journey ? Tell them frankly to
me, and if I have the power I will help you."
Well, my dear uncle, you must know that I have
already begun my great work, and those heavy packages
in the bullock waggon contain such parts as I have
completed; but it is necessary that I should be ao i to
give more time now than the few hours which I have
hitherto devoted to it, and Henriette, who enters into
my plan, has proposed to employ herself in gold em-
broidery, for which there is a much larger demand here
than there was in Switzerland, and so add to the family
resources. Do you think it unbecoming in me," asked
he, seeing that his uncle hesitated to speak, to allow


my sister to work for us ? If you knew my hopes of
success, my strong conviction that, if I have time, I
shall produce what will make the name of Nicholas Lipp
long remembered in Lyons, you might look more
favourably on my scheme."
The landlord was moved by the young man's earnest
speech and flashing eyes, but his practical common-sense,
regarding only the present, was staggered by the novelty
and apparent unproductiveness of his nephew's pursuit.
You see, Nicholas," said he, "this is a new-fangled
thing, and I have always observed that new-fangled
things are dangerous. The populace are apt to think
that he who does something more than his father could
do before him, has dealings with the evil one. Neverthe-
less, it shall never be said that Jacques Morin held back
his sister's son from mounting the ladder of fortune; -so
reckon on my help and countenance. But one piece of
advice I must give you. Keep your secret quiet, young
man; work openly at your regular trade; at night, and
in leisure hours, you can go on with your clock. Then,
if you succeed, and your clock turns out famous, all
men will honour Nicholas Lipp; and if you fail, no one
will be able to jeer."
The young man thanked his uncle warmly, and at
once agreed to follow his suggestions. The first step,
now," said he, "is to find some small house where we
may settle ourselves."
"Nay, there is no need of that," said Morin; "my
house is large enough to take you all in. Lucie already
delights in her cousin's society. Pierre, with his gentle
manners and sweet singing, could never be in any one's
way, poor boy. And last, though not least," said he
laughing, "though I seldom expect to see you, yet,


when you can give me half an hour from your worK, I
shall enjoy a chat."
I thank you with all my heart, dear uncle, but how,
in this house of public entertainment, am I to keep the
secrecy that you think necessary ?"
Jacques rubbed his hair, and looked ruefully at his
nephew. True," said he, I forgot that. Well, then,
we must look out for some place; but I insist upon its
being near the Fleur-de-lis."
"I am afraid that house opposite, which is shut up,
is a mark above me," said Nicholas, pointing across the
road to a neat stone building.
The landlord shook his head, and a shade came over
his face, as he replied-
That house will never be inhabited again, though
the magistrates offer it rent free for three years to any
one who will live in it; but it is haunted, Nicholas, it is
haunted. There was a horrible murder committed there
some years ago, and it is firmly believed in the quarter
that every night the victim and his murderers rust
through the rooms."*
If that is all," said Nicholas, I shall not be afraid
to live in it."
"Indeed, nephew,' said Maitre Jacques, solemnly,
"I have myself seen lights passing from window to
window, after the sentry had cried the midnight hour,
and there is not a soldier in Lyons who would not prefer
any other duty to keeping the night-watch at that
"I fear you will think me presumptuous," said
Nicholas; but I should not hesitate to face these
"* A superstitious belief in ghosts was almost universal at the date of this


,ghostly perds. With a good conscience, and trust in
God, what need a man fear ? And a house rent free is too
great a windfall for a poor fellow like me to despise."
Mattre Jacques was at first distressed at his nephew's
temerity, but at length yielded to his wishes, and that
afternoon himself applied to the magistrates, who at
once granted the lease. It took the Lipps many days
to clean their new abode, and arrange it for their future
residence. But it soon assumed in their hands a cheerful
aspect, and a large, lofty warehouse at the back, in
which the murder had taken place, was exactly the sort
of room which Nicholas required for the cumbersome
packages containing his clock. The rooms, four in
number, were large and airy; these the Lipps furnished
comfortably, and by'the end of July, took possession of
their new home.
The. excitement in the neighbourhood was great,
and people were inclined to be offended with those
who, more bold than themselves, profited by the very
fears which they were unable to overcome. Long and
loud were the remonstrances poured into Maitre Jacques'
bewildered ears, and universal was the opinion that,
to say the least, the strangers were foolhardy. Never-
-theless, the first night spent in the haunted house passed
without any evil consequences, and though the neigh-
bours shrugged their shoulders, and hoped significantly
that the quiet might last, the Lipps, indifferent to
foolish gossip, began their life in Lyons. Henriette
easily obtained employment, and Nicholas, having con-
verted a shed by the side of the house into a smith's
shop, hung over the open door a blue board, whereon
was painted, in large white letters, Nicholas Lipp,
Worker in Metals."


THE next two years passed peacefully and happily,
During the greater part, Nicholas strictly followed his
kinsman's advice, was most industrious in his trade,
only working at his beloved clock in leisure hours, or in
the night. He was extremely skilful, which, combined
with pleasant manners and prompt attention to orders,
procured for him constant employment. Henriette
found her beautiful art of gold embroidery in far greater
request than it had been in Basil, and, instead of earning
a bare subsistence, her nimble fingers now earned suf-
ficient to supply the family wants, independent of her
brother's trade.
When the inhabitants of the quarter got over their
surprise at the Lipps surviving the perils of the haunted
house, they began to take a fancy to the hard-working,
pleasant-mannered strangers. Moreover, the new comers
proved friendly neighbours in sickness or distress, and
the world went well with them. So they became almost
as popular in the quarter as their uncle Maitre Jacques.
But Nicholas had unconsciously made one enemy.
Within three hundred yards of the haunted house there
stood the workshop of another smith, named David
Loup, a sour man, whom no one owned for a friend, and
few were willing to look upon as a foe. He bore a very
bad character, and, though he inade a scanty livelihood
as a smith, he was principally known as the most saga-
cious witch or wizard-finder in Lyons, and there was
not an old woman in the city, bowed down by age or


poverty, who did not tremble before him. Until Lipp
came, Loup had monopolized the trade of the quarter,
but when a more skilful workman appeared, there was
an end to Master David's custom; and it is easy to see
how naturally the dark, bad man contracted a deadly
hatred for his unconscious rival.
Before we visit the Lipps in their house, and see what
progress Nicholas has made with his clock, we must
mention an event which occurred during the tfine we
have passed over. One day in March, 1598 as Lipp
was leaning on his heavy hammer in the sh/( he way
startled by the hurried sound of horses' hoofs, and,
running into the road, he there beheld coming towards
him, wild with terror, at headlong speed, a horse, having
a lady on its back. Several attendants, in rich liveries,
were following their mistress, and shouted to the people
to stop the horse; but no one would make so apparently
vain an attempt. Nicholas watched his opportunity,
and, as the horse drew near, he threw himself upon its
neck, managed to seize the bridle, and though he was
dragged many hundred yards by the infuriated creature
before he could stop its wild career, he eventually suc-
ceeded in doing so, and the servants came up just in
time to receive their mistress as she sank fainting from
her saddle. She was carried into the Fleur-de-lis, and,
by Lucie Morin's care, was soon restored to conscious-
iess. Her first inquiry was for her brave preserver;
and Lucie, upon whose tender heart the abstracteJ
clockmaker had made a deep impression, listened with
delight to the warm praises of her cousin uttered by the
grateful lady. Tell him to come to me here," said
she to Lucie; I must thank him myself. Emmeline
d'Anville will never forget the debt she has incurred."


Lucie bowed low, and went to summon Nicholas.
The lady was the only daughter of the first nobleman
in Lyons, and the betrothed wife of the Sieur de Bonval.
When Lipp entered the room, duly apprised as to whose
life he had saved, Lady d'Anville thanked him for the
risk he had run, but was surprised when Nicholas quietly
refused all the rewards she offered him, and said, I
have only discharged my duty, lady. If you had been
the poorest of my fellow-creatures I must have done
the same; and it is reward enough for my small service
to have been the means of saving a life so precious to
Lyons' best friend as your ladyship's." The lady blushed
with pleasure; for praise of those we love is music to
our ears. She then took a signet-ring from her finger,
and giving it to Nicholas, said, "You will not refuse
this little remembrance from one who owes her life to
you; and if, at any time, you may need the help of a
powerful friend, this ring will procure you that of the
Sieur de Bonval."
Nicholas kissed the proffered hand of the lady, and
took her gift with many thanks. He then attended her
to the door, and assisted her to mount a quiet palfrey
which had been brought for her use, and the Lady d'An-
ville, having taken a gracious leave, set off to her
father's house.
Six weeks after this event, the Lipps were gathered
round the table for their evening meal. Maitre Jacques,
who had been left alone, Lucie having gone into the
country for a night, had come across to spend the evening
with them. He was not, however, in a very good
humour; for, lately, Nicholas had broken his good
resolutions, and neglected his ordinary trade.
It will not do, nephew mine," burst o-at Morin,


after sitting still for about a quarter of an hour. It
will not do to go on in this way. For a year and a-half
all went well, and you got a good character as a prompt
and skilful workman; but the last five months all has
been going wrong with you. You are scarcely ever
in your shop, the fire goes out, and causes delay when
a job comes in, and if you are sent for, people say you
look as if you had left your wits in cloudland. So cus-
tomers are dissatisfied, and it is whispered that you
spend your time in no honest work, or else you would
do it openly. I confess I think that fellow at the corner,
with his black face, says more than the occasion warrants;
but the long and the shorb of it is, Master Nicholas, that
you are getting a bad name in Lyons."
I wonder why on earth," said his nephew, my
neighbours must meddle with me or mine. If I do not
work, thanks to Henriette, we pay our way, and injure
no one. Now it is different with you, dear uncle, and I
will give you an account of my doings. I have made so
much progress with my clock, that I have nearly finished
it, and it surpasses my utmost hopes. Of late, it has
become so engrossing, that I have not been able to tear
myself away from it."
"Well, well," said his uncle, mollified by the young
man's frankness, "show me that you are really getting
on with this accursed clock (I beg your pardon, nephew,
but I do wish it was at the bottom of the sea), and I will
do all that I can to quiet the neighbours till you have
finished; but the real truth is, I am uneasy about you,
for it is a true proverb which says, Give a dog a bad
name, and hang him.' "
"Well," said Nicholas, smiling, I intended to sur-
prise you by saying to-morrow, My clock is finished;

g_ I I I I

-_ .. 1 1, ,. i i -- *--



come and see it." But I must relieve your kind heart,
my dear uncle, and show you how well the machinery
works; though, as I have taken it to pieces to clean for
the last time, I shall only be able to show you one
movement to-night."
The clockmaker arose, and followed by his uncle,
Henriette and Pierre, led the way to the warehouse. It
was a large and lofty room, lighted now by the warm
rays of the setting sun, which rested upon a huge mass
of machinery, occupying the centre of the place, and
nearly reaching the high roof. Pieces of workmanship,
large wheels, figures of saints, and other portions of the
clock, lay scattered about the room.
My object," said Nicholas, has been to make a
clock which may, with propriety, stand in a cathedral;
for this reason I have chosen suitable quaint devices and
sacred embellishments, which I shall be able to display
to you in a day or two. This evening I will merely
show you the movement I spoke of. You see this," said
he, taking up a metal figure of a cock, well, every
three hours this cock is to clap its wings and crow."
Are you clean bereft of your senses, Nicholas ? "
said the landlord, with some disdain, or do you mean
to insult me ? That dumb figure of tin and wood, though
it is painted so bravely, will never make enough noise
to frighten a fly."
Nicholas made no answer, but ran up a ladder, and
fixed the mock bird on the top of the huge mass; then
there was the sound of some machinery moving, and, in
an instant, the effigy of chanticleer clapped its wings
and crowed loudly.
Now it chanced that, about six months before,
Nicholas had saved the life of a little girl, named Marie


Dubois, by rescuing her, at the peril of his own life, from
the attic window of a burning house, since which event
the child had been in the habit of spending much time at
the Lipps', where she made herself useful in playing with
the blind boy and taking him out, and if she caught sight
of her dear preserver, she was happy for the day. She
came this evening, as usual, and finding no one in the
house, but hearing voices in the yard, she went towards the
warehouse, and reached the open door just as Nicholas
mounted the ladder. The party had been too much
absorbed to notice her light footsteps, and the child was
too much transfixed with curiosity and fear to speak.
When, therefore, the good landlord started back at the
loud refutation which the figure had given to his scep-
ticism, he was not more startled by that, than by a loud
shriek behind him. They all turned round, and found little
Marie Dubois on the ground, writhing in a fit, brought
on by terror. Henriette took her up in her arms,, and
carried her into the house, attempting to soothe and
pacify her; but when Nicholas followed for the same
purpose, her screams redoubled, and the kind young man
ran off to fetch her mother, telling her that Marie had
been frightened by a piece of machinery. The poor
woman took the screaming child home, and several wise
women helped her to doctor the little thing, and when
she had recovered sufficiently to speak, wonderful wa,
the story which she told to the gaping gossips, and,
added to by each narrator, ere night the report in the
quarter was, that Marie Dubois had seen Nicholas
make a piece of wood crow like a cock, speak like a
man, and bellow like a bull; that when he had finished,
the devil appeared behind the clockmaker, and clapped
him on the shoulder.' When Loup heard this, his


sav age eyes sparkled with delight. My hour is
come !" said he, shutting himself up to form a plan of
revenge. "All is favourable for me the Sieur de Bonval is
away in Paris, and will not return until the day after
to-morrow-so to-morrow shall be a gala day to me."
Jacques Morin was made very anxious by the fore-
going incident. "Lose no time, Nicholas," said he, "in
going to the authorities and getting their sanction and
protection, for the mob, if excited, are apt in their
ignorance to take the law into their own hands, and this
foolish girl will doubtless tell some horrible tales."
Poor child," said Nicholas, I do not wonder that
she was startled; but to-morrow I will put the clock
together; the following day the Sieur de Bonval returns
from Paris, I will then go to him, and tell him of my
work; he is one who will be able to understand my
description, and that is more than I could say for the
rest of the magistrates of Lyons."
The Sieur de Bonval, upon whose absence the wicked
counted, and to whose return Nicholas was looking for
help, was the second magistrate in Lyons in name, but
in power and influence the first. He was a man of
superior intelligence to his compeers, and remarkably
just in his dealings with all, but he was also of a kind
and conciliating disposition, and was universally beloved
by the Lyonese. He interested himself much in the
welfare of the city, and had been for some months at
Paris on matters connected therewith, but he was now
daily expected back, when his marriage with the Lady
d'Anville was to take place.
The morning after Marie Dubois' fright dawned
brightly, s s a morning in May should dawn, and Nicholas
rose with the sun, to complete his beloved clock. Buli


others were up early also, though for less legitimate
purposes. Groups of people collected at the doorways
of the quarter, and at the corners of the streets, eagerly
discussing some engrossing topic, whilst David Loup
glided from one knot of people to another, whispering
dark hints, and sowing the wind, sure of the whirlwind
harvest. It may seem strange, at first sight, that the
neighbours, with whom so lately the Lipps had been in
high favour, should be so ready to change their opinions;
but, in those days of ignorance and superstition, the
populace were prone to distrust any one on whom the
fatal stigma of heresy or witchcraft was cast, and in all
ages we may remember how ready the multitude have
been to change their shouts of praise into cries of
execration, how the favourite of one day has become the
victim of the next.
Gradually the separate groups mingled into one
vast crowd, and whispers and murmurs rose to loud
I wonder," said a ruffian, who in ordinary times
could have gained no listeners, I wonder who but a
man in league with the devil would have been allowed
to live in peace in a haunted house, which his betters
dare not enter after sunset."
"And who," cried another, "could have passed
through the fire as he did in this very street, if he had
not been proof against earthly flames ?"
"Ay," rejoined another, and what man, unaided
by the powers of darkness, could have stopped the Lady
d'Anville's wild horse as he did ?"
Oh, the wizard! the wizard !" shouted the crowd.
"But that is not all against him,". cried David Loup,
now coming forward to feed the fury of the unreasoning


multitude. Good people of Lyons, you have heard
how Nicholas Lipp can cause wood to crow like a cock,
or speak; how he has been seen in the company of his
infernal master. Let me now tell you that he is engaged
in some diabolical plot to injure us, his friendly neigh-
bours, or, perhaps, even the whole city of Lyons."
"Down with the wizard!" jried the mob. "Let
no wizard live in Lyons !"
Let us put him to the Ij .oof, then," said David;
" for, good people, every one rust have justice, you know,
as says the Sieur de Bonval."
"To the proof! to the I -oof!" chorussed the crowd,
moving towards Lipp's house. It was now increased to
several thousand persons, for mere excitement brought
many, and others dared not appear indifferent to the pious
work of punishing so obnoxious an object as a wizard.
Nicholas, meantime, was quietly completing his
clock, and Henriette was sitting at an open window, at
work upon some elaborate embroidery, but, though her
fingers were busy with it, her thoughts were weaving
bright pictures of the glory and honour that would come
to her beloved brother. Her pleasant meditations were
suddenly disturbed by a distant and confused roar,
wafted towards her by the fresh morning air. As poor
blind Pierre had but lately left the house to hear the
choir sing the matin service in the cathedral, she looked
anxiously out of the window to see if there were any-
thing in the tumult likely to hurt the helpless boy. A
dense crowd met her view, for the mob had now reached
the broad road, on one side of which their house was
situated. Startled by such an unusual sight, she listened
to their shouts with breathless attention; and, as they
came nearer, she distinguished these words-"Down


with the wizard! down with Nicholas Lipp !" Horror-
stricken, she stood still for one instant, then the ap-
proaching danger flashed across her. She rushed to the
door, bolted and barred it, fastened the windows, flew
into the warehouse, and, in scarcely articulate words,
entreated her brother to climb up the adjoining ramparts,
and thus escape the fury of the mob. But Nicholas was
so absorbed in his work that it took some minutes to
rouse him to a sense of his danger; and just as he began
to comprehend the somewhat incoherent speeches of his
sister, a thundering knock at the door told them that
the mob was upon them. Do not fear, dear Henriette,"
said Nicholas, folding his pale and trembling sister in his
arms; "we are in the hands of God. Only I pray you, if
they attack me, to escape, and seek refuge at my uncle's."
Never !" replied Henriette, now recovering herself;
" never, Nicholas; we will live or die together."
During this hurried colloquy, the noise at the door
continued; and as Nicholas advanced, to demand who
so roughly sought an entrance, the timbers gave way,
and the crowd, headed by Loup, rushed tumultuously
into the passage. Borne back by the impetus of the
invading mob, Nicholas and his sister were forced to
the door of the warehouse, and there they stood con-
fronting the lawless multitude.
On all sides arose the cry-" The wizard! the
wizard! Put him to the proof !"
Patience, good people," cried Loup; and before
we try him in the Rhone, let us search whether he does
not carry on his body some devil's mark, which will
show at once who has sealed him." So saying, the
wizard-finder approached the young man; but when
Nicholas saw his enemy advance, he bade him stand,


and threatened to knock down any man who should
touch him. Vain threat! Loup and several of the
more daring miscreants threw themselves at once upon
the defenceless clockmaker, and bore him to the ground.
As he fell, Henriette, who had been separated from her
brothe- "-a the confusion, uttered a loud shriek, and
rushed through the crowd, making way where there
seemed none; she sought her uncle's house, in the hope
of summoning aid. When the search of the wizard.
finder for the supposed evil marks proved futile, the
wily Loup said, We shall have to put him to the
proof in the Rhone; but first, good people," added he,
pointing to the clock, we will destroy all these works
of darkness."
Now it might be that at this instant his captors
loosened their hold, or, perchance, love for his clock
was even greater than his love of life; certain it is,
that when Loup and his comrades advanced to the
work of destruction, Nicholas sprang up, freed himself
from those who held him, and, rushing into the ware-
house, seized a heavy smith's hammer, and, standing
with his back to the great clock, prepared to sell it and
his life dearly. At first, startled and daunted, the mob
stood irresolute; then, with fresh fury and raised wea-
pons, they threw themselves upon the unfortunate man.
Whilst this was going on, Henriette had reached the
Fleur-de-lis to find it deserted, and her uncle ill in bed.
Distracted by her inability to obtain help, the poor girl
ran back, determined to share the fate of the brother
she could not save. But, in the meantime, unnoticed
by the wild mob, which, unable to join their companions
in the house, kept swaying backwards and forwards
before it like the waves of a stormy sea, a goodly corm


pany had entered the east gateway, and advanced to the
scene of action. The leader of the party, though
dressed in a simple gray riding suit, was of noble mien,
which told that he was no ordinary traveller. Glancing
iat the unusual crowd, his brow darkened, and putting
spurs to his horse, he called to his followers, saying,
It seems well that we have returned earlier than we
intended, and that our detour has brought us to the east
gateway; our presence is evidently needed here." At
this moment Henriette was rushing across the road;
one glance at that dark face was enough for the girl.
Regardless of the charger's hoofs, she threw herself
before the young man, and cried, Oh help, Sieur de
Bonval! save my brother, Nicholas Lipp !" Without
one word, the nobleman sprang from his horse, and
forcing a passage through the crowd, followed the di-
rection of Henriette's finger, and entered the house.
When he reached the yard, he perceived no time was to
be lost, for though a circle of prostrate men lay on
the ground, felled by Nicholas' stalwart arm, Loup had
just got behind him, and had raised his weapon to cut
him down, when, above the roar of the angry mob arose
the Sieur de Bonval's cry, Stop !" Had a thunder-
bolt fallen it would have had less effect than that
deep, powerful, well-known voice. Every weapon was
lowered; and men, so lately raging with fury, turned
tremblingly towards their beloved magistrate.
"Is this the way the Lyonese behave when my back
is turned ?" said he. Verily it is a pleasant greeting
for me !"
But the man is a wizard," cried several voices.
The nobleman looked at Nicholas, who, worn with
fatigue, was leaning on his rusty hammer; then a quiet,


contemptuous smile passed over his face as he asked,
"And, pray, how has your wisdom made this discovery r'
Loup came forward; and though his heart fell within
him, and he quailed before the piercing glance of the
magistrate, yet he poured forth all the accusations
against Nicholas, blackening every detail, and, to the
quick observation of his listener, displaying his personal
"You have often heard me say, Master Loup," said
De, Bonval, when the recital of all Lipp's iniquities was
finished, that, if all had their deserts, the witch-finder
gould generally suffer instead of his victim; but,"
added he, turning to the crowd, "you will trust this
matter to me. I will examine Lipp; and depend upon
it, if he is guilty of any offence he shall suffer for it;
if he is innocent, then you may thank God that you
have been saved from a great crime. As for these,"
said he, pointing to the wounded men, who had risen
from the ground, "they have had punishment enough;
but you, Master Loup, must be kept in custody until I
have sifted the events of this day." When he had
finished speaking, the crowd, fickle as the wind, shouted,
"Long live the Sieur de Bonval, the wise magistrate of
Lyons," and then, like a fall of snow beneath a brilliant
sun, they melted away, and returned quietly to their
De Bonval, having despatched Loup in custody of
some of his servants, sent a message to the chief mili-
tary authority, desiring him to send a guard of soldiers to
protect the clockmaker's house. When these measures
had been taken, he asked Nicholas to explain the reason
of the late excitement. The Swiss gladly related his
early history, his hopes and aspirations. He told of his


clock, and its gradual progress, and how the exaggerated
reports of the terrified child had led to that day's dis-
turbance. Then, at the bidding of the magistrate, he
displayed the machinery, going over every part, and
explaining the intention of each to his intelligent lis.
tener. When he had concluded, De Bonval shook him
warmly by the hand.
You will be an honour to Lyons, Master Nicholas,"
said he. I have been to Strasbourg and seen the clock
which first excited your mechanical ambition. Thankful
indeed am I that an unforeseen accident brought me here
just at a time when a moment's delaywould have beenfatal
to you. I owe you a private debt of gratitude," added he,
smiling, for the rescue of the Lady d'Anville, which,
it seems, was one of your crimes, and as a magistrate I
shall owe you a public debt for enriching this good city
with one of the most wonderful and ingenious clocks in
the world. To-night I shall leave a guard before your
house, and to-morrow at noon I will be here with the
dignitaries of the cathedral and my fellow-magistrates,
that you may explain to them the wonders of your
workmanship, and obtain at once not only the sanction
of the State but also that of the Church.
The guard had by this time arrived, and the young
nobleman, giving orders that it should remain in front
of the house, took a kind and gracious farewell of the
Lipps, and pursued his way to his palace. When the
brother and sister were left alone, they threw them-
selves into each others arms, but quickly overcoming
their natural emotion, they hastened to relieve their poor
uncle's mind. When they got to the Fleur-de-lis, Lucie
had just returned, and she heard in one breath of their
hate peril and present safety. As to Mattre Jacques,


whose temper was not improved by a fit of the gout, he
threatened to turn every servant out of the inn for hav-
ing dared to join the attack upon his nephew, and it
was only by Nicholas pleading hard in their favour that
the menials, who had been drawn more by curiosity
than malice, were forgiven, and peace was at length

THE rest of that eventful day was spent by Nicholas in
unremitting toil. Far into the night did he work to
prepare his clock for the inspection of the authorities
on the following day, and at early morn he was again
busied with the final details. Nor was Henriette less
actively employed, though in a more domestic manner,
in setting the house in order after the late confusion,
and removing all traces left by the lawless mob. When
Lucie Morin came she found Henriette still busy, but
Nicholas had finished his task, and was pacing up and
down the warehouse in a fever of impatience, await-
ing the arrival of the important personages who were
to decide the fate of his clock. Lucie proffered a request
to see the wonderful piece of workmanship which had
nearly cost Lipp his life, and he, glad of some occupa-
tion to pass the time, showed it all to his cousin, and
explained the different parts, for hitherto the warehouse
had been forbidden ground even to his sister. Never
had speaker a better auditor. We have said before that
the abstracted clockmaker had made a deep impression
apon the heart of his gentle cousin, and as she looked at
his earnest face and sparkling eye, there was nothing in


the world of which she, with her woman's faith, did nob
think him capable; and so it came to pass that two facts
suddenly presented themselves to Nicholas' mind: the
first was, that his cousin's eyes were soft and beautiful,
tender withal, and sweet to look upon; the second was,
that, next to his beloved clock, he did not think there
was aught so dear to him as Lucie. And puzzled by two
such new ideas, he came to a sudden pause in his dis-
course, when Henriette came running in to say that the
Sieur de Bonval, and a goodly cavalcade of priests and
nobles, were approaching the house. So Nicholas roused
himself from the pleasant dream which was stealing over
him, and whilst the two girls, with Pierre, sought refuge
in the parlour, he went to the door to receive his visitors.
The Sieur de Bonval kindly greeted the clockmaker,
and then, introduced him to the various dignitaries in
Church and State by whom he was accompanied. When
this ceremony was over, Nicholas conducted the party
to the warehouse, and there showed them the clock, and
explained the object and working of the machinery.
Numerous were the questions put to him, and much
obtuseness did the right reverend fathers and the
worshipful magistrates display, so that it required all
Lipp's patience and good humour, and the Sieur de
Bonval's help, to give them any tolerably clear notions
on the subject; but at last the difficult work was thus
far effected, that Nicholas received the approbation of
all present, and the priests were so anxious that the
erection of the clock in the cathedral should be com-
menced at once, that they might see it in fuller per-
fection than the limited space of the warehouse per-
mitted, that they fixed the following day for Nicholas
to begin the work; and he, only too glad that there


should be no delay, engaged to devote himself night
and day to its completion. He then respectfully
thanked the authorities for the promptness with which
they had come to inspect his clock, and the kind manner
in which they had accorded him their patronage.
When the rest of the party had departed, one of the
canons of the cathedral lingered behind to ask Lipp if
he had not a blind brother who possessed great musical
talent, as he had heard of his beautiful singing from a
servant who had been to the Fleur-de-lis. Nicholas
called his brother, and desired him to give the priest a
specimen of his skill, and so enchanted was the canon
with the voice of the blind boy, that he offered to take
him into his own house and appoint him one of the
choir of the cathedral. Now Pierre's greatest pleasure
had been to wander about the cathedral listening to
the sweet voices of the choir, and when he was asked to
join that choir, he could scarcely believe his good for-
tune, and gladly accepted the canon's offer, only peti-
tioning for the privilege of spending one day in the
week at home; which was so arranged.
We will pass over the next few weeks, during which
Pierre went to the house of his patron, and Nicholas,
with many men under him, was hard at work in the
Cathedral of St. John. Every facility was afforded,
and funds were placed at his disposal, to enable him to
render the outer case of the clock worthy of the inge-
nBity of its mechanism. Nor was Nicholas slow to
avail himself of this help, for he called into requisition
the services of the best painters and carvers in the city,
and caused the whole of the figures to be richly gilded
and illuminated. At last the work was complete, and a
a solemn opening and dedication of the clock was


appointed to take place, after the morning service on
the 24th of June-St. John the Baptist's Day.
It was a gay midsummer's morning, and Jacques
Morin, recovered from his attack, dressed himself in his
best, and accompanied by his daughter and niece, two
of the prettiest girls in Lyons, went early to the cathe-
dral and attended the service, where his ears were
charmed by the sweet singing of one nephew, whilst his
heart swelled with emotion at the thought of the honour
awaiting the other. When the morning service was
over, he took his seat near the clock, now covered with
a crimson curtain, and there he awaited the procession,
which, forming in the choir, passed down the nave, and
then entered the aisle in which the clock was placed.
By this time the cathedral was crowded, and soldiers
were placed on either side to keep back the eager spec-
tators, and leave space for the approaching display.
And a very striking scene it was, as the voices of the
white-robed choir rose sweetly amongst the lofty arches
of the sacred building. First of all, in rich dresses,
came the great official functionaries; then, with the noble
Sieur de Bonval at their head, were the magistrates;
next followed the choir and inferior clergy, and the rear
was brought up by the archbishop and other dignitaries
of the cathedral. When they reached the clock, the
archbishop ascended a platform erected for the occa-
sion, where Nicholas Lipp awaited him. After a
short service, the curtain was withdrawn, and sprink-
ling the clock with holy water, the archbishop turned to
the people and announced that the work of Nicholas
Lipp was consecrated. He then called the clockmaker
to the front of the platform, and desired him to show
them the workmanship and intention of this great and


novel instrument. When the young man, pale with
excitement, was brought forward by the Sieur de
Bonval, the crowd were scarcely able to restrain their
enthusiasm; but at last order and silence were obtained,
and then Nicholas began to exhibit the wonders of his
He first called their attention to a series of seven
figures, each appropriately formed to represent the days
of the week; he explained that every morning one of
these figures took its place in a niche, and there con-
tinued until midnight, when it disappeared, and the
vacant space was. taken up by the figure next in succes-
sion. He then proceeded to show them the memorable
cock, whose first attempt at crowing had nearly cost
him his life, and explained that every three hours this
figure was to clap its wings and crow. This he now
caused it to do, and lo! immediately a door on one
hand sprung open, and a figure of the Blessed Virgin
came forth, whilst from another door on the opposite
side a figure of the angel Gabriel, with white robe and
gilded wings, advanced and saluted the Blessed Virgin
during which salutation the figure of a dove, emblema-
tical of the Holy Ghost, descended from an opening at
the top of the clock, and rested for an instant upon the
Virgin's head. The dove then returned to its place,
and the figures retired. When the side doors were
closed, another, situated in the centre of the clock,
opened, and the figure :f a vested priest came forth,
and raising its hands appeared to give a benediction to
the people, and then also retired. When Nicholas had
concluded his explanation, and shown all the move-
ments of his clock, the enthusiasm of the admiring
crowd :knew no bounds, and the cathedral rang with


shouts of Long live Nicholas Lipp, the wise clock.
maker of Lyons !"
When silence was restored, the archbishop ex-
pressed aloud his approval of the clock, and ordered
the treasurer of the cathedral to pay Nicholas a yearly
income of one hundred silver crowns. The Sieur de
Bonval then appointed the 15th of July to be kept as a
fete, informing the crowd that the magistrates would
on that day present the freedom of the city to the
young Swiss in the great Hall of Justice. After these
ceremonies the crowd dispersed, Maitre Jacques closing
the day with a feast under the linden-tree, to which he
invited his friends and neighbours.
Now, whether it was that Nicholas, having left the
clock, his companion for the last two years, in the
cathedral, or whether prosperity and good fortune open
the heart, or whether Lucie looked particularly engag-
ing in the light of that summer's moon, we cannot say,
but when the company had departed, and Nicholas was
standing with his cousin beneath the linden-tree, words
of love were spoken, and vows exchanged, and Lipp,
leading the fair girl to her delighted father, received his
blessing on their betrothal.


THEIR happiness the next few days was marred by the
sad intelligence which flew through the city, that the
good Sieur de Bonval had been seized by a sudden
fever, and was sick unto death. None were more con-
cerneda the illness of the young nobleman than were


the Lipps, and as each day's report became worse,
Nicholas felt that the 15th of July, which was rapidly
approaching, could bring him no pleasure now that his
patron was hopelessly ill, and he would gladly have de-
cided not to present himself at the Hall of Justice if
he had dared to do so.
Early in the morning of the appointed day, the
Morins were startled by the sudden entrance of Hen-
riette, pale and agitated. She told them that Nicholas
had just been carried off by a guard of soldiers, rather
"as a prisoner than as a man whom the magistrates were
about to honour. While they were considering what
might be the meaning of such a summons, they saw
Pierre running down the street towards Lipp's house.
Henriette ran home, and found the poor blind boy feel-
ing his way from room to room, calling loudly for his
brother. She clasped him in her arms, and asked why
he wanted Nicholas. In broken words the boy told her
that as he was standing behind a pillar in the cathe-
dral, waiting till it was time to sing matins, two priests
passed him unperceived, and he heard one tell the other
that the magistrates, jealous lest Lipp might construct
a better clock for some other town, had decided to put
his eyes out that day, though at the same time they in-
tended to reward him liberally with money. As she
listened, Henriette became deadly pale, but her brother's
"danger roused her love and womanly resolution, and she
went to the casket where Nicholas kept the ring given
him by Lady d'Anville, then led. her poor blind brother
to the Fleur-de-lis, and begging him to remain quietly
with Lucie, she told the Morins the peril which was
impending over Nicholas, and proposed that her uncle
should go to the Hall of Justice to see him if possible


whilst she announced her intention of seeking an
audience of the Sieur de Bonval.
Morin consented to his part, but shook his head and
said sadly, "The good young nobleman cannot help
you, Henriette; he must be dying, as they say, or this
wickedness would never have been conceived."
"It is a matter greater than life or death," said his
niece, and without further delay she set off to the
palace of the magistrate.
She found some difficulty on her arrival in gaining
admission, but she had provided herself with money,
and by a liberal use of it she at last obtained an inter-
view with the page who waited on De Bonval. Young
Dubois hesitated when she entreated to be permitted
to see his master, for though he allowed that he was
better that morning, still the medical men had pre-
scribed perfect quiet.
But you will not refuse to show his lordship this
ring ?" said Henriette with a beseeching face.
The page knew Lady d'Anville's ring, and con-
sented to take it to his master. He entered thb room,
where, on a low couch lay the poor invalid, whose face
bore witness of the sore disease through which he had
passed, but the fever was gone and his eyes were clear
ahd bright.
A pretty damsel wishes to speak to you, my lord,"
said the page, and when I refused her admittance, she
desired me to show you this token."
The face of the sick man flushed. when he saw the
ring, and he desired that the person might be brought
to him. Henriette, trembling in every limb, glided
quietly into the room, threw herself on her knees beside
the bed, and, clasping her hands, said, Not for a light


thing would I have intruded into your sick-room, my
lord, but the Lady d'Anville gave that ring to one who
saved her life, to use if ever he required your help.
I know the story well," said De Bonval, fixing.his
dark eyes earnestly upon the agitated suppliant. "And
what does Lipp require at my hands ?"
Alas, my lord, this is the 15th of July; they have
taken him away, and Pierre overheard some priests say
this morning that the magistrates, fearing that he will
construct some more wonderful clock for another city,
will this day, in the Hall of Justice, cause his eyes to
be put out."
What !" exclaimed De Bonval, starting up, what !
shall such deeds as these be doie, and I lie here like a
log ? I will go forth and prevent it. Nay, speak not,
my faithful page, of the leeches and their nonsense, it
would be better for De Bonval to die than to live with the
stain of this diabolical deed on his conscience. Retire,
maiden, at once, trust me to do all in my power to save
your brother. God grant that I may not be too late !"
Henriette immediately left the room, and the young
nobleman hastily dressed.
In the meantime, the page, finding that his master
was resolute, ordered a chair and suitable retinue to be
prepared, so that when De Bonval, pale and trembling.
but with set face and frowning brow, descended the
staircase, leaning on the page's arm, he found all in
readiness, and having entered the chair, he urged his
bearers to their utmost speed.
We must now see what had befallen Nicholas.
Startled he certainly was at the mode in which he was
summoned, but still more surprised when, on reaching
the Palace of Justice, he was pushed into a cell and


locked up. Here he remained some time, and sad
and anxious were his thoughts. At last two soldiers
entered, and binding his hands, they led him through
winding passages and a low door into the Hall of
Justice. Lipp saw on one side of the great room a
man whose vocation there was no mistaking: he wore a
red woollen dress, his arms and neck were bare, and on
his head was a small black cap. He was leaning
against a heavy table, upon which lay a coil of rope,
and at his feet stood a small furnace filled with lighted
charcoal. Marking all this at a glance, and shudder-
ing, he knew not why, Nicholas was led up to the end
of the hall, where, upon a raised dais, in gilded chairs
of state, sat the magistrates of Lyons. One chair alone
was vacant, being that whereon were emblazoned the
arms and crest of the Sieur de Bonval.
When the prisoner, for such he really was, stood
before them, the senior magistrate arose, and thus
addressed him :-
"We have considered your case, Nicholas Lipp, and
the undoubted claims which you have upon the rulers
of this city; we have therefore determined to make you
a free citizen of the same, and from henceforward you
will receive from the public treasury the yearly sum of
two hundred silver crowns; but we feel that there ib
danger, as you are so young a man, of your construct-
ing some other clock, perhaps even more remarkable
than the one which adorns our cathedral, and to guard
against such a calamity, we have decided that this day
your eyes must be put out."
The clockmaker started with horror. Oh deal not
so hardly with me, my lords I will take the most
solemn oath which tongue can frame, never to touch


clockwork again, if you will but spare me my eye.
"Human vows are often broken," said the magis-
trate, coldly; "besides which, the authorities of other
cities might carry you off, and by the fear of death com-
pel you to do that which you had sworn not to do. So,
executioner, commence your duty !"
Now, for the love of Christ !" said Nicholas, throw-
ing himself upon his knees before them, have mercy
upon me. Take my life if it pleases you, for that I
would not plead; but oh, to lose God's glorious light,
and yet to live, is more than I can bear."
Vain appeal! The young man asked compassion
from men whose narrow hearts would not open to his
agonized cry, and at a sign from the chief magistrate
the soldiers took hold of Nicholas, and, spite of his
struggles, succeeded in binding him firmly down upon
the heavy table. The executioner passed a linen band
over his forehead, which was then fastened to either
side of the table, and thus the poor prisoner was left
without the power of motion except in those delicate
organs which were now to be destroyed.
Nicholas in his many wanderings had often faced
death, for those were stormy times, and he had a brave
though gentle spirit, but never had his heart sunk so
deep in despair as at this moment. He could hear the
action of the executioner's bellows, and the crackling of
the furnace which was preparing the tools for this
wicked deed. He could see through one of the high
windows the glorious blue of that July sky, and. he
gazed at the light of heaven which stole through the
fretted stonework, with a full heart, feeling that it was
is last glimpse of sunshine, until the darkened life be-


fore him should be over, and the light of a better world
dawn upon him. No hope of help came to his mind,
but recollections of his native country, and thoughts of
the dear faces he never more should see, came rushing
over his soul like a flood, and tears dimmed his eyes,
bringing the shades of twilight where night itself was
so soon to fall.
In the meantime, with deliberate care, the executioner
stooped down to the furnace, and blew the charcoal up
to a white heat: the sparks flew out, and no sound was
heard in the hall save the roar of the fire. At last
the preparations were complete, and the man, arming
himself with a thick glove, took one of the red-hot irons
in his hand. At this instant the grand door of the hall
was thrown open, and a tall figure in black, followed by
several armed servants in a well-known livery, glided
in. The first act of the new comer was to stride up to
the furnace, and with a vigorous push of his foot, to
send it some yards from the place where it stood, scat-
tering the charcoal and the irons which hissed and
sparkled on the damp floor. He then stepped up to the
heavy table and bent over the prisoner, and never had
sight so welcome met the gaze of the Sieur de Bonval
as the open tear-dimmed glance of Nicholas Lipp's
uninjured blue eyes.
""Now God be blessed," said he, drawing his dagger,
and 'cutting away the bands which held the unfortunate
clockmaker. I feared I might be too late, and sooner
would I have lost my right hand than that this cruel
wrong should have been done to thee, my poor fellow."
As Nicholas with bounding heart sprang from the table,
his patron put his dagger as if by accident into the
young man's hand, and then drawing himself up to his


..:i 11



A.. T-------L-Y NOBLE REWAR T H..1.gX----N
CCA~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~r iiUL Ii L iiAR YO HAVE IiVET]D i T ~ Fis iiI:Z WORir iiA N.'2


full height, with heavy brow and curled lip, the young
noble strode up the hall to confront his discomfited
Now if the truth must be told, there was not one of
those most honourable men who did not shake in his
gilded chair before the gaze of the incensed De Bonval.
Besides which, they were none of them at first quite
sure whether they had flesh and blood standing before
them, or only the ghost of the magistrate. So dire
had been the reports of his illness, so ghost-like did he
appear, with his thin pale face and emaciated figure on
which the black velvet dress hung in heavy folds, that
their superstitious hearts sank down, and they listened
with 'bated breath to his hollow voice.
"A truly noble reward you have invented, gentle-
men, for this worthy man; and I think it very hard that
you have not summoned me to take my share of renown
for this glorious deed."
"We were told that you were too ill, my lord of
Bonval," said the chief magistrate, to attend to affairs
of state."
"At any rate you might have tried whether I would
not come when you did call me, or have asked whether
I would not ratify this contemplated deed of yours."
"We acted as we deemed best for the honour of this
great city," said the magistrate with an offended air;
"the claims of a weak humanity sink into insignificance
when compared to the duty of preserving to Lyons the
pre-eminence she now enjoys in the possession of this
clock, and to keep this pre-eminence we deemed it right
to deprive Lipp of the use of his eyes."
"A very slight deprivation, truly," replied De Bon.
val ; "but has it never struck you, my fellow-magi.


rates, that the clock will require care and attention P
Suppose it should get out of order, suppose it should
stop, who but he who constructed it would be able to
put it right again ?"
The magistrates looked at each other in blank dis-
may. This was an idea which had never presented itself
to their minds before. If the clock would not go, the
renown derived from its possession would, and then
what would be said of the wise rulers who had disabled
the only man capable of setting it to rights ?
The Sieur de Bonval had watched the perplexed
countenances before him with a smile on his face.
"Come," said he, graciously, there has evidently been
some mistake; and you, gentlemen, will, I am sure, be
the first to wish it rectified. We are sure that you acted
for the best, and that you had the honour of the city at
heart; and now that we have considered the difficulties
of the case, let us agree to bind Nicholas Lipp to us for
life, by appointing him chief clockmaker to the magis-
trates of Lyons, so shall we preserve our clock in full
perfection, and the maker thereof will keep his eye-
The magistrates, with relieved hearts, heard De Bon-
val's words, and were so thankful to him for having
preserved them from this act of folly and cruelty, that
thev were at once conciliated. After some consulta-
tion, they agreed to appoint another day for a public
acknowledgment of Lipp's services, when his patron
should be recovered sufficiently to preside over its cele-
bration, and Lipp, kneeling down, swore solemnly, on
De Bonval's cross-handled sword, that he would never
touch clockwork, save for the service of the city of
Lyons. The magistrates then proceeded to embrace


De Bonval, which ceremony that noblemar underwent
with tolerable serenity, and, taking a gracious leave of
his colleagues, he passed his hand tLhough Lipp's arm,
and, followed by his retinue, left the Hall of Justice.


WHEN the door closed behind them De Bonval faltered,
and said in a faint voice-
"It is well that my mission was so-speedily success-
ful, for my strength is fast giving way."
He leaned heavily upon Lipp, and they slowly-
descended the staircase which led to the courtyard.
Here they found poor Maitre Jacques, his usually jovial
face clouded with care; but when he saw his nephew in
company with the good young nobleman, he could
scarcely contain himself for joy. De Bonval, in a few
words, desired him to return to the Fleur-de-lis, and.
relieve the anxious ones there with tidings of Lipp's
safety, but he said to. the clockmaker-
"1 I shall not let you out of my sight, my good fellow;
you must share with Andre Dubois the duties of my
sick-chamber. If I die, he will care for your safety; if
I live, we shall be friends for life."
Nicholas looked at the fragile form of his benefactor
with tears in his eyes, and walked by his side with sad
forebodings. Alas, they were too well founded. De
Bonval soon became insensible, andwhen his eyes unclosed
there was no meaning in their glances. Exertion and
excitement had brought on a most dangerous relapse.
For seven weary days and nights that struggle for
life went on, and Nicholas and the page. never left the


sick-room. Death seemed inevitable; for even if the
fever were subdued, how was it possible that the beloved
patient could have strength enough to rally ? But at
last, when hope had nearly left the minds of the anxious
watchers, a favourable change took place, and slowly
but surely the sufferer retraced his steps from the valley
of the shadow of death. In a few weeks De Bonval
was so far restored that he dismissed Nicholas to his
own home. We will pass over the joy which prevailed
at the Fleur-de-lis when the clockmaker entered, bear-
ing the good tidings of his patron's recovery, and as his
relatives heard for the first time how narrowly he had
escaped from the danger which had threatened him,
blessings full and deep were showered by all upon his
noble preserver.
Now the Sieur de Bonval possessed great tact, and
no sooner was he able to resume his public duties than
he gently advised the magistrates to keep a strict silence
as to the peril which Nicholas Lipp had run from their
folly. Afraid of the indignation of all men, and still
more of their ridicule, they agreed most thankfully to
follow De Bonval's advice, and having bribed such
officials as were present, the citizens in general knew
nothing of the matter, though there were some slight
rumours that before the sun of fortune shone so brightly
upon him, Lipp's sky had not been cloudless.
Once more the clockmaker appeared in the great half
of the Palace of Justice, and with a shudder again stood
where only six weeks before he had pleaded in vain for
mercy. But now the doors were open, and the people
in holiday costume were present, and amid the cheers of
,he assembled populace, the Sieur de Bonval, in the name
of his fellow-magistrates, presented Nicholas with the


freedom of the city, gave to him and his heirs the
baunted house, and appointed him conservator of his
clock, with a salary of three hundred crowns a-year.
Nicholas bowed low over the hand of the good young
lord as he received the legal documents which secured
to him these rewards. A tear fell on that kindly hand,
for Nicholas had forgotten the present scene, and had
gone back in thought to that dark moment when hope
had forsaken him till the sight of his benefactor's face
assured him of rescue and safety.
God bless you for ever," he said, in a low tone;
" you saved my life once; again you nearly sacrificed.
your own to spare me a trial worse than death; and
now my life-long service will feebly show the gratitude
I feel."
Hush!" responded the nobleman gently, as he
caught the words inaudible to every one else. "Hush!
I did but use the opportunity for good which God gave
me. To Him be the praise." Then raising himself, he
looked upon the eager crowd and said, Our worthy
clockmaker is overcome by all his honours; so we must
thank you in his name for the hearty way in which you
have approved of his rewards, well-deserved though
they be, and in my own I invite you to celebrate the
day by a feast which is prepared for all in the square
before my palace."
Hurrah!" shouted the crowd, elated by the pros.
pect of a feast. Long live the Sieur de Bonval, the
good friend of Lyons. Long live our excellent clock-
maker." And with continued cries and radiant faces,
they proceeded to the palace of the magistrate.
On the 15th of September, as the celebrated clock
struck nine, and the quaint figures acted their several


parts to perfection, the wedding cortege of the Sieur
de Bonval advanced up the nave of the cathedral, which
was crowded to excess, and directly afterwards came
the humbler party of the clockmaker. The two couples
knelt at the altar, and together received the benediction
of the Church; and when the bells of the cathedral
pealed forth, and the people shouted with joy, it would
have been hard. to say which was the more popular, the
good Sieur de Bonval, or the skilful Messire Lipp.
And thus honoured, Nicholas pursued his happy life.
Henriette went to take care of her uncle at the Fleur-
de-lis, whilst Lipp and his gentle wife resided in the
haunted house. But they pulled down the large ware-
house, and turned what had been a barren yard into a
pretty garden; and in a few years little feet pattered,
and childlike voices rang through the house, and men
forgot that a home of such joy and peace had ever been
deemed unfit for human occupation.
Throughout their lives the Lipps found fast friends
in the Sieur de Bonval and his beautiful wife. In all
the improvements which he made in the city, in his
works of mercy and justice, as well as in matters of
taste and skill, the good magistrate employed Lipp,
whom he loved as a brother. They are long since gone
to their rest, but the quaint, motionless, dilapidated
clock, still remaining in the Cathedral of St. John, has
preserved to posterity the name of Nicholas Lipp.

12j N


kk V

-q VI

'N -----

~~ 4' dif' '
"v~ AV'>/


COXPzHNb-o. 0



* -


/ *,


*RIST.OR -.-- _
COMP&EH &r b101

/ ^^^ >^^--- ~ ,,3---^+---


T HERE was not in all Shropshire, at the time of my
story, a fairer or more pleasant valley than Elfholm.
It must have got its name in times long ago, when the
fairy elves were believed in; and if those small airy
folks had ever existed except in old-world fancies they
could not have chosen a more fitting spot for their
moonlight dances.
On the north it was sheltered by high hills, wooded
to their summits with old plantations of beech and
pine; to the south it opened on wide grassy downs,
where sheep browsed and hares and heath-fowls
abounded; and east and west there was nothing to be
seen but fertile farms and hay-growing meadows, while
down from the wooded hills through the corn and



pasture lands, and across the grassy downs, rolled the
great river Severn, on its way from the Welsh mount.
tains to the sea. Between the river and the hills, in the
lap of that green valley, lay the little old-fashioned
village of Elfholm. It had neither mill nor market;
-for these conveniences people went to Shrewsbury, the
county town, which was five miles off, by an old road
no better than a sheep track, leading over the downs,
and over the Severn by an ancient bridge so narrow
that no two carts could pass on it, and so crazy that no
heavily-laden one could venture for fear of bringing
down the arches. But Elfholm had a parish church
with thick walls, high pointed windows, and a deal of
quaint carving within; it was said to have been part of
a great abbey which stood there and owned all the land
about before the Reformation. All its ruins had been
cleared away to make room for the green, quiet church-
yard and the parsonage hard by, which old people said
was built out of them in the time of the first King
It was the only stone house in the village; all the
rest, to the number of some two score, were timber
cottages of different dimensions, but every one with a
thatched roof, small diamond-paned windows, a porch
in front, and a garden in the rear. People were not
poor in Elfholm, for there was no real want among
them; they had bread and clothes, though both were
home-made; finery of any kind was scarcely known,
and though within five miles of the county town the
place was so out of the way of change and fashion that
they kept the old feast of sheep-shearing there at Mid-
summer, and set up the Maypole in my youth.
Elfholm may be altered now, for all the world is


since I was young; but then the place looked as I have
described it, its timber cottages forming one straggling
street in the midst of farm fields which the villagers
had tilled from one generation to another, the church-
yard and parsonage at the top, and at the very foot two
cottages standing apart from the rest, but so near each
other that one thick hawthorn hedge separated their
gardens; their inhabitants could converse easily out
of their porches, and if one happened to inquire who
lived there, anybody in all the valley would answer,
"The Bells."
The two families had been in Elfholm time imme-
morial, and though of the same name were but distantly
related. The cottages, gardens, and fields beyond them
had been tenanted by their forefathers before the par-
sonage was built; young Bells had gone out from them
to pitch their fortunes in all the towns of the west
country, and some it was said to London; for the fields
and cottages could accommodate but two families, and
at the time of my story both households were small
enough, for in the upper cottage lived old Andrew
Bell with his grandson Luke, and in the lower one
Widow Bell with her niece Lily. Besides his fields, one
for grass and one for corn, old Andrew kept a kind of
market-garden. Besides her fields, which were of equal
extent and cultivation, Widow Bell was the mantua-
maker and needlewoman of the village. So the two
families lived honestly by their own hands' work, and
what was almost as good, lived in great friendship.
The nearest relatives could not have been more kind
and helpful to each other than the Bells were. The
widow mended linen, darned stockings, and put old
coats in repair for Andrew and his grandson; they


ploughed her corn-field in seed-time, and helped to
gather in her harvest. Whatever was wanted of help
or loan the two families were at each other's service; in
all times of haste or necessity there were four pair of
hands ready for each cottage: so the Bells, though the
smallest landholders and the most helpless families in
Elfholm, contrived to get on very comfortably. They
kept Christmas and Shrovetide together, sat in the
same pew in church, went to Shrewsbury market in
company, and when the one was detained at home the
other transacted their business.
Widow Bell was believed by her critical neighbourn
to be of an upsetting turn, and not far from proud;
old Andrew was known to have a crusty temper if
people went against his mind; but no disagreement had
ever taken place between those near neighbours and
distant relations, and it was generally allowed that the
strongest bond of their cordiality was the great affec.
tion and friendship of the grandson and the niece.
Luke and Lily went to the village school together; it
was kept by the parish clerk in his cottage close by the
churchyard wall. They came home hand in hand; they
sat on the meadow stile learning their lessons in com-
pany; whatever Lily had to do, Luke came to help her;
whatever was said or done against Luke, Lily took his
part; whatever good thing the one happened to get, a
share was kept for the other. Luke did not play with
the boys, nor Lily with the girls of the village; they
always played together, and cared for no other com-
pany, out doors or in; at work or amusement, they
were never separate if they could get together, and thp
story went that old Andrew and Widow Bell had agreed
that the grandson and niece, if they lived to grow up


and kept their liking, should be married some day and
unite their fields and cottages when they were dead and
The fields and cottages were not all which Andrew
and the widow hoped their young folks should inherit.

Some two miles farther along the road to Shrewsbury
there stood a large old-fashioned farm-house with its
shedding, in the midst of some three hundred acres of
as good land as could be found in fertile Shropshire; it
was called lhe Down Farm, and in the possession of an

University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs