• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 List of Illustrations
 A fishing excursion
 Captain Bailleul
 Tramping and hunting
 Philip's saddest experience
 The Debrune family
 Moving to the new home
 A cold welcome
 Bitter disappointment
 Remembering his father's last...
 The introduction to school
 Initiation
 Pugilism
 The "joli cceur" society
 Making friends at last
 Some new acquaintances
 More school troubles
 Unjust suspicions
 An unsolved mystery
 An exciting investigation
 Getting near to the truth
 An invitation to Monsieur...
 The receiver-general's party
 Rescue from peril, and a confe...
 An officer visits his old home
 Advertising
 Back Cover
 Spine






Group Title: Straight on : a story for young and old
Title: Straight on
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00080015/00001
 Material Information
Title: Straight on a story for young and old
Physical Description: 319, 4 p. : ill. ; 21 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Saint Hilaire, Philippe
Hildibrand, Henri Théophile ( Engraver )
Zier, Édouard, 1856-1924 ( Illustrator )
D. Appleton and Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: D. Appleton and Company
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: 1891
 Subjects
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Fathers and sons -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Family -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Fishing -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Ship captains -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Boxing -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Rescues -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Adventure and adventurers -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Voyages and travels -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Family stories -- 1891   ( local )
Bldn -- 1891
Genre: Family stories   ( local )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: by the author of Colette ; with 86 illustrations by Edouard Zier.
General Note: Illustrations engraved by Hildebrand.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00080015
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002237201
notis - ALH7685
oclc - 03171904

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter 1
        Front Matter 2
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Table of Contents
        Page 3
        Page 4
    List of Illustrations
        Page 5
        Page 6
    A fishing excursion
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
    Captain Bailleul
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
    Tramping and hunting
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
    Philip's saddest experience
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
    The Debrune family
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
    Moving to the new home
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
    A cold welcome
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
    Bitter disappointment
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
    Remembering his father's last words
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
    The introduction to school
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
    Initiation
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
    Pugilism
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
    The "joli cceur" society
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
    Making friends at last
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
    Some new acquaintances
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
    More school troubles
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
    Unjust suspicions
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
    An unsolved mystery
        Page 201
        Page 202
        Page 203
        Page 204
        Page 205
        Page 206
        Page 207
        Page 208
        Page 209
        Page 210
        Page 211
        Page 212
        Page 213
        Page 214
        Page 215
        Page 216
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
        Page 220
        Page 221
    An exciting investigation
        Page 222
        Page 223
        Page 224
        Page 225
        Page 226
        Page 227
        Page 228
        Page 229
        Page 230
        Page 231
        Page 232
        Page 233
        Page 234
        Page 235
        Page 236
        Page 237
        Page 238
        Page 239
        Page 240
        Page 241
    Getting near to the truth
        Page 242
        Page 243
        Page 244
        Page 245
        Page 246
        Page 247
        Page 248
        Page 249
        Page 250
        Page 251
        Page 252
        Page 253
        Page 254
        Page 255
        Page 256
        Page 257
        Page 258
        Page 259
        Page 260
        Page 261
        Page 262
        Page 263
        Page 264
    An invitation to Monsieur Franchard's
        Page 265
        Page 266
        Page 267
        Page 268
        Page 269
        Page 270
        Page 271
        Page 272
        Page 273
        Page 274
        Page 275
        Page 276
    The receiver-general's party
        Page 277
        Page 278
        Page 279
        Page 280
        Page 281
        Page 282
        Page 283
        Page 284
        Page 285
        Page 286
        Page 287
        Page 288
    Rescue from peril, and a confession
        Page 289
        Page 290
        Page 291
        Page 292
        Page 293
        Page 294
        Page 295
        Page 296
        Page 297
        Page 298
        Page 299
        Page 300
        Page 301
        Page 302
        Page 303
        Page 304
        Page 305
    An officer visits his old home
        Page 306
        Page 307
        Page 308
        Page 309
        Page 310
        Page 311
        Page 312
        Page 313
        Page 314
        Page 315
        Page 316
        Page 317
        Page 318
        Page 319
    Advertising
        Page 321
        Page 322
        Page 323
        Page 324
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text









--oF---
EDWARD B, TAYLOR

o .. .......-..


The Baldwin Library
m Fuo-rit










STRAIGHT ON




A STORY FOR YOUNG AND OLD





BY
THE AUTHOR OF COLETTE


WITH 86 ILLUSTRATIONS BY EDOUARD ZIER





NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1891












































COPYRIGHT, 1891,
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.


























CONTENTS.




CHAPTER PAGE
I. A FISHING EXCURSION. 7
II. CAPTAIN BAILLEUL. .. 17
III. TRAMPING AND HUNTING .. 25
IV. PHILIP'S SADDEST EXPERIENCE 36
V. THE DEBRUNE FAMILY .. .43
VI. MOVING TO THE NEW HOME 56
VII. A COLD WELCOME 69
VIII. BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT 80
IX. REMEMBERING HIS FATHER'S LAST WORDS go
X. THE INTRODUCTION TO SCHOOL 102
XI. INITIATION 115
XII. PUGILISM. 128
XIII. THE "JOLI CCEUR" SOCIETY. . 140
XIV. MAKING FRIENDS AT LAST. 153
XV. SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES 166
XVI. MORE SCHOOL TROUBLES 177
XVII. UNJUST SUSPICIONS. 188
XVIII. AN UNSOLVED MYSTERY 201
XIX. AN EXCITING INVESTIGATION 222
XX. GETTING NEAR TO THE TRUTH 242
XXI. ANINVITATION TO MONSIEUR FRANCHARD'S 265
XXII. THE RECEIVER-GENERAL'S PARTY 277
XXIII. RESCUE FROM PERIL, AND A CONFESSION 289
XXIV. AN OFFICER VISITS HIS OLD HOME 306























LIST OF FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS

AND HEAD-PIECES.


PAGE
Philip catches his hat 7
The captain stopped II
The captain leaving for the war 7
His despair horrified poor Martha. .21
Philip argues with his father .. .25
He grasped the gun with both hands 31
He hid his face in Martha's apron . ..36
The captain talks with Philip about the future 39
Miss Laura divided it into four shares . .43
" Do you remember, Martha?" 49
There remained only two trunks to be closed 56
The doctor kissed Philip on both cheeks 63
A lady had bent over him 69
Philip started to leave . 73
"There you see papa's tower" 8.. . o
Pierre showed his cousin everything 85
Philip was sitting before his table . .90
Monsieur Debrune was absorbed in his calculations 95
Pierre had remained at home 102
The astronomer loosened his hold on the door o
Former quarrels were renewed 115
" Look at the new chap !" . 121
It was Robert. 128









LIST OF ILLUSTRA TIONS.


PAGE
Philip had straightened himself up 135
Joseph had taken plenty of time 140
Some members of the self-important club 145
Philip had prepared the little table 153
Madeleine escapes .. .. 159
They dragged Madeleine along 166
Pierre makes his cousin dig a canal 171
Philip told her all 177
"It is your affair, and not mine .. 183
The censor had found all his papers scattered 188
Monsieur Malax placed himself in the centre. 193
"It was you, then!" 201
Philip put his hand on the shoulder of his comrade 215
Robert scours his coat 222
Philip follows Guillet from street to street 233
Monsieur Debrune listens to his sister 242
Robert's night journey 259
Philip meets the hunchback 265
Philip enjoys his visit with Monsieur Franchard 271
On the way to the entertainment 277
It was Madeleine 283
The women stood bareheaded in the storm 289
Philip warns the boys of their danger 297
The garrison joins in the rescue 306
Philip receives a grand welcome 31r

























Philip catches his hat.


STRAIGHT ON.


CHAPTER I.

A FISHING EXCURSION.

"Now, little one, are you ready to come down to the lake
with me ? I am going to take my fishing-tackle! .
So said the Captain, calling out, as he walked into the
hall and unhooked his large straw hat from the stand on
which it hung. And, as he expected, before he had walked
half a dozen yards from the door, he heard rapid footsteps
following him, which he knew to be those of the "little
one whom he had invited to accompany him, and who would
have obeyed that invitation at any risk and at any time, if by
any means he could have done so.
The pond!-fishing! These words had struck Philip








STRAIGHT ON.


Bailleul's ears as he was lying at the farthest end of the gar-
den, on the floor of tlCe loft, nestled in between two bundles
of hay, sleeping like a dormouse in his hole, half stupefied
by the sweet smell of the dried grass and by the intense heat
of the August sun which blazed down with all its strength
upon the tiled roof of the loft. It seemed to the boy as if
he heard his father's words in a dream. Shaking his black
curls like a little lion shaking his mane, and half running,
half tumbling down the steps-four at a time-he reached
the ground. Running through the hall he stretched out his
hand to unhook his hat from the stand; the first peg hap-
pened to be empty, and he was rushing out to catch the Cap-
tain, with bare head, only covered with his thick hair that the
sunlight shone upon, making it look like the raven's wing,
when a voice called to him through the window: "Master
Philip, your hat! What are you thinking about? the heat
is enough to cook my carrots out there!" And a middle-
aged woman appeared, with upraised hands, flourishing the
boy's hat in the air.
He turned round without speaking, caught his hat as she
threw it to him, and, in spite of the delay, reached his father
before he had walked half the length of the avenue. This
would have been easily understood by any one who saw Cap-
tain Bailleul. The fact was, on the right side, a strong, well-
shaped foot appeared from under the leg of his trousers; but
on the left side his tread was very different, the sound was at
once hard and heavy, and no foot appeared under the trouser.
The Captain had a wooden leg! Active still, in spite of
his infirmity, .he could outwalk men younger than himself,
though he might not be able to start off at a great pace, and
many of his friends had reason to remember the fable of
"The Hare and the Tortoise as they saw the Captain pass








A FISHING EXCURSION.


them on the road, pegging briskly along on his wooden leg.
"A little stiffness and a little slowness about it," said the
Captain, when he spoke of his leg; and that's all! And it
was true.
On this hot morning, at the end of August-after having
called to his son, as we have described, Captain Bailleul
quietly walked down the shady avenue, his fishing-tackle in
his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. He looked round to
see if his son was coming, watched his impetuosity with a
smile, as, the sight of it brought back thoughts of his own
youth; it seemed as though he heard an echo of his own merry
laugh long years ago, when he heard his boy's merriment.
When Philip caught up with him, he continued walking
at the same pace, while the boy ran on in front and back
again, and round about like a young dog, going the distance
ten times over from sheer exuberance of spirits; while his
father would continue at his steady pace, or stop from time
to time to watch the reapers at work in some distant field, or
perhaps tarry a moment near some thicket where the gar-
lands of clematis formed themselves into great clusters of
beauty and sweetness.
There was no reason why they should hurry. They rose
at six and went to bed at ten, so they had sixteen hours each
day to spend as they chose. Not feverish, hurried hours, like
those spent by town people, each of which always seems to be
shortened by fifteen minutes, but good, healthy, happy coun-
try hours, which seem to pass minute by minute, quietly and
evenly, without flurry or trouble.
In the morning, when the boy worked off his first energy
and excitement by running about, without any other reason
than to exercise his legs that had been resting since the day
before, the father would read his newspapers that the post-








10 STRAIGHT ON.

man had just thrown into the letter-box, or con over maga-
zines or books. o
Captain Bailleul was a well-informed man, fond of sci-
ence, and with the rare gift of being easily able to impart his
own information to others. His explanations were so clear
and to the point that people only found out that he was
treating a difficult subject when they tried to read it for
.themselves, or hear others attempt to explain it.
This power helped to make him extremely popular in the
neighborhood, and his friends, half unconsciously, got into
the habit of always referring to, and consulting him, upon all
subjects. "One can go and see the Captain," people would
say whenever there was a difference of opinion. And when
once they had seen the Captain, and talked over the matter,
all difficulties seemed to be at an end.
When Martha, the Captain's old servant, had placed
the coffee, boiling milk, and rolls-that a baker in the neigh-
borhood consented to make each morning for the Bailleuls-
on the breakfast table, Philip, warned by a certain instinct
-a sort of second sight, or sixth sense, which helped him
more than all the clocks in the world-came in from the gar-
den. He would then give two sharp knocks at his father's
door, which would drag him away from his politics. And
while the Captain walked into the dining-room, Martha
would bring in a delicious pat of fresh butter, which she only
brought in from the dairy at the last moment, so that it
should be quite firm and cool when she put it on the table.
And it was, indeed, a thing to. be particular about this hot
weather. A piece of honeycomb, in a little glass dish, sur-
rounded with flowers, faced the butter. And this was all the
simple, delicate repast consisted of, with the addition of the
most delicious cafe au lait.


















































































































The captain stopped.


~~

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I" Ti
I=~ii---


;


~~-;-r~PSr- ;C~P~-,-;





---~--~---

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--,-








STRAIGHT ON.


After the early breakfast, they went round the garden to-
gether, cut off the dGad roses, and counted the new buds.
Then, on to the kitchen garden to look after the peaches.
Then Philip would work at his lessons for two or three
hours-this even in holiday time. But the work was always
made pleasant to him by his father, and, indeed, they both
took equal pleasure in it.
After'the second breakfast, or lunch, as we should call
it, they would go off together on an expedition, either to the
pond or lake, at. Marette, to row or fish; or, perhaps, they
would take a walk into the grand forest that surrounded
the village where they lived. The walks were never at
a great distance from the house; and, if they could have
been extended indefinitely, they could scarcely have found
anything more varied, or more charming than the walks
only a hundred yards from the house, where the paths
wound under the shade of the splendid pine-trees, so dear
to the hearts of the peasants and all inhabitants of the west
of France.
The Marette lake, which was a favorite spot of the
Bailleuls, both father and son, had that peculiarity possessed
by so many mountain lakes, that no one could account for its
presence. Fed by unknown sources and situated on a plain
of a considerable height, it seemed as though some wood-
nymph had emptied the water there in a frolic, and bidden it
remain for ever. There was excellent trout to be found in
it, and also a quantity of large pike, carp also abounded and
was of a most delicate kind. One can fancy that Captain
Bailleul was not a little envied in the neighborhood, for he
was the only person in the neighborhood who had the right
to fish in that lake.
On this day, after having climbed up the hill, all car-









A FISHING EXCURSION. 13

peted with dry moss and pine needles, which made the
paths so slippery that more than onc the Captain had to
lean upon his little companion's shoulder, they arrived at
the lake.
A little white boat, fastened by an iron chain to a post,
was floating on the tiny wavelets. In a moment the chain
was unfastened and the oars in their places. "Are we all
ready?" asked the Captain. The little boy made a sign in
the affirmative, and his father then got into the boat, while
his son, with loving care, held the boat steady, fearing lest
his father should fall. Then, the Captain once seated, with
the activity of a young waterman, Philip jumped into the
boat, and, sitting on the thwart and throwing the rope to
shore, he began rowing, feathering his oars with great dex-
terity. The water splashed up like diamonds, drops glitter-
ing in the glad morning sun.
The lake was wonderfully clear, and down in the depths,
the bed of weeds that formed its carpet gave a cool and re-
freshing tint of green to the water. Now and then, some
plant more hardy and vigorous, and perhaps possessed of
more curiosity than the others, would make its way to the
surface, and would twist and bend under the bows of the
little vessel as the branches of a tree will bend before a high
wind.
When they had rowed nearly to the middle of the lake
the boat stopped, and Philip, with beating heart, sat down
in the thwart at the back, now holding the sculls, and by a
gentle movement keeping the boat in one place while his
father threw the line into the water. This was an interesting
moment for the boy, and he was so absorbed in looking on
that if a cannon had been fired off close to him it would
not have made him turn round. Stooping forward, with








14 STRAIGHT ON.

his eyes wide open, he stared eagerly at the line; and the
Captain, although deeply interested in his sport, stopped
for an instant to look at the attentive, eager face of his
son. He smiled a little, but turned back to his fishing with
a sigh.
Then, the sport being over, the fish sorted, and those they
wished to keep hung in a pocket net at the back of the boat,
the Captain and his son would often remain on the lake for
another hour or two; the line would be hung t6 dry, and
they would row along by the banks, and under the shade of
the fine trees that overhung the water in some places. When
the two were thus alone, they talked of many things-of the
curious flies that hovered above the tiny waves; of the great
vessels that traversed the mighty ocean; of trees; of plants;
of what Philip would see when he grew up; and of what the
Captain used to do when he was little.
All the events of his father's boyhood were known to the
little boy: he admired everything his father did, and if, in
telling hin a story for the second time, the Captain forgot
any little incident, Philip, who remembered all, would re-
mind his father of what had been omitted, and was always
eager to hear and know more of the Captain's early youth,
when he already knew so much.
When they were tired of rowing, they would leave the
boat tied to the trunk of a tree; and then they would walk
through the forest, the father managing to climb the steep
paths and jump over the streams that crossed the footway in
the most wonderful manner, and would stop, at last, a great
deal more for his son's sake than his own.
And thea the lunch, so carefully prepared by Martha,
would be taken out of their pockets; they would sit upon
the trunk of some fallen tree, or on the lovely velvet moss,









A FISHING EXCURSION.


" which carpets the glades of the forest," so says the legend,
"expressly for the little hind's feet." Thfen, after lunch, they
would often lie down and have a little nap to refresh them-
selves after all the exercise they had been taking.
There were nooks in the forest that were almost as dark
as night when elsewhere it was broad daylight. The tall
pine-trees grew so close together that their branches spread
out and interlaced above, while the young beech-trees
crossed brah'ches some feet lower down. A little rivulet
trickling near made a sad sound, as though the water wept,
and on its banks, in the damp ground, the honeysuckle, wood-
bine, and little white anemones, which blossom both late and
early in the year, flourished in abundance.
Daylight stole in, but dimly, tinged with a soft green
shade, the wood was filled with the scent of the pines, the
wild flowers, and the wild strawberries and raspberries that
grew there in abundance.
There, stretched on a bed of moss, Philip would always
become quiet and serious; the place was so'still, no sound
would be heard there all day but that of the trickling rivu-
let or the cry of some passing bird. The boy would, when
here, talk more lovingly to his father, and even sometimes
venture to speak of his dead mother. But this was only rare-
ly, for, at the mention of his wife's name, a look of sorrow
would come across the Captain's face that did not leave it till
the night.
At last, when the sun's rays came obliquely glancing in
under the branches of the trees, the two companions would
rise, and with slow steps retrace the path by which they had
come, take the fish from the boat, and often not reach home
until seven o'clock in the evening. Only on these occasions
they were made to feel rather small, for Martha would give








16 STRAIIGHT ON.

them both a good scolding. Annoyed at the dinner being
kept waiting, at her vEneat being overdone, and, above all, re-
senting the anxiety she had been made to feel on their ac-
count, and which she could never prevent herself from feel-
ing when they were later than usual.
"One is so wild! she would exclaim, holding up her
hands, and the other-well, I don't say that the other is
awkward, but he has but one leg .


























The captain leaving for the war.


CHAPTER II.

CAPTAIN BAILLEUL.

CAPTAIN BAILLEUL was now forty years old; he was tall,
thin and silent, with quite white hair. His moustache, which
was black, contradicted the tale of age told by his hair, and
all who saw him for the first time could not help feeling that
he had passed through some great suffering. His words were
few, but to the point, though often sad. He made all those
who heard him remember the precept so well known but so
seldom put into practice, Speak little, but speak well."
He certainly did not talk much, except to his son; but he
spoke admirably, and people who once heard him did not for-
get it in a hurry.
His trouble came to him in the year 1870. At the com-
mencement of that fatal year Monsieur Bailleul, who was then
a young captain in the Artillery, had only been married a few








STRAIGHT ON.


months. He was not rich, and his charming little wife had
not brought him muchsmoney; but they were as happy as the
day. Ask those who know what true happiness is, if riches
are necessary for happiness-ask them, and they will laugh in
your face!
The truth is that these young people thought very little
about the matter, and they looked upon money as a thing
quite apart, and only fit to occupy the minds of those who
had nothing better to think about.
They had youth and love, and they were content. The
Captain had inherited the little house in which they lived, and
in which he still lived, from his father. And, as it happened,
his regiment was quartered so near just after his marriage,
that he and his wife were able to live in the cottage all through
the summer that followed.
Every morning he would ride off to the barracks at full
gallop, for he would not leave his little earthly paradise until
the last moment; and he would ride home in the evening
faster, if possible, delighted, if, by increasing his pace, he
could reach his home five minutes sooner. His wife, in the
meantime, was occupied indoors, or in the little garden, beau-
tifying the rooms or tending the flowers, and then listening
eagerly for the sounds of his horse's hoofs upon the road
long before the time that her husband could even have left
the barracks.
This little nest was, indeed, a happy one, and a pretty one,
too. The walls were covered with creepers, clematis, wistaria
and roses. Inside the house, the polished pinewood.staircase
and paneling shone resplendent, and made the house seem
bright even upon a wet day.
Yes, they were very happy, and all went well for a time;
but, alas before the autumn the Captain had to go off to the








CAPTAIN BAILLEUL.


wars! He was very quiet, very determined, but very sad,
and for the first time he checked the speed of his gallant
gray horse, as over and over again he turned to smile and
wave his hand to his poor little wife, who sat at the window
crying. At the last turn of the road he drew his sword and
saluted as when passing the standard, and then they lost sight
of one another, and met no more.
In the month of March, of the following year, Captain
Bailleul returned, but alas! how changed! He no longer
looked like the brave young officer who had started off to the
wars such a short time back. Still he smiled with pleasure,
looking forward to his welcome home. Instead of riding his
fine gray horse now, he had to be contented with a little hired
carriage; and, when he reached the turn of the road where he
knew he should first catch a glimpse of the house, and he
wished to pay the driver and get out of the carriage in order
to walk up to the door alone, he had difficulty in doing so:
the seat of the carriage was high, and under his trousers his
left leg appeared strangely stiff and thin.
The creepers on the walls were leafless, nothing was look-
ing green yet in the tardy spring of that part of France; the
shutters of the house were closed and the whole place seemed
deserted.
And yet his wife was there, the Captain felt certain; then
a spasm of pain shot through his heart, and leaning against
the trunk of a tree he remained for a second full of fear, un-
able to proceed.
How different everything seemed now to when he went
away His poor country was conquered; he had lost his
leg; everything seemed so sad in his once happy home: a few
dead leaves lay about instead of clusters of flowers, and a si-
lence as of the tomb reigned around. However, there was








STRAIGHT ON.


no reason for him to despair: he should soon meet his sweet
wife. This thought bCought a smile once more to his face, and,
feeling strengthened and encouraged, he walked on again.
News will sometimes find its way even into the lines of
the enemy, and into the hospitals where the wounded are ly-
ing, and news had reached the Captain that a little son had
been born to him in the past December and was making the
house gay already with his bright little presence.
He had a son, and he had not yet seen him! This thought
hastened the Captain's steps. How he longed to clasp his
wife and child in his arms! His halting step became firm and
quick, and.in another minute he stood before the garden gate.
Then, with a melancholy smile, and with moisture in his eyes,
he stooped down and fastened his pocket handkerchief round
the end of.his wooden leg, so that his young wife might not
hear the sad sound as he walked over the polished wooden
floor, for she did not know the full extent of his misfortune.
When he rang the bell it was Martha who answered it;
but she did not welcome him as he might have expected, for
as he smiled at her and held out his hand, a deathly pallor
spread over her face, and she drew back a step as she ex-
claimed Monsieur! "
He stared at her in surprise, repeating, in a suffocating
voice, Tell me what is the matter? What has happened ? "
And, entering the house, he attempted to go into his wife's
room, the door of which opened into the vestibule, The poor
servant covered her face with her hands and cried, Do not
go there, my master! Oh, pray do not go there "
The poor young wife had died four days before of sup-
pressed measles, and the funeral had taken place that morn-
ing. It had been deferred as long as possible .in order to
give time to communicate with her unfortunate husband, as





















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His despair horrified poor Mlartha


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STRAIGHT ON.


they hoped; but he had not received the letters bearing the
terrible news. '
All that day and all the following night the Captain re-
mained in that room, allowing no one to come near him. At
last, his despair so -terrified Martha that she felt something
must be done. She was just thinking of calling in the cler-
gyman of the village, a good, kind man, and a great friend of
Captain Bailleul, when an idea occurred to her: she had
begged the Captain to see his little son, and indeed had
brought him to the door of the room where her master was
sitting, but he ordered her to take him away, refusing to see
him. But now Martha took the child in her arms, and, in
spite of an angry exclamation from the Captain as she en-
tered the room, she carried the child up to him.
The baby opened his blue eyes and stared up into his
father's sad face; then, as the poor Captain put out his hand
to sign to the nurse to take him away, the child put up his
little hand and seized his father's finger. The tiny fist
closed so firmly, yet so softly, that the poor heartbroken man
could not draw his finger away for fear of hurting the baby,
who, delighted with his new toy, smiled with pleasure.
Some feeling, which the young man scarcely understood
himself, passed over his heart, and snatching the child out of
Martha's arms, he carried it away, and great, heavy tears
fell upon its tiny head.
The Captain's hair soon turned white, and his face wore
signs of the great sorrow he had gone through; but a new
and sweet interest was from this time awakened in him, one
which made him still cling to life; and it was for his son,
and only for his son, that he had lived for the twelve years
after his wife's death.
What love and care did he lavish on the child! What








CAPTAIN BAILLEUL.


anxious nights he passed beside that little, lonely cradle!
He was father and mother, both, #earning through the
strength of his great love all that he did not know about the
care of a baby. With his strong arms he would make a
cradle where the child would sleep for hours together with-
out once waking.
It was he who taught the child to utter his first word,
" Mamma," a word that gave Philip a great deal of trouble
to learh, and cost his father many a tear; and since that
time the Captain taught him all he knew. He alone under-
took the task of instructing and educating the boy. Captain
Bailleul was so well informed and highly gifted that he was
well fitted for the office. And, as though choosing pearls
for some rich necklace, the Captain sought out all the best
and purest sentiments to instil them into his son's young
head.
He had neither less nor more faults than other children of
his age; but from the education he received from his father,
he learnt singular straightforwardness of heart and mind,
and perfect truthfulness. If the constant and sole society of
a man who was often sad, had made the boy more serious
than most of his age, it had taught him to think and feel
more reasonably and more deeply.
The Captain's infirmity had naturally obliged him to live
very quietly; but that would not have produced the change
in his character that had been caused by his sorrow. The
truth was that the world was now empty for him beyond the
walls of his cottage.
From the day that Philip first began to walk with un-
steady and hesitating little steps, his father followed those
steps, and he gradually extended his interests. As the child
grew week by week and month by month Captain Bailleul







STRAIGHT ON.


was drawn forth out of his shell as Philip gained strength
and intelligence. c
Now, at the time they are introduced to my readers they
roamed all over the country together. The Captain was con-
tent wherever he went, so that he had his son under his eye,
and for a time lost his expression of sadness when he showed
and explained to the boy the beautiful and interesting ob-
jects which they met with in their expeditions.
The preceding year, Philip had begun a really serious
course of study, and the Captain worked hard himself in or-
der to instruct his son. Captain Bailleul had distinguished
himself at school and college, but he was so anxious to keep
up with all the new methods of acquiring knowledge, in or-
der that Philip might benefit by them, that he put himself
in communication with one of the headmasters of a large
school in one of the towns, and asked him to give him his ad-
vice as to the books he should choose, and the general plan it
would be best to adopt for his son's instruction.
Then he set patiently to work at his classics, and those
studies which he had a little forgotten. Philip was thus
started on his road to learning, and up to the time of the
opening of this story his path had been made smooth and
happy.









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Philip argues with his father.




CHAPTER III.

TRAMPING AND HUNTING.

A BOY must have had a very bad heart, had he not been
won by such love and tenderness-such entire forgetfulness
of self-as Captain Bailleul showed for his son. And cer-
tainly this was not the case with Philip-in fact, the child
loved his father passionately.
Without as yet being able to understand the terrible grief
endured by his father in those past days of mourning, Philip
instinctively felt that he was all in all to him, and as the boy
had only the Captain for friend and tutor, and he received no
ideas but from that one source, the father was the one object
of love and reverence in the world to his boy, and all his
happiness seemed to begin and end with him.
The closeness of their intimacy was delightful, and the
life led by them in their tiny home might be truly called


) I








STRAIGHT ON.


perfectly happy. You must not suppose that their time was
entirely taken up wihf walks and fishing. They used to have
the most enjoyable long talks together, both in the morning
and evening, when they would discuss Philip's future, and
they would often read aloud. The Captain instructed his son,
too, in all sorts of games, and when Philip was quite a little
boy he had an excellent idea of chess. Then, too, Captain
Bailleul would help his son to make all sorts of mechanical
toys, and this occupation was a source of immense interest
to them both. A wonderful portable water-mill was con-
structed by their clever hands; it was made of light wood,
with a large paddle wheel, and performed its work to perfec-
tion on the little stream where they placed it. Then on
occasion, there would be a magnificent display of fireworks
up at the cottage, rockets and beautiful stars would illumine
the dark nights, and these were all fabricated by the Captain,
aided by his son.
Then, at times, after some days had been passed in what
the Captain fancied had been rather a monotonous manner,
he would propose that he and Philip should take a walking
tour to last for some days, and Philip would have to set to
work to make all arrangements for it. This was, of course,
an immense responsibility, but, at the same time, an immense
pleasure to the boy.
It was he, who with a map before him, would mark out
the road they were to take. It was he who would have to
find out by reading and inquiring at the different places
where they rested, what were the objects of interest that
they ought to see on-the way. It was he who had to settle
at what inns they should stop to sleep and rest, and also who
had to order the rooms and the dinners; and his father,
considered a guest for the occasion, quietly criticised his









TRAMPING AND HUNTING.


son's arrangements, and pointed out any mistakes that he
made. 0
This was one of the methods taken by the Captain to
educate his son and prepare him for his intended career of
officer and man of the world. His father also handed him a
cheque for the amount he would consider necessary for the
expedition, and on their return home, Philip would care-
fully account for every penny.
Naturally Philip had set his heart upon a military career.
His father, as he thought right, had talked to him about
various professions which he might follow as a gentleman,
and had pointed out to him their different advantages, but
he expressed no surprise at Philip's choice. Indeed, he
acknowledged that his son could scarcely have chosen other-
wise. They had discussed the advantages of being a sailor-
a good profession, certainly-doctor, lawyer and many others,
all excellent for those who liked them, but a soldier was best,
thought both father and son, and Philip chose what he
thought was best.
Since the war, during which time his son had been born,
Captain Bailleul had placed his sword-a splendid well bal-
anced weapon-on a shelf in his study, and on the scabbard
of the sword might be seen the dent made by the same cruel
blow that had caused the Captain to lose his leg. It was
Philip's great ambition to wear that sword one day. He
eagerly looked forward to the time when it should hang by
his side and he should be able to draw it against the enemies
of his country. Yes, the boy's heart was quite set upon be-
ing a soldier. And there was but one drawback; and that was
the idea of the separation from his father that must take place.
His father had been in the Artillery, and it was in the
Artillery that Philip wished to serve. There was a troop








STRAIGHT ON.


quartered not far from his home, and the little fellow made
up his mind that hekvould be appointed to that, hoping and
thinking that thus he might still go trout-fishing with his fa-
ther, still make expeditions into the woods, and still listen to
the grumblings of his old Martha, whose voice sounded so
constantly in his ears, like the rumbling of a wheel that was
ever in motion. The old woman's tongue, complaining as it
so often was, had a familiar sound to the boy, for which he had
a strange affection. He loved his home and all about it so
very dearly.
He could fancy himself a sentinel, keeping guard in his
beloved woods; .ready for any exigencies that might arise,
but who somehow, by some special good luck, would only be
required to keep guard over that little corner of his country
where he was born and brought up and that he so loved.
He was but a child, and these were happy fancies. Some-
times, however, his ambition would mount higher, and the
recollection of his country's heroes would fill him with nobler
aspirations. He would see himself a tall, strong man, and,
holding himself very upright, he would declare that a Bailleul
might aspire to anything; and, in his dreams of glory, he
would emulate the greatest warriors known in France.
But it was, after all, ever the same sentiment that ani-
mated him, for, when in imagination he had gained his laurels,
of what use would they be to him but to carry to his father,
and to return once more to the happy old life in his once dear
home ? That was his one thought, his father, and after him
his home. Then he would ask himself, Why must he ever
leave them? where would he ever be so happy?
The boy was so simple-minded that he could not picture
to himself other hopes, other pleasures than those he had
already known, and his cooped up and isolated life had given








TRAMPING AND HUNTING.


him peculiar ideas, that his father would often laugh at, and
yet they frightened him, too, for the worthy Captain thought
with dread of the time when his son's eyes would be opened
in the future, and he would discover with pain that human na-
ture was not the perfect thing which he now believed it to be.
September Ist was now approaching, and the' little boy,
was looking eagerly forward to the sport which he and his
father were to engage in together. This was a time to which
Philip looked forward all the year round, and, as it ap-
proached, he took down his father's gun, and, with all the
gravity and handiness of a gamekeeper or locksmith, he ex-
amined, greased and cleaned each part of it, and at the
same time killed in advance whole coveys of partridges and
every other possible kind of game, and yet game was not
too plentiful in that part of the country. There were a few
partridges, a woodcock or so, occasionally to be found; some
hares that were very difficult to get at, a few rabbits, and a
good number of small birds; poor little thrushes that eagerly
devoured the black berries that fell from the juniper-tree, as
if they felt that they would not have many more meals of
the kind; and in the cold October mornings, a whole band of
poor little larks that came to be killed as they sang.
However, the game-such as it was-satisfied the Captain
and his son, and they made a point of never firing at the
larks. The hares were rather wild, and Philip had never
been fortunate enough to bring one down. The two first
days of sport, they did not get within shooting distance of
one, in spite of the united efforts of the Captain, Philip,
and their good dog Pillo. But on the third, they were more
fortunate, and Philip had a most successful and delightful
time, as you shall hear, though the commencement of the
afternoon was sad enough.








STRAIGHT ON.


As he and his father walked through the village, accom-
panied by their dog,4hey met a funeral. It was that of the
village carpenter, and although this was not a very unusual
occurrence, as Philip had chanced to meet several before,
a feeling of intense depression stole over him as the melan-
choly procession passed. As was the custom in the country,
a priest in his white surplice came first before the coffin, with
two choir boys, and immediately following, apart rather from
the rest of the mourners, walked a little peasant-a boy of
about Philip's age-crying bitterly.
This was the carpenter's son, and Philip was told in the
village that the poor little lad, who had already lost his
mother, was now entirely alone. He had no relations, and
was left dependent upon public charity.
Philip was quite overcome at the idea of such trouble
falling upon a boy so young. It seemed so terrible-hardly
credible-that a child should be in such a forlorn position!
How could it be? Philip had not realized that there could
be so much sorrow in the world.
For- Philip to think, when he was in his father's pres-
ence, was to think aloud, and now,. forgetting the silence
which they made a rule to preserve when they went out
shooting, the boy drew close up to his father and told him
of his distress about the poor little carpenter's son, feeling
persuaded the Captain would say something cheering that
would at once lighten his trouble.
But as Philip questioned him, Captain Bailleul's face grew
very grave; and when his son said, Papa, what can a poor
boy do who is left entirely alone, like Joseph Semeur ?"
the Captain replied, in a voice full of sadness:
He is indeed unfortunate! the most unhappy creature
that I know!" and Philip said no more, but his heart ached.











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He grasped the gun with both hands.








STRAIGHT ON.


It was not that his imagination portrayed a similar fate
for himself, or that Che word orphan had any particular terror
for him (for children have a wonderful power of believing in
the immortality of those they love), but the idea of any child
suffering so much sorrow, and the words his father had
spoken of him as the most unhappy creature" he knew,
filled Philip's heart with terror and pity.
And for some time, the efforts of Pillo to rouse his young
master to take a proper interest in the work of the day, were
fruitless.
After about a quarter of an hour, a little rabbit made its
appearance, and the Captain brought it down. Philip, who
was generally so excited under like circumstances, merely
shouldered the game, without saying anything, and followed
his father, who was moving on, while Pillo started off on a
fresh scent. Then when they halted, he threw the rabbit
down without ,any remark. It was evident that Philip's
thoughts were far away.
The second halting place was well chosen by the sports-
men, and there was great excitement here, for Pillo drove out
a large hare that doubled and got back to cover three times;
the dog got quite bewildered and was furious. And now
Philip began to take an interest in the matter. His father,
who had been silently watching his face (his own saddened
by his boy's sadness), passed his hand affectionately over
Philip's head, and smiling to see the clouds clearing away,
said to him, Now, you take my gun; Pillo is driving him
out again, and I think you will have him. Steady, now
steady! "
This was a rare favor, and one which Philip did not think
lightly of; but Captain Bailleul would not often indulge
his son in this way, as he was so afraid of accidents. The









TRAMPING AND HUNTING.


boy turned red with delight as he held the gun in his hands,
and waited, his heart beating so that he could scarcely
breathe. They heard Pillo rushing through the underwood.
Philip instinctively looked up into his father's face. The
Captain smiled, nodded his head, and made him a sign to
shoulder his gun. In another second the hare dashed past.
Philip fired as coolly as he could, but it was another thing
to fire with his father's gun, from shooting with the air pistol,
with which he was accustomed, at a target in the garden,
and somehow he was knocked backward, and the hare ran
off. Greatly disappointed, and also slightly shaken, he was
about to hand the gun back to his father, when the Captain
silently touched him upon the shoulder and pointed to the
underwood.
To the right, Philip saw something creeping in the long
grass, when presently, with a sudden jump, it sprang into the
open and made off as fast as it could. On the impulse of the
moment, scarcely giving himself time to take aim, the boy
fired the second barrel. The hare stopped and fell, and
before the sportsmen reached him he had ceased to move-
he was shot through the head! It was a fine large hare.
Philip gave a shout of joy and triumph, and threw his hat into
the air, where it remained perched on one of the branches
of a tree, then he began dancing round his victim with yells
of delight. All the sad thoughts, all the feeling of melan-
choly had disappeared-they were swallowed up in the happi-
ness of success. I wish that all the sportsmen, young or old,
who read this-that is to say, if there are any good enough to
read these pages-would call to mind their feelings of wild
delight at their first successful shot, whatever it might be-
at even a sparrow perchance-and they will understand the
pride and joy which.now possessed Philip. He seemed as








STRAIGHT ON.


if he were enchanted-the forest seemed to enlarge as he
looked at it, and he almost felt himself grow bigger.
The Captain was nearly as delighted as his son. He
smiled at him, and stroked the fur of the poor dead beast,
as Philip also smoothed it with the proud air of one to
whom the creature belonged. Then his father praised his
aim, and admired the dead hare, which was, indeed, a remark-
ably fine one.
And now it was time to return home. Philip declared
he must carry his own game; so Captain Bailleul took his
own gun, and slung the rabbit over his shoulder, while
Philip bore his prize in triumph, and they walked home at a
leisurely pace.
Night was coming on in the wood. The tall, straight
pine-trees, forming, as it were, an unending cloister, stood up
like fine columns of stone. A thin white fog rose up from
the ground, and mounting, concealed the branches with a
soft shade. The birds were uttering their last good nights,
and now and then a sharper note than usual would sound
through the air, as some dispute arose amongst them respect-
ing the room in their night's lodgings. But it was still day-
light outside. The setting sun sent brilliant rays up into the
sky as they emerged from the wood, the light floating clouds
were turned crimson; though when they reached the foot of
the hill the first stars were just making their appearance, and
Captain Bailleul, as they stopped for a moment to rest, stood
with his hand on his son's shoulder, and told him the names
of some as they shone out above them.
While he spoke they came out one by one, more and more
distinctly, as though they appeared on purpose to illumine
the great map of the heavens, so that the father might teach
his son to distinguish them.









TRAMPING AND HUNTING.


A little later the new moon became visible, like a thin
silver crescent, and a bat flew past Philip, just brushing his
cheek. Night had come. The sportsmen now put their best
foot foremost, and in a few minutes they were at home.
The lamps were lighted; through the open windows the
chrysanthemums sent their perfume, while a pine-wood fire
blazed upon the hearth. Philip carried the hare in triumph
to Martha, and you may rest assured that his prize and his
shooting were alike admired by the good old woman to his
heart's content.
After supper, when the Captain and his son found them-
selves alone in the drawing-room, and another log had been
thrown o.n the fire, Philip went up to his father, and with
a demonstrativeness that was unusual with him, put his arms
round the Captain's neck and his head on his shoulder, and
said, I do think this has been the happiest day of my life,"
and yet the child had not forgotten the poor little orphan,
and in the depths of his heart he felt a strange sadness and
an immense pity for him.
The Captain smiled at his boy, and put his arm round
him as he sat on his knee, and in another minute Philip had
fallen asleep there, as he had so often done when he was
quite a little child.






















:--" F "




He hid his face in Martha's apron.




CHAPTER IV.

PHILIP'S SADDEST EXPERIENCE.

THERE are happy days in one's life, that one looks back
upon with immense pleasure, as being the commencement of
a glad time. One recalls such a date, and says, "Yes;
what a delightful day that was!" and the next day some-
thing else equally pleasant occurred, until one remembers a
succession of enjoyable days coming together. But there are
other days again that stand out bright from the surround-
ing gloom, and that remain engraven upon the memory,
because of the trouble that followed. And it was for this
reason that Philip never forgot the day which has just been
described.
Very early the next morning, Philip opened his eyes to
find his father standing beside his bed. His face was so pale,
that the boy felt frightened, and was going to call Martha,








PHILIP'S SADDEST EXPERIENCE.


but the. Captain prevented him from doing so, telling
him at the same time that she had jug gone to fetch the
doctor.
During the night, Captain Bailleul.had been seized with a
violent pain in the heart, which was, a symptom of disease
that had begun in 1870, and which had increased, though
not rapidly, each year. This attack was so much worse than
any he had suffered before, that he felt the malady must have
made a rapid stride. He was aware, too, that any disorder of
the circulation would be rendered worse by the loss of a
limb, and he was not at all surprised at the grave look of
Dr. Fr6nois, who was a great friend of his, when he came
into the room.
Captain Bailleul suffered terribly all that day, and though
the doctor did not tell Philip how ill his father really was,
yet the poor boy instinctively felt the danger that existed,
and scarcely left the Captain's bedside.
From time to time, the poor little fellow ran down to
Martha, and, hiding his face on her lap, would give vent to
the sorrow that he dared not show in his father's room for
fear of agitating him. Then, without speaking even, he
would dry his eyes and would run up again to his father's
bedside.
The room was lighted by the yellow rays of the autumn
sun, which fell upon Captain Bailleul as he lay back on the
pillow. He was just at the moment free from pain, but his
face looked terribly white and drawn as the setting sun shone
upon it. Presently he opened his eyes, and placed his hand
upon Philip's head with a loving word and smile. The doc-
tor begged him not to talk at present, for the poor Captain
was very weak. However, Captain Bailleul presently beck-
oned to the doctor, and, after a short conversation with him,









STRAIGHT ON.


he no longer forbade the father speaking to his son; and very
gently and tenderly*the poor Captain spoke to Philip about
the separation which he feared would now shortly take place
between them. He strove to comfort and encourage his little
boy, and to give to him, in the few words he was able to
speak, counsel and advice.
But Philip would not listen. With all the passion of his
youth, he refused to believe it possible that his father that he
so loved, and who still spoke so clearly-called him by his
name and caressed him with his hand-could be so near
death. Even the words-death and separation-made him
tremble with fear; it seemed to him that speaking of these
terrible, things would make them come, and he stopped his
father, placing his hand upon his lips.
Captain Bailleul murmured, in a tone of love and pity, as
he took Philip's hand and pressed it, Poor little fellow!
poor boy Soon after, feeling only too sure that but little
time remained to him in which to speak, he again talked to
his son of the future, that future in which he would no longer
be near to guide him, and which would be so full of difficul-
ties and temptations that he longed to warn him of in ad-
vance.
Listen, my Philip, my darling son," said the poor Cap-
tain, "you will have a guardian-my cousin Debrune. He
is a very learned man, you know, and he will, perhaps, as I
have asked him, take you to live with him. He has
two boys of his own-they will be friends for you. .
My dear boy, of course, it can not be-the same as home, you
must not expect that, you must not expect too much, and
you must make the best of things. I do not feel so
anxious about your future when once you leave school, for
you will then follow the profession you have chosen. "






































:Aj.


'The captain talks with Philip about the future
^ .*. .. .. ...
























The captain talks with Philip about the future.








STRAIGHT ON.


Then, as Philip hung his head, indifferent to all that he
had formerly caredefor, his father said, "And my sword,
Philip, you will have that."
He thought of his boy's character, of his good heart, of
his enthusiasm, of his generosity, how he had hoped to see all
these good qualities grow and develop until he was a man,
and now he must leave him to battle with the world and its
temptations alone.
"All alone !" he sighed, as he hid his face in his hands;
"alone, to choose between good and evil. Alone in grief;
alone in joy." He felt he could not leave him. He must get
well to be with him a little longer. But in a few minutes, the
pain and weakness coming on again, he knew that there was
no hope for him, and he could read his doom in Dr. Fr6nois'
eyes, where the tears were standing. Then, drawing his
son's head down to his lips, he said, My darling boy, my
Philip, remember that there are many faults that can be
forgiven and forgotten, but meanness or lying never. ....
You must go straight on in the right road, however hard
and rough it may be; once feel sure a thing is right,
go ...' *."'- on, fear nothing, and do it. Straight on through
life, Philip; it will be as though I still led you by the
hand. Straight on, my son, without wavering, straight on
to the end. And try, dear, to be good and pure as your
dear mother would have wished you to be. Do you hear,
Philip ?"
Philip bowed his head, but he could not speak. The
doctor now sat on the left, beside the sick man, holding
his pulse; behind him stood poor old Martha, crying,
bitterly, "I will do all I can for Master Philip, all that
is in my power, my dear master, be sure of that!" sobbed
she.








PHILIP'S SADDEST EXPERIENCE.


And Philip was bending close over his father, saying, he
would get well, he must get well. *
"Perhaps," murmured the poor Captain, and, lying back
on his pillow, he shut his eyes while the night fell and the
room grew dark. Martha was about to light a candle, but
Captain Bailleul made her a sign not to db so. He seemed as
if he knew that the feeble light of day would last long enough
for him. There was still sufficient light for him to see
Philip's face, and what more did he want now ?
The cattle were driven past the house on their way home
from the mountain side, their bells ringing as they walked;
the church clock chimed each note so clear and distinct that
it seemed as if it sounded just outside the window. Then all
was quiet, no sound disturbed the silence-all was hushed
and peaceful.
All at once Captain Bailleul made a sudden movement.
The doctor stood up and Philip raised his head. The sick
man tried to speak, but was unable to do so; he stretched his
hand out to a little table that stood beside his bed, and
took a piece of paper and pencil from it, then, looking at
his son, he slowly wrote these three words: "Straight on,
Philip!"
Without crying now, the child answered simply, "Yes,"
with the solemnity of a vow. Then the Captain, drawing his
son to him with one arm, and holding out the other hand to
poor Martha and the doctor, lay back again on his pillow
and died.

Three days later, Captain Bailleul was buried in the lit-
tle village cemetery that was gay with flowers in the
summer, and shaded by the tall pine-trees; and Philip, in
his turn-like the carpenter's son, whose sorrow had first









42 STRAIGHT ON.

taught him what grief and isolation meant-felt that he was
alone! *
Poor Philip! here we leave him to indulge in the first
bitterness of his great grief. This has been a sad chap-
ter; let us trust that we may have many brighter ones to
come.


























Miss Laura divided it into four shares.


CHAPTER V.

THE DEBRUNE FAMILY.

THE Debrunes were certainly a curious family; and it
was with them that Philip had to live after his father's
death. Perhaps, if Captain Bailleul had known a little more
about them, he would not have been so urgent in begging his
cousin to take his son, when he wrote to him on the day
when he was so ill, asking Monsieur Debrune to be Philip's
guardian. Debrune was the only relation he had, the one
link that bound the poor fatherless boy to any human being;
the only person likely to take' any interest in him besides
poor old Martha and the good doctor. And these two last
could not be of any use to him, so poor Captain Bailleul
thought that he was certainly doing the best he could for his
only son, when he confided him to the care of a man whom
he knew at any rate to be honest and kindhearted. Only, if








"44 STRAIGHT ON.

he could have known everything, or, indeed, if he, had con-
sidered well those circumstances with which he was ac-
quainted, he might, perhaps, have guessed that Monsieur De-
brune's house was not likely to be the. best possible home for
Philip in all respects, and he would certainly, when- there,
find himself in a totally different atmosphere from that to
which he was accustomed.
As the poor Captain said when he was dying, James De-
brune was a very learned man;,.he was a remarkable mathe-
matician, and a great astronomer, and a passion for science-
one of the most absorbing possible-had taken possession of
him since he was of the age of fifteen.
Beyond his figures and problems, and his telescope, that
he spent whole nights together in gazing through at the
stars, nothing seemed of the least consequence to this learned
man.
Everything that happened in the world-outside his world
of science-appeared trivial and insignificant to him.
At thirty, he married, though he scarcely knew how it
happened, and he always considered that he was made the
victim of a family plot, the chief conspirators in which were
his mother and one of his aunts, who were both distressed at
his strange unsettled mode of life, at his untidy house-
hold, where he was cheated right and left by dishonest and
careless servants, and where he spent an enormous sum
upon his housekeeping in order to have food almost unfit
to eat.
His mother had talked to him of the want of comfort in
his house, of his buttonless shirts, and of socks either in
holes or thickly darned-two things that the young savant
had the greatest horror of. She talked of a wife who would
be kind, attentive and loving; and then his mother cried a








THE DEBRUNE FAMILY.


little; and then he remembered that he had a month to spare
between a visit to Greenwich where Bfe was going to see a
total eclipse of the moon, and a journey to the Rocky Mount-
ains, where the passage of Venus over the sun was to be
seen, and an account of which he had undertaken to send to
the Observatory in Paris. He consented to his mother's
wishes with as good a grace as he could, and thus his destiny
was fixed.
The following year his eldest son Robert was born, and
three years later his little son Pierre, and though Monsieur
Debrune did sometimes forget that he possessed a wife and
children, still -it could not be said that he made the young
Madame Debrune unhappy.
But, alas it. often happens, the most rational hopes and
expectations disappoint us. And it was so in this case, for
the unfortunate Monsieur Debrune still found his shirts often
buttonless, and his socks either without heels or cobbled
together just as roughly as he had found them before-and
this was what had decided him to marry! The truth was,
that his young wife was as fond of amusement as he was
of the stars, foolishly fond, that is to say, and she did not
trouble herself about such matters as her husband's shirts
or socks, for her time was fully taken up with gaiety and
entertainment.
Then, five years after the marriage, the young wife died,
and the poor astronomer found himself again in a perfect
chaos-if possible, more complicated than ever, for he now
had the two little boys to look after and bring up.
He consulted his friends, and by their advice his eldest
sister, unmarried, strong, active, straightforward and strict,
came to take up her abode with her brother, and from that
day had not left him.








STRAIGHT ON.


SIn the twinkling of an eye order was established in the
house from garret td cellar. All the troop of thieving serv-
ants had been sent off, and, to the confusion which had hith-
erto reigned supreme, quiet and method .succeeded: order
and method of so implacable a nature, that it occurred to the
philosopher that all must be set going in his establishment
by some system of gear, weights and wheels, such as he used
in the exact instruments by which he often made his calcula-
tions.
Without a murmur he put up with this new tyranny, as he
had formerly put up with the inconveniences of first, his
bachelorhood, and then his married life. He accepted all that
came to him with the.philosophy of an absent-minded man,.
whose thoughts were always elsewhere, and whom nothing
could trouble in the midst of that inner world where for him
only the realities of life existed.
And thus it came to pass that he, the best of men, be-
came, as it were, a nonentity in his own family. His excel-
lence, although so real, counted for nothing. All his good
qualities grew rusty from want of use.
Monsieur Debrune's time being so entirely occupied as I
have described, was the sole reason that he did not hasten
to Captain Bailleul's bedside, and it was a very kind and
affectionate letter that he wrote to the poor orphan boy
when he offered him a home in his house. Then, having ar-
ranged, at Dr. Frenois' suggestion, that Philip should remain
at home with Martha a little longer, so as not to come
amongst total strangers in his first great grief, the learned
man seemed to utterly forget the very existence of his
ward.
His sister, Mile. Laura, did not view with satisfaction the
idea of a third boy coming into the house of which she was








THE DEBR UNE FAMILY I.


mistress-the house which she had managed to get into such
good order and which she ruled so strictly.
This good lady was possessed of rather a cold heart, and,
strange to say, such tenderness as lay in it could only dis-
play itself towards inanimate objects. If she had only a
small amount of love for her brother, whom she looked upon
with a certain amount of contemptuous pity, considering that
his peculiarities and occupations showed a want of sense, and
if she loved her nephews still less, looking upon them as rank
enemies to order and neatness-indeed, all she cared for most
in the world-she, on the contrary, loved, with all the
strength of her strange nature, her furniture, her piles of
white sheets shut up in her linen cupboard, her kitchen, her
stores, and, in fact, all that belonged to the house and
housekeeping. Even she took a delight in the washhouse,
where she would go and sit, with her knitting in her hand,
and look on at the washing for the mere pleasure of the
thing.
That Philip would not receive a very warm welcome
from Mlle. Laura was quite evident, and, as to his cousins,
they seemed to feel enmity towards him at once without
having even seen him. So, you see, our poor little friend
did not appear likely to lead a very happy life in his new
home.
One day Monsieur Debrune had briefly-as he spoke of
all things that were not scientific-announced to his children
that they were to have a new guest, and from that moment
trouble and tumult reigned in the house. In speaking to his
boys, Monsieur Debrune happened to have used much the
same expressions as Captain Bailleul used when speaking to
Philip: "It is a boy who is coming he will be a friend
for you." Then, after a little reflection, and as the touching








STRAIGHT ON.


words of his poor, dear, dead cousin's letter recurred to his
mind, he made an effort, and, trying to dismiss mathematics
and astronomy from his thoughts for the time being, he en-
deavored to appeal to his children's hearts, striving to
awaken their interest and sympathy for their cousin.
I look upon him already as a third son," said Monsieur
Debrune, "and I hope you will treat him from the first as if
he was a younger brother, an unknown brother who has sud-
denly come home."
Then, as the two boys sat silent, listening to what he said,
and a sulky look on their faces, he went on in a different
tone of voice: "You will do as I say-first, because this
boy is unhappy, and .secondly, because I choose! Do you
understand ?"
And then, without another word, he went off to his
study.
At times, the astronomer could be determined enough-
on rare occasions when he became really interested in any-
thing separate from his beloved science-and then he would
give orders to which no one dare object. And on this oc-
casion the two boys bowed their heads in token of sub-
mission to their father's will. It was outward submission
only, alas! for the very fact of their father interesting him-
self so much about him, and then speaking with severity upon
the subject, turned them more against the expected guest
than ever.
They were seized with jealous anger at seeing that their
father was inclined to like the newcomer already. He was
most likely a spoilt little fellow, they thought, thinking
no end of himself; and not one thought of pity .for him
in his loneliness once crossed their minds. The boys had not
determined yet what course they would take with regard to









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50 STRAIGHT ON.

their cousin, but the news of his approaching arrival had
been like a stone thrown into a' pool of muddy water; all
the selfish and jealous feelings that had lain dormant in
their breasts until now had been disturbed and rose to the
surface.
The boys had some excuse for these unkind feelings. No
one had ever taught them how odious such selfish, jealous
feelings are.
It is a delicate task to develop a young heart to make it
vibrate to noble and elevated chords, and to deaden those of
hardness and selfishness which would spoil all that is beauti-
ful. Children should be taught to love, as they are taught
honesty and truthfulness. And this lesson of love had never
been taught in the Debrune family.
Between the absent-mindedness of their father and the
coldness of their aunt, they lived in an atmosphere without
sentiment or feeling. As they grew older they noticed that
their home was different from that of others, but they made the
discovery without feeling sorry about it. They thought and
spoke about the difference with a sort of ironical noncha-
lance, and even, as they grew older still, they boasted of the
sort of life they led.
The Debrunes are independent," they would say; we
care for nobody, and we don't want anyone to care for us.
And, thank goodness, we are not bothered with any girl in the
family, to smother us with sentiment and such stuff." And
this egotism, that began with an assertion of male independ-
ence, grew upon them, until, day by day, it became more ex-
aggerated.
Robert, the elder of the brothers, who was nearly fifteen,
was a fine boy, very vain of his personal advantages, pos-
sessed of an immense amount of self-esteem, clever and cun-









THE DEBRUNE FAMILY.


ning-the latter, perhaps, more than might be desired-and
with a dry sort of way of saying things? He was, alas not
always quite to be trusted.
The second boy, Pierre, had a very different character.
High-spirited, with a good deal of fun in his composi-
tion, careless and rough, without being ill-natured; his was
an uncultured nature, with good enough in it for him to
turn out well, yet with faults of such a kind that bad influ-
ence would soon make him bad. More impulsive and less ego-
tistical than his brother, his first feeling when he heard of
Philip's expected arrival was one of pleasure; an event! "
he exclaimed, and in their quiet life, that was something, he
thought.
But the elder, who was the leader, soon made his brother
think .differently, and forgetting entirely what he had at first
really felt upon the subject, Pierre at once agreed with Rob-
ert, and declared that he was furious at the idea of the new-
comer.
Though neither of the boys had ventured to express their
opinions so strongly before their father, yet they implied, or
said enough to make Monsieur Debrune speak severely to
them, as I have already mentioned. At the moment that he
addressed them, as I have described, they were seated at din-
ner, and a fine open jam tart had just been placed upon the
table, the outside crust, and the bars of pastry across, glisten-
ing and shining like a latticework of gold spangled with
silver.
Mechanically-while listening to what her brother was
saying-Mile. Laura seized a knife, and set to work to divide
the tart into four equal pieces, as she was in the habit of do-
ing. Mile. Laura was proud of her 'pastry, for you may
be sure she would not trust the making of it to servants.








STRAIGHT ON.


She always made these open jam tarts herself, and always
divided them in fouf, and then, as she always did, she on this
particular day placed a piece on her brother's plate and said:
Some tart, my brother ? "
But it was not of tart Monsieur Debrune was just then
thinking, and he gazed at his sister with such an expression
of indignation and severity that she understood at once that
the orders he gave her nephews with respect to the visitor
who was coming, were also intended for herself. But before
she had time to reply, her brother had risen from the table
and was gone, taking his serviette off in his hand, as he had
done sometimes before in his odd, absent manner. On
former occasions she had called him back, and taken it from
him, but this time he looked so fierce that she did not dare
to speak to him, and he went rapidly to his own room and
threw it upon the table, while he walked up and down, talk-
ing to himself in a low voice. This had lasted some minutes,
when his eye was caught by an open letter which lay on his
desk and which he wished at once to answer. He sat down
to do so ; then, as his fingers, searching for paper in his writ-
ing case found it empty, he again took hold of his serviette,
the whiteness of which had attracted him, and with perfect
gravity folded it in four. And then, without remarking the
damask flowers, and the border which covered the singular
writing paper he had chosen, he quietly set to work to
write his letter upon it, and did not find out his mistake
until the pen began to splutter and the ink refused to mark
upon it.
In the meantime, the three people he had just left had re-
mained for a moment looking at one another without speak-
ing. Then Pierre got up, and, in a tone of resentment,
cried :








THE DEBRUNE FAMILY. 53

"And just think! when he comes the jam tarts and
cakes and things will have to be divided into five instead of
four ..." and taking advantage of his aunt's preoccupation,
he began stuffing his father's share of the tart, bite by bite,
with his own.
Then this pleasant youth went down to the maids and up-
set and turned over their work, their dinner, their sauce-pans,
and everything he could lay his hands upon, while he an-
nounced to them in a tone of triumph, that a guest was soon
coming, another boy, that he heard was three times worse,
more mischievous and noisy than himself, and proceeded to
paint poor Philip's portrait for their edification in anything
but true colors.
In their turn, the maids naturally began to deplore the
coming of the expected guest, looking forward to more
trouble, mischief and extra work falling upon themselves, and
with more reason than anyone else in the house, joined in
the general tone of anti-hospitality of the rest.
And this was the reception prepared for our friend Philip
in his guardian's house; while he, poor little fellow! with
a heavy heart tried to picture to himself what the family he
was going to live with would be like, and looked forward
to the kindness he would receive from those good people
whom he already loved in advance.
To describe Philip's grief and despair during the first
days after his father's death would be impossible. Passion-
ately attached to the Captain for all the reasons that we
know, with all happiness so suddenly destroyed, the poor
child had remained from morning till night in a state of grief
that is indescribable. The house was so 'full of memories-
every corner of the garden, the whole place reminded him
that only a few days before they had been two, to see and








54 STRAIGHT ON.

enjoy everything, and that now he was left alone. The feel-
ing was indeed terrible to him.
The father and son had been so bound up in one another
(the cause of their great happiness), which was now the
reason of poor Philip's present intense sorrow. It was not
like a single blow that had fallen upon him. Each thought,
every occupation had been shared; so it seemed as if a thou-
sand links had given way at once. In talking to Martha,
Philip seemed always to have the same thing to say. Each
sentence began, "You remember, Martha, you remember,"
and he would remind her incessantly of things that, alas! the
poor old woman remembered as well as he did. They talked
and wept together.
It was only the doctor who managed to rouse him from
the state of despair in which the boy remained. Thinking of
the poor father's last words to his son, the good doctor did
all he could to rouse and encourage the poor little fellow.
He told him that it was his duty to fight against his grief; he
spoke to him of the future, and tried to interest him, and said
that men must bravely look their sorrow in the face. Then
when he had roused his attention a little, he took him with
him on his long drives that he had to take each day to visit
his patients. And the worthy man would manage to make a
long round rather than pass near the spots where he knew
that Philip had walked with his father.
The little boy was grateful and went with a good grace,
though his sadness remained; but the good doctor's precau-
tions were vain, the thought of his father was always in the
child's mind wherever he went. When they passed in sight
and below the hills crowned with pine-trees, and when Dr.
Frrnois looked at him, he saw that Philip was leaning for-
ward in the carriage and staring at the wood as if to pierce








THE DEBUNE FAMILY. 55

its darkness; then, in a low voice, he said, Ah, I see them!.
I see the pine-trees at the top there, aid the lake is behind
them. Don't you see them, sir ?"
And it was always the same, in spite of the doctor's ef-
forts. Philip's eyes always discovered the wdod, and knew
the spot where the lake lay, for he was always going back in
thought to places where he had once been so happy.









--5..


There remained only two trunks to be closed.


CHAPTER VI.

MOVING TO THE NEW HOME.

NOTHING is more distressing than a grief that must be
endured in secret. To be in great sorrow, and for those near
you to prevent your alluding to it, with the mistaken idea
that by that means they prevent you from thinking of it, is
adding pain to pain. This was not the case with Philip.
Those near him never began the subject, but when the poor
little fellow talked of his father and the happy past, both the
good doctor and Martha listened with sympathy, and so
little by little, like a stream of water that is allowed to flow
quietly on, the bitterness of his grief seemed gradually to
disappear.
It was now October 5th, the last day of the holidays,
and at one o'clock, Dr. Frenois, who was to take Philip to
Monsieur Debrune's, was to come for him. Philip was to








-MO VING TO THE NE W HOME.


make two plunges at the same time-to begin his new life in
this unknown family, and the next daysto go to college for
the first time.
Almost up to the last moment, Martha hoped that she
would be.allowed to accompany the child she loved so much.
She was ready to go and take any place, however mean, if she
might only be near Philip. But Mlle. Debrune had her full
complement of servants in her establishment, and so Martha
was made to understand, in a cold, haughty letter from the
old lady after the devoted servant had written to beg to be
allowed to accompany Philip, if she was only permitted to
enter the house in any humble capacity, which she was will-
ing to fill, even without wages.
So now there were only the two boxes, already packed, to
close, and then Martha felt she could do nothing more for
the child she loved so much, until the next holidays, when they
both hoped that he would be allowed to visit his old home,
and which the old woman and he talked about as if the time
was coming next week. But it would not be until next year,
and that was a long way off, as Martha discovered when she
counted up the days that she would have to pass alone; and
she said to herself that, though a separation might be hard
for those who went away, yet it was ten times worse for
those who remained behind. How sad it would be in that
house with the shutters closed and the doors shut; and poor
old Martha would be all alone.
As to Philip, he wandered about out of doors all the
morning, saying good-bye to all the dear familiar places he
loved so much-the wood, the lake and a thousand other fa-
vorite spots were visited by him. From time to time, after
running for some distance, he would reach one of these fa-
vorite corners, when he would stop and look at it for a long









58 STRAIGHT ON.

while, noting each detail carefully. Then he would shut his
eyes and try to see 4t all as clearly from memory-the trees,
the great outspreading branches and the peeps of light which
found its way between. He tried to impress it all upon
his mind's eye, as one does a map which he has studied
well and is anxious to know by heart. Then, when he
thought he remembered every particular of one spot, he
moved to another; and it was a .consolation to him thus to
carry away with him a mental panorama of the places he
loved so much.
When he came in, the dinner-so it was called, though
prepared at such an early hour-was waiting smoking on the
table. Martha had, you may be sure, taken care to cook
the dishes Philip liked the best; but the poor woman had
hard work to prevent her tears from watering the plates as
she helped 'him, and, in spite of his long morning run, the
boy could not eat with as good an appetite as usual. He
finished his meal quickly, and, when he rose from the table,
Martha and he went and sat on the doorstep-an old habit
of his childhood, from the time when Martha would tell him
Blue Beard and Little Tom Thumb, while she prepared the
vegetables for dinner. Now they sat side by side, watching
for the doctor's carriage, not speaking much, and what they
did say, being but little to the purpose and uttered in an in-
different tone-as those who love each other the best, so
often talk at the last moment before parting-as though a
numbness had fallen upon their minds that they could not ac-
count for.
Ten times, at least, Martha had risen to examine the
fastenings of the boxes, to see that they were quite secure.
And ten times Philip had got up to see if some trifle or
other had not been forgotten; then, just at the moment








MOVING TO THE NEW HOME.


when he felt he had a thousand things to say to the dear
old servant, who had nursed him and always been so good
to him; just as he rested his brown head against her arm
with a. caressing gesture, they had heard the sounds of a
horse's hoofs upon the road, and Dr. Frdnois arrived, very
late and very hurried, and anxious about catching the train.
In another moment, the boxes had been fastened on the
back of the doctor's carriage, and he had been obliged to
hurry Philip, at the last, in his good-byes to his old nurse.
"You will write to me, my Philip?" cried Martha, and
Philip replied, "Yes, yes," as he squeezed her hand through
the carriage' window, and, in an instant, there was a great
distance between those two hands, which were still extended
toward one another. Dr. Fr6nois was not far wrong in fear-
ing that they would be late for the train. They only just
caught it and had the luggage thrown into the van, and then,
without time even to get their tickets, they were pushed into
a carriage and were off.
Fortunately, they were alone, and the commencement of
their journey was so different from what they expected, that,
for the time, at any rate, their sadness disappeared. They
could not help laughing at themselves. It was so ridiculous to
think of all the heads at the windows of the different carriages
watching and laughing at them while the porter hurried them
along and tossed Philip's luggage into the van, with that
magnificent carelessness which railway officials display for
our belongings. They could not help laughing at it all.
Then it seemed to have happened all in a moment, and as the
porter jumped out of the van, the guard banged the doors,
and off they went. And naturally the doctor and Philip
first smiled, and then laughed, then they settled themselves a
little comfortably in their places where the guard had thrust








STRAIGHT ON.


them not a little roughly. Then Philip told his friend what
things he was taking with him, and altogether-it happened
that they were a considerable distance on their journey be-
fore Philip remembered that he was leaving his home. And
by that time he had other anxieties which occupied him to
the end of the trip.
Up to this day, Philip had been so taken up with his
grief, that he had thought but little of the new home to which
he was going. When he did think of it, it was only to feel
that however kind people might be to him, however happy
they might try to make him, all his happiness was in the past,
no kindness could be like his father's, no one could ever
make him happy as he had been. But now, as he was near-
ing that new home, he felt a great curiosity to know what the
Debrune family were like, and he was ready and willing to
talk to the doctor about them and listen to what he had to
say, only, unfortunately, that was very little. He knew of
James Debrune, from hearsay, as a savant; and he knew him
personally, slightly from the letters he had received from
him about Philip, but that was all. Martha had shown him
Mile. Laura's letter when she received it, and as she did so,
the poor old servant boiled with indignation, which the doc-
tor did not wonder at; this letter had given him some slight
insight into the old lady's character, and for Philip's sake
he was sorry to see how hard and cold it appeared to be;
but of course he did not mention anything about that to
Philip, and they merely made conjectures-as far as she was
concerned-as to her age and personal appearance.
With respect to the children of the Debrune family, Dr.
Fr6nois felt more hopeful, and he and Philip amused them-
selves by fancying what they were like. Philip had never
happened to have a companion of his own age, in fact he had








MOVING TO THE NEW HOME.


seen no boys except those of the village where he lived, and
he found it more difficult to imagine wha' these would be like
than to picture the dress of a Chinese idol.
With much modesty, he pictured to himself that two schol-
ars of a first class college, living in the midst of people of
their own station in life ever since their infancy, would be as
different from himself as cultivated rose-trees differ from a
wild bramble, and he tried to describe to Dr. Frenois the sort
of boys he imagined his cousins to be. Glad that he should
be occupied, the kind doctor listened with attention, and
every now and then put in a word or so to beautify the por-
traits, and when they arrived at the station before that of the
town where the Debrunes lived, they had decided that Rob-
ert was a fair, pale, delicate boy, not tall of his age, and with
a sensitive, affectionate nature; and that Pierre was very
pretty, lively, less taking in manner than his brother, though
really as good at heart, and that he wore a gray suit in which
Philip had dressed him.
Why should he have had that gray suit? no one can say
why, but so things are, we can not always give a reason for
our fancies. At any rate, what with the gray coat, and other
ideas, our little friend was so cheered by the time he reached
his journey's end, that when the train stopped, he jumped
out upon the platform with such a bright smile upon his face
as had not been seen there for more than a month past.
That year happened to be a very unhealthy one, and,
although Autumn was generally a trying time, Dr. Frenois
had never known such an amount of illness about. Colds,
bronchitis, and inflammation of the lungs seemed to prevail
everywhere, and it was with the.greatest difficulty that the
worthy man could get away for a whole day from his
patients to travel with his little friend, and he fully expected









STRAIGHT ON.


to meet with many reproaches on his return for being away
even for that short ime.
There was only ten minutes to spare between the train
that took them to the town, and the express the doctor had
to catch to take him back again-just the time necessary for
him to make over the charge of Philip to his relations, who
would be waiting for him. And in preparation for the great
haste with which he must start afresh, the good doctor
fastened his umbrella to one of the buttons of his coat, and
rolled his paletdt up, and fastened it over one shoulder and
under the other, as marching soldiers do with their cloaks.
Then, having once made these preparations, he thought
no more for the present of his patients or his return, and,
taking Philip's hand, he walked about the platform, look-
ing out for the fair, pale cousin and the little gray suit that
Philip's fancy had dressed Pierre up in, but neither of whom,
to their great uneasiness, did they perceive.
The waiting rooms were filling now, for Dr. Fr6nois' train
was almost due, and yet there was no sign of anyone
having come to meet Philip. He asked right and left.
He was sent about from one place to another, but always
with the same result. The doctor grew anxious and nervous,
though he concealed his feelings from his little companion;
and Philip's heart swelled and grew heavier each moment.
It was so sad to arrive like this: it would have been so
different if they had come to meet him! He had thought
they would have been glad to see him, almost like two
brothers to him!
Then, all of a sudden, just as Dr. Frenois had made up his
mind to telegraph home, and say that he could not return un-
til the next day, and was going to call a cab in which to take
Philip and his luggage to the Debrunes, and, you may be









S.. ,r?


7K --


The doctor kissed Philip on both cheeks.


~j A~


7 7
$ IV\


~;'~c









STRAIGHT ON.


sure, feeling very angry at the neglect displayed by the little
boy's guardian, a man-servant arrived upon the scene, very
red and very much out of breath, so much so, that he was
incapable of explaining clearly the reason of the delay, but
he gave them to understand that he was there to meet Master
Philip, and that his cousins were waiting for him in the
carriage.
As to Monsieur Debrune, he had a scientific meeting that
he was obliged to attend which would detain him until the
evening. The doctor did not feel or express any surprise at
this, but the boys- Without expressing his thoughts in
words, the doctor walked towards the door leading into the
street, and there saw a large carriage standing, with two
horses who appeared to be somewhat difficult to manage.
Dr. Fr6nois hurried to where Philip's boxes stood, and at
once made them over to the care of the servant.
If Philips had been received even more coldly than he
was, the good doctor felt that he could have done nothing.
The child .had been placed under the care of the people to
whom he was going by his own father, and however much
the doctor had wished it, he could not have taken him back
to his home again, so he could do nothing but hand him over,
as well as his luggage, to the tall youth who stood there
waiting with his gloved hands hanging down on each side of
him, stretching such a long way out of his livery coat, and
whose respectful touch of the hat was the only sign of wel-
come with which the poor orphan had been as yet received.
If you are unhappy here, write and tell me, my boy," the
kind doctor had been on the point of saying, as his heart
ached at leaving him. Then he felt afraid to say it-such
words would, perhaps, put into the boy's head thoughts that
were not already there, and that he would be better without.









MOVING TO THE NEW HOME.


So he said nothing and walked quickly in the direction of the
carriage to try and see, at least, those boys who remained
sitting ten feet off, taking no notice of their cousin, instead
of running to meet and welcome him with open arms.
But at this moment, the train was just drawing up to the
platform with a whistle. In another moment it would be off,
and the doctor would have a second edition of the morning
without, perhaps, such a happy result, and of his own accord
Philip stopped his friend from going any further with him,
saying-
No; don't come, monsieur, pray don't; you will lose the
train if you do." And then, in a lower voice, "Besides, I
would really rather say good-bye to you here."
The doctor stooped and kissed him on both cheeks with
an affectation of cheerfulness which ill concealed his emotion
and pity, and it was only when the guard cut short his adieus
and pushed him into one of the compartments,'just as the
train was starting, that he left his little friend.
A great cloud of smoke enveloped all the train, and
Philip remained on the platform, gazing on the long black
thing that quickly disappeared. Then when it was gone,
frightened at having lost so much time, he turned to the
servant, who had been standing behind him as immovable as
a statue, and said, in a decided tone of voice, Now then,"
and with his former curiosity, though with less confidence
than before, he walked toward the carriage that had so com-
pletely disarranged his ideas of what his arrival would be
like.
On the box he perceived a tall, thin boy, who held the
reins with one hand and with the other kept continually
flicking the horses with the whip, which caused the restive-
ness the doctor had remarked. He was frowning, and ap-









STRAIGHT ON.


peared as if he kept his seat with great difficulty, and when
Philip was still about three yards off, he exclaimed, in the
tone of one who was warning a man that he was on the edge
of a precipice-
Don't come near, they are furious to-night, and for very
little they would take the bits between their teeth and kill us
all! Then he began to talk in an unintelligible language,
which he wished to be thought English, and that was ad-
dressed to the coachman; and throwing him the reins, he
tried to jump off the box without making use of the steps.
Unfortunately he miscalculated his distance, and, instead of
coming down on his feet, he measured his length on the
ground. Philip uttered an exclamation, and was running
toward him, but Robert had got up before he reached him,
and stood up staring at him with such an expression of rage,
that Philip remained standing where he was, not knowing
what to do or say.
It seemed as if the boy had turned into a tiger, he looked
so fierce. For an instant the two stood looking at one an-
other-Robert full of fury, and Philip stupefied. Then, un-
certain what to do, with his great eyes looking larger than
ever with surprise, he murmured-
How do you do, cousin ?"
There was no reply for a moment or two, Robert still
wearing a look as of a tiger about to spring. Examining
Philip's face to discover if there was the least ironical ex-
pression concealed there, in an icy tone of voice, he replied,
using the same words, How do you do, cousin ? and open-
ing the carriage door, which was a large omnibus built to
carry twelve people, "if you will get in, you will find my
brother there," he said.
In. the half-light of the lanterns, Philip perceived some-








MOVING TO TiHE NEW HOME.


thing lying at full length on one of the seats, and while he
stood looking at it, not liking this timeto hazard an obser-
vation, loud snores, that vibrated through the carriage, sud-
denly proceeded from it. This continued for a minute or
two; then the sham sleeper, tired of his trick, roused himself
apparently, and sat on the seat and rubbed his eyes vigor-
ously, as if he was very sleepy; then addressing Robert, and
pointing at Philip with one finger, he asked-
Did he come alone ? "
Robert shrugged his shoulders to express his ignorance,
and as Pierre turned to Philip to ask him the same ques-
tion, the mixture of frankness, openness and, at the same
time, of timidity and shyness that was expressed in his face,
struck him, and, with rough good nature, he clapped him on
the shoulder, and cried--
How are you, cousin ?"
The tone was so loud, the clap on the shoulder so rough,
that Philip jumped; but a sigh of relief escaped him at re-
ceiving this first, though rude expression of interest. Then,
while he was holding Pierre's hand, the omnibus made a sud-
den move, which upset the three boys, who were tossed on
to the seats all huddled up together like so many bundles of
straw in a van, and they were soon rattling over the stones
at a sharp pace.
During the minute or two that followed, no one spoke.
The cousins looked at each other to see if their imagination
had led them astray in their idea of the appearance, at any-
rate, of their new acquaintance, and, as is the way of very
young people, began to form an opinion of each other with-
out any delay. The momentary good nature of Pierre was
over, and his usual mischievous propensities asserted them-
selves; he was now instantly seized with the desire to amuse









STRAIGHT ON.


himself at his cousin's expense, a companion that he consid-
ered had arrived from the woods expressly to be made his
butt. So, in a shrill, loud voice, which he adopted, to be
heard above the noise of the wheels, he told Philip that he
would point out all the curiosities of the town to him as they
passed the cathedral, the mansion house, and all the different
places of interest.
At first, Philip, grateful and confiding, looked and list-
ened with great interest to all his cousin pointed out and
said; but when he saw, several times over, what he was told
was either a church or theatre, looked like an-eating shop or
public house, with its sign even hanging out and'waving in
the wind, and Pierre was rolling on the cushions with laugh-
ter, he understood only too well that the unkind boy was but
trying to make a fool of him. Poor Philip, his heart sank
within him, and the rest of the drive was a terribly long and
melancholy one to him.


























A lady had bent over him.


CHAPTER VII.

A COLD WELCOME..

ROBERT remained sitting silent and stiff as if he were
made of wood. Neither the galloping, of the horses, the
shaking of the omnibus, nor the absurdities of his brother,
made him move a muscle; he just remained in the same posi-
tion as when they started. When a more than usually severe
jolt was given to the omnibus, he bounded up like the others,
but retained the same attitude, and came down again just the
same, like a dummy. This was very perplexing to Philip,
who felt (between the solid immovability of Robert and the
incessant gabbling of Pierre, who unmercifully continued
his descriptions, laughing loudly at his own jokes, and still
perfectly delighted with his own nonsense) as if he had fallen
into the hands of two maniacs, and that, before very long, he
should become as bad as they were.









70 STRAIGHT ON.

And this was the first glimpse he got of his relations
whom he had made up his mind were so good and kind!
These were the cousins; these were the people with whom
his life was to be spent! And it was to be with them that he
had left the beautiful country he loved so well, its woods and
mountains!
His heart ached, and he felt as if he had a ball in his
throat, while the tears seemed rushing to his eyes, and he
feared that, in spite of all he could do, he should not be able
to help crying, and then Pierre would probably leave off
laughing at his own wit in order to turn him into ridicule.
Fortunately the carriage- stopped almost immediately after
this, and Philip saw that they passed through some iron
gates, which opened upon a courtyard, in which grew some
large trees, the sight of which, though only dimly discerned
in the darkness, cheered Philip's heart. As he drove through
the streets, he had fancied to himself that he would never see
the green trees and the blue sky, or anything that he loved
again; and now the sight of even a few trees to remind him
that there were some things here, the same as at home, did
him good.
When the carriage stopped in front of the entrance to the
house, Pierre jumped up, waved his arms in a theatrical man-
ner, and exclaimed, The home of my ancestors! "
Then, without waiting until they opened tge hall door, he
pushed past Philip, let himself out of the omnibus, jumped
down, and tore up the eight steps at the entrance, and young
Bailleul saw him disappear, with a pirouette, into a great ves-
tibule that was lighted by a gilt chandelier. .This seemed so
formidable to Philip that he wondered, with terror, if he
would have to enter the house all alone and introduce himself
to Mademoiselle Debrune.








A COLD WELCOME. I

But Robert, who wished to annoy him, pushed forward in
front of his cousin, and got out of thecarriage first, and the
delay thus caused was sufficient to enable Mademoiselle
Laura to cross the vestibule and reach the hall door as Philip
entered the house.
There was a rustle of silk, and a lady who appeared larger
and grander than any one he had ever seen before, advanced
toward him, and, stooping down, kissed him upon both
cheeks. Then she stood upright and signed to him to follow
her.
As she kissed him, it seemed as though she gave him a lit-
tle smack on either side of his face,.so hard were the pecks
she bestowed upon him; and as he passed a looking-glass, he
glanced in it to see if his cheeks were not red from the
effects.
With a rapid step, this lady led him into a large drawing-
room, where there was a blazing fire, and sat down, evidently
in the place from which she had risen .when he arrived.
Philip felt so shy at finding himself thus alone with her that
he could not think of anything to say.
< His two cousins had managed to escape promptly, and
had left him alone with this elderly lady, whose attention
was entirely taken up with her embroidery frame. Philip
remained watching her as she worked away, making long
lines of black wool and then filling up the spaces alternately
with blue, red and green squares-a combination that Philip
contemplated-with a feeling of horror.
Presently, Mademoiselle Debrune bade him sit down by
the fire, which he accordingly did, and remained sitting there
holding, his hat in his hand, and in spite of his shy, nervous
feeling, the poor little fellow did not appear at all awkward.
He was glad to be quiet, and although he could not admire








STRAIGHT ON.


the colors used in the production of the work, still it amused
him to watch the rap(d movement of the needle up and down
through the work, and the wool that was drawn so rapidly
backward and forward by the worker's fingers, that moved
with the regularity of the pendulum of a clock; and he was
beginning to feel more at his ease, when Mademoiselle De-
brune suddenly began talking to him.
She had been looking at him from time to time, and the
attentive look with which he followed each movement of her
hand with so much apparent interest, pleased her. One is
always pleased with anyone'-whoever it may be-that
seems to admire one's work. Presently, she stopped her oc-
cupation for a minute, and lifting her head, said, with almost
a smile, You are looking at my work; do you think it is
pretty ?"
I-I-" stammered Philip.
He was incapable of telling one of those polite fibs,
which alas! people get into the habit of telling in order to
avoid hurting the feelings of others ; so he only turned very
red and stammered, horrified at the idea that he must con-
fess to this terrible old lady how very ugly he thought the
work. Poor Philip he stared at the floor, and wished that a
great hole might suddenly appear in it, down which he might
disappear, with all his trouble and perplexity.
But, as might be expected, the floor beneath him re-
mained as solid as ever, and Mademoiselle Laura did not go
on working, but she continued to look at him with her hand
raised and her body bent forward like a gigantic note of in-
terrogation. Then, feeling that he must say something, poor
Philip took courage and said, all in one breath, "I don't'like
the blue, or the green, or the red; but it is so well done.
Oh! it is so well worked."


































.I I


Philip started to leave.








74 STRAIGHT ON.

The needle was once more driven into the canvas with a
will, no word was'spoken, and it appeared as though each
stitch that was pierced seemed to protest against the auda-
cious boy who declared that he neither liked the green, red,
nor blue of the work in hand, and who had the impertinence
to assert his dislike to the above mentioned colors. And
then there was silence again, more absolute-as it seemed to
poor Philip-than it had been before.
Alas," thought he, "it is all over .now, she will never
forgive me. Oh! if somebody would only come now, if
the hands of the clock would only move a little faster, so
that I might see that the time is passing; but they don't
seem to move one bit. I think the clock has stopped."
But the clock had not stopped. As Philip kept his eyes
fixed upon it, he distinctly saw the large hand advance a
minute, and then another, each of which seemed to him an
hour, and, just as it was reaching the third, Mademoiselle
Debrune's voice fell upon his ear again.
This time the voice was much harsher in tone, so hard
and metallic, that Philippe glanced round the room to see if
the noise were not caused by some brass ornament falling
from the mantelpiece and knocking against the fender.
Mademoiselle Debrune had asked him a question, and the
boy answered it in the negative. A short time passed; Philip
thought the conversation would stop here, and expected
the needle to set to work again, and, accordingly, anxiously
watched it.
Mademoiselle Laura, however, had evidently made up her
mind to continue her inquiries, so, fixing her eyes upon him,
and frowning at him with her severe eyebrows drawn more
closely together at each reply made by the unfortunate lad,
she subjected him to a sort of cross examination; as ill-luck









A COLD WELCOME.


would have it, Philip had to reply in the negative to each
question, and the sameness of his anstvers, which was no
fault of his, worried the poor boy not a little.
No, mademoiselle-no-no, mademoiselle." It seemed
to himself to be quite ridiculous, always to be saying the
same thing; and it seemed to irritate Mademoiselle Debrune,
who, however, questioned him more and more, as if to see
how far his determination of repeating the negative would
go; but what could the poor boy say ?
He strove to answer in the negative without repeating the
word No." He grew more and more nervous each minute:
he thought of shaking his head, of making any sign which
would convey his meaning without having to make use of
that horrid little word which was becoming quite hateful to
him from constant repetition. He had just come to the con-
clusion that it would be certainly better for him to hold his
tongue,-and only shake his head, than to go on as he was
doing, when again a question was put in answer to which the
fatal monosyllable escaped his lips.
The old lady was evidently annoyed, not remembering
that it was really her own fault; and the scene would
have been quite laughable had it not been for the distress
of poor Philip, for which no one could have helped being
sorry.
The following were some of the questions put to him:-
Did he know Paris ? Did he ride on horseback ? "
" Had he no other friend he liked as well as Dr. Frenois ?" to
all of which Philip had to answer "No." Then came the
weather that Mademoiselle questioned him upon, and No"
was again repeated, as that evening happened, unfortunately,
neither to be cold, rainy nor windy. She was then just going
to put the question which, had she put it before, would have








STRAIGHT ON.


saved all the others, "Is it, then, fine this evening ?" when
Philip, delighted at 'he prospect of answering in the affirma-
tive, knew by instinct almost what she was going to say ; as
before she could half get the words out, he shouted out, "Yes,
yes certainly! yes! while his eyes lighted up and his face
beamed all over.
Mademoiselle Debrune was so shocked at being inter-
rupted in this way, that she dropped her needle and fell back
in her chair, and Philip was himself so frightened at what
he had done, that he jumped up, intending to escape, though
he did not know where to, when steps were heard in the ante-
chamber, and the two brothers appeared almost as suddenly
as they had disappeared a short time before, Robert looking
grand and cold, and Pierre as full of tricks as ever, making
grimaces behind his aunt's back, and affecting an appearance
of shame and contrition. Philip was really rejoiced at his
cousins' reappearance, which interrupted his formidable tite-
a-tite, so he went up to them and stood beside them. And
the three presented a most amicable group when Mon-
sieur Debrune came into the drawing room a minute or
two after.
He made a gesture of satisfaction as he saw this, and
opening his arms he closed them round his old friend's child
in such an affectionate manner, that it was all Philip could
do not to cry. The tears were swimming in his eyes; but
Monsieur Debrune was the only person who discovered them
there, and with the delicacy and kindness that he always
showed when his thoughts were not wandering off to the
stars or other scientific matters, he held the boy more closely
to him for a second to give him time to recover himself, long-
er than was at all necessary, as the two boys standing behind
Philip thought.









A COLD WELCOME. 77

It must have looked strange and rather funny to see those
long arms of the philosopher, so little ac(cstomed to caress-
ing anyone, folded round the young boy so awkwardly, and
for so long that the impression was presently given to the
lookers on, that he would be glad to let go if he only knew
how. The sight was touching, too, and Robert and Pierre
need not have looked at one another.and laughed.
When Monsieur Debrune saw that Philip had recovered
himself, he kindly inquired about his journey, Dr. Frenois and
the different studies he had hitherto pursued; then, noticing
that Philip seemed nervous and shy when making some re-
mark to Pierre, appearing as if he scarcely knew how to
address him, he said-
"Don't call them cousin, call them Robert and Pierre.
Speak to them and look upon them as your brothers, and this
lady is your aunt, in future," said he, pointing to Mademoi-
selle Debrune; "and I am your uncle who loves you. I do
not ask you to call me father, because it would cause you
pain to do so; that is a name that can not be given twice
over; though you are not the less my third son from this day
forth-remember that. But," he added, with a smile, "they
say that I am very absent minded, and I might, unfortunately,
forget that you are here. If I appear to do so at any time,
you must just walk boldly up to me and take me by the hand,
saying, 'Uncle James, it is I, it is Philip speaking to you.'
And then I shall remember."
Dinner was now announced, and Philip, now smiling and
happy, and feeling quite ready to love the'whole family-
the father and head of whom seemed so lovable-followed his
uncle into the dining-room.
Whether Monsieur Debrune-having made an effort-de-
termined to continue in his present.agreeable frame of mind









78 STRAIGHT ON.

for the rest of the day or not, it is quite certain that, during
the whole of dinnertime, he was quite charming, he chatted
away and did not appear absent, except, on one or two occa-
sions, when he tried to use his spoon instead of a knife, and
Philip noticed that he half filled his glass with water from
one carafe, and then carefully filled it up from another, and
drank it under the evident impression that it was wine and
water. Philippe was just going to cry out, "You have taken
water both times, uncle," when Pierre gave him a nudge with
his elbow, and, leaning forwards, whispered, in a mysterious
tone-
Don't say anything about it ; the first bottle of water is
what we all drink, but the second is kept specially for papa,
and he does not like anyone to speak to him about it. It is
the water of the sky."
"Sky water? Rain water, do you mean ?" asked Phi-
lip, in surprise.
No; water of the sky, of the Heavens, I tell you It is
a particular water that the great astronomers all drink to
make their eyes strong and sharp to look at the stars. They
all drink it, but they don't like to talk about it."
Although Philip half thought that Pierre was only amus-
ing himself at his expense, he did not dare to say anything to
his uncle, and Monsieur Debrune drank off his glass of water
with such evident satisfaction, that the boy might have fan-
cied there was some truth in what his cousin said.
With the exceptions I have mentioned, Monsieur Debrune
did not once appear in the least absent; he was most kind to
Philip, talking to him, and making him tell him about his
life at home, his occupations and his pleasures, and he was
attentive to all the boy said.
At first Philip said but little in answer to his uncle's








A COLD WELCOME. 79

questions, thinking that the latter c6uld scarcely take much
interest in his doings ; but by degrees, as Ae talked more, he
warmed with his subject, for was he not recalling the scenes
that he loved so dearly ? and he described his former life very
graphically.



























" There you see papa's tower."


CHAPTER VIII.

BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT.

ROBERT and Pierre listened to all that Philip was talk-
ing about, without saying a word. The tone he adopted in
speaking of what interested him so much, was quite new to
them; they were surprised, and not a little inclined to laugh.
But this they dared not do, on account of their father, and
also because, somehow without knowing why, they uncon-
sciously felt the charm of the boy's simple narrative. He
spoke so earnestly, showing such love of his country home,
and truth and earnestness must always impress everyone.
Pierre did interrupt his cousin once to say, "If I had
been you, I should have built myself a little hut in those
woods of yours, with leaves for a carpet, leaves for the ceil-
ing, and leaves all round; and then I should have put a lot









BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT.


of grass in it, and I should have lived there for the rest of
my life. That would have been delightful! "
But Philip had replied, quite calmly, Why should I have
done that, when my father's house was only just below?"
So then they sat and listened, interested, in spite of them-
selves, while Philip told about his fishing and shooting
expeditions, and, boys as they were, they could not help
liking to hear about it.
Unfortunately, Monsieur Debrune went up-stairs directly
after dinner, as usual, and bade his sons take care of Philip
and show him over the house; and from this moment all the
poor boy's pleasure was over.
His uncle patted him kindly on the head as he went out
of the room, telling him that his room was close to that in
which he slept, and that he might sometimes like to knock at
the door of his study as he passed. He then said, Good
night! to him with a warm shake of the hand; the rest of
the family then adjourned to the great drawing room. When
Philip saw Mademoiselle Laura go and seat herself before
her frame, and draw up her chair just to the same spot where
it was before, he felt as if all his former troubles were com-
ing upon him again; so to avoid a repetition of the cross ex-
amination that he went through before dinner, he took care
to go and sit at the other end of the room.
But it really seemed as if the Fates were against him;
for, if the former ridiculous conversation which had annoyed
him so much was not renewed, his cousins seemed deter-
mined to worry and harass him in their turn, and they soon
succeeded in plunging him into a state of deep melancholy.
Anyone would have thought that they wished to revenge
themselves, because they had to behave with politeness to him
at dinner; and, as some savage animals that are charmed
6









STRAIGHT ON.


and rendered quiet by the sound of music get more vicious
when it stops, so 1 seemed that, because they had appeared
to be amused and interested when Philip was talking of his
country life, as soon as his descriptions ceased they deter-
mined to tease him.
Now, although Philip understood all about the country
and a country life, and could describe it so well, yet he was
profoundly ignorant of town life and the ways of a public
school. The two cousins first questioned him to find out
how far he was ignorant upon the subject, and then incited
him to ask questions. Pierre twisted and turned every-
thing, and invented so much, that poor Philip got quite con-
fused.
Then Pierre told him about their college, and such an ac-
count of school life was certainly seldom given before. To
hear him talk, anyone would have supposed that the college
was a sort of den of wild beasts, half-den and half-theatre,
where the most extraordinary, and often tragic scenes took
place daily. He told Philip, with apparently the utmost
candor and truth, of adventures on the roof, when the cadets
would escape and be pursued; also of flights out of third
story windows, when the boys would be let down with cords
passed under their arms. Then he depicted in glowing col-
ors the excitement-the dread of being found out, the terrors
of the master looming in the distance; and the country boy,
who had been so differently brought up, listened, surprised,
though not pleased, wondering if his cousin could be speak-
ing the truth.
After all, how could he tell ? Perhaps it was true that
there were cells in the college whence terrible groans pro-
ceeded and dreadful punishment was administered. Perhaps
the terrible ushers in the school were as cruel, and as much








BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT.


to be dreaded as his cousin had described them. How could
he tell ? 0
"Each of the masters," said Pierre, gravely, has the
right, during work time, to hit any boy he chooses twenty-
four times, and he puts the number down upon the black-
board as soon as he has thrashed him."
Well, I think that is very hard," exclaimed Philip.
Yes, it is pretty sharp on them," replied Pierre, uncon-
cernedly; and the worst part of it is that it is not the ones
who really deserve it that get punished, because, of course, if
that were the case, boys could prevent it by behaving well.
But that has nothing to do with it. A master will take a
spite against some unfortunate creature for no reason, per-
haps, and he will cane him for nothing; and I have known a
boy flogged like that every day for a whole week. Can you
conceive anything so horrid? How would you like to be
thrashed for nothing every day of your life, without being
able to say a word? That's the way we go on at college,
though."
Philip could not conceive such a thing, and he had too
much good sense to believe all that Pierre said, but he could
not think that everything he had told him about the school
to which he was going was pure invention. Still, he could
not believe in chickens being given to the pupils to pluck in
their playtime, to please the cook, or that it was the custom
for the elder pupils to greet each of the others as they ar-
rived at school in the morning with a blow of their fists.
Neither could he credit the fact that the head master habitu-
ally walked about in the dress of a Chinese mandarin.
What should he do in the midst of such a chaos ? Then,
too, Robert assured him that all the new pupils had to make
a speech to the masters and the other boys as soon as they en-









84 STRAIGHT ON.

tered the class room. What should he say? What should
he do? And yet he was so anxious to be friends with
them all.
When Pierre had finished with his account of the school,
he began to describe the Debrune family to Philip, and
dwelt particularly upon that spirit of independence of which
he and-his brother were so proud. He depicted each individ-
ual, as being entirely taken up with his own occupations and
personal affairs, and as utterly regardless of those of other
people. He beckoned Philip to the window.
"There," he said, "you see that tower; that is papa's, he
is always there; he only comes away for meals, and he for-
gets those sometimes. Once he remained there for three
days and three nights without having anything to eat or
drink. Wasn't it dreadful ? "
Philip shrugged his shoulders, for he was getting wea-
ried of these perpetual untruthful jokes, but as everything to
do with his uncle had an interest for him, he remained at the
window with. his forehead pressed against the panes of glass,
looking out at the tower, and the great telescope that was
erected on a sort of platform that projected from it.
"And when he does come out," continued Pierre, as he
stood behind his cousin, he thinks of nothing that is going
on; sees nothing, knows nothing. He doesn't speak to any-
one and doesn't know even if anyone is standing in front of
him. Now, for instance, he won't know you in the least-
won't remember even that you ever came here. Wouldn't
know your name if he heard it."
"He won't know you--won't remember you are here."
These words wounded Philip terribly.
His uncle's, kindness, his cordiality had cheered him so.
It went to his heart to think that this comfort would be lost





















I


Pierre showed his cousin everything.


ii
Ji? B..









STRAIGHT ON.


to him. Was it true that his uncle was like that ? Could
Pierre have spoken the truth ?
He tried to fancy how his uncle would receive him next
day, and he stood staring out across the courtyard as if his
thoughts could penetrate through the darkness of the night.
But his reverie was not of long duration, for the chatter-
ing and boasting of his cousin continued, and Philip, in spite
of himself, was obliged to listen.
"The fact is," said he, "that each goes his own way.
Papa dreams, my aunt grumbles, Robert and I eat; therefore
you may suppose that we none of us have much time for con-
versation or sentiment."
Pierre scarcely lowered his voice when he talked about
his aunt; and as Philip, quite surprised, looked at him with
an expression of reproach, he said, "What is the matter?
Do you think that I ought not to say she grumbles? Oh,
you think she heard it Well, she is always like that;
and one can say things of that kind about her just as one
might say she had black or white hair. And why not ? It is
,our nature not to mind remarks and be thin skinned. The
Debrunes are not sensitive and they do not trouble themselves
about trifles. We are not gushing, either. In this house
we kiss one another four times in the year-on New Year's
Day, at Easter, at Pentecost and at Christmas."
When the clock struck nine, a servant came in with
candlesticks, and Mademoiselle Laura stopped her work for a
few minutes. This was the boys' bedtime.
With the politeness and good manners that his father
had taught him, Philip went up to the elderly lady to say
" good night "; but as he approached her she did not move
from her seat, but she waved him off with her'hand, as much
as to say Good night, good night. I wish to goodness you








'BITTER DZSAPPOIWTMENT..


would leave me in peace And Philip retired quite out of
countenance.
Four times a year, I told you," cried Pierre, delighted,
as he ran upstairs; we are only affectionate four times in
the year; you must be patient till Christmas comes." As
Philip did not particularly care for the old lady's signs of
affection, but only wished to act politely, he felt anything but
pleased at these remarks. Still, he was an affectionate boy,
and he could not help thinking of the difference of poor old
Martha's good nights which, especially of late, had been so
loving. He thought of the freedom of his home, too, and
how his voice sounded through the little house; here he felt
that he should never dare to raise it above half its strength.
All the doors that he passed increased the feeling he had
that he was lost, the house was so large. One rarely has
feeling of complete isolation in a small house, but often has
in a large one, and Monsieur Debrune's house was really a
palace in comparison to the little flower-covered cottage of
poor Capt. Bailleul.
When Philip and Pierre went out of the drawing-room,
Robert put down the book he had held in his hand ever since
dinner, and, yawning and blinking his eyes as if he was over-
come with sleep, he preceded the other two boys upstairs.
He doesn't talk much, that brother of mine, does he ?"
said Pierre.
Philip said he seemed to think a good deal, and timidly
asked Pierre if he knew what subject occupied his thoughts
so much.
Certainly," replied Pierre, he is thinking how good
looking he is. Very handsome indeed he thinks himself.
And that thought pleases him very much." Then, seeing his
brother look round, he called out, "We were talking about









STRAIGHT ON.


your nose. Philip thinks he would like it better if it was
a little longer, but 'I think it is quite beautiful enough as it
is." And, without paying any attention to the indignant
gesture of his cousin, he burst out into a loud laugh.
As soon as Robert reached the door of his own room, he
shook hands-that is to say, with the tips of his fingers-
with Philip, as if he were touching something that was
very unpleasant, while he glanced at him with a supercilious
air and entered his room, while the other boys went on to
the end of the corridor, where Philip was to sleep.
This is your room," said Pierre, as he took him into it;
and as he spoke Philip felt as though a weight were taken
off his heart.
His room!-that is to say, a room that belonged ex-
clusively to him, where he could be alone when he liked, and
where he could do as he chose; where he could sit and think
and remember; where no one could come to ridicule him, or
laugh at what he loved best; where he could arrange all the
things he had brought from home. He might also fancy
he was at home again. He might sit there as long as he
liked, only looking at and thinking of his treasures; and, un-
disturbed by any noise, he might recall his father and the
happy home life.
It was strange for a mere child to feel this love of soli-
tude, but very natural to all who have suffered, child or adult,
and poor Philip kad suffered, as we know.
My own room my own room! he repeated to himself
with pleasure, and he glanced round the walls, and into the
corners of the little room, with a feeling of relief and com-
fort. Still, he was troubled a little by the idea that Pierre
intended to remain with him some time longer, perhaps.
The truth was, that the capricious boy had not quite made








BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT. 89

up his mind what he should do. However, he set to work to
show everything to his cousin; he opened the cupboard doors
and displayed the empty shelves with an air of proprietorship
that was very ridiculous. He swung the doors backwards
and forwards to show how easily they worked upon their
hinges. He behaved just like a lodging-house keeper anxious
to let his apartments; then, suddenly turning on his heel, he
gave Philip's hand a tremendous squeeze and disappeared.
It was really time that our poor Philip was left in peace;
he was quite exhausted. As soon as he was alone he went to
the window and, opening it, rested his elbows upon the stone
coping outside; then, burying his face in his hands, the great
tears rained down his cheeks without restraint.



























Philip was sitting before his table.


CHAPTER IX.

REMEMBERING HIS FATHER'S LAST WORDS.

AT another time, perhaps, when Philip had been hap-
pier and his mind more buoyant, he would have taken all
Pierre's nonsense in better part. But we must not forget
that it was but a month since he had lost the being he
loved best on earth, and that it was only on that very morn-
ing that he had broken with all the ties that bound him to
his happy past. Then, too, he suffered from the extreme
shyness natural to a child who had been brought up without
companions of his own age; and that he was now suddenly
transported into the midst of a very odd family, to say the
least of it, the members of which were all perfect strangers
to him, and whom he did not in the least understand, and in
whose company he felt like a traveler who is ignorant of the
language spoken by the people in whose country he' finds









REMEMBERING HIS FATHER'S LAST WORDS. 91

himself; so, now, when the poor boy was left alone, he cried
bitterly, the great hot tears dropping through his fingers on
the stone window-sill. He shed a perfect storm of tears,
which, though, like a summer shower, cleared the atmosphere,
and Philip soon felt the better for it.
Little by little the odor from the damp leaves and earth
below him, which were bathed in dew, reached him at his
window. That smell, which seemed so familiar to him,
calmed him; he felt soothed and comforted, he scarcely
knew why, and he remained looking down on the garden, try-
ing to make out, in the darkness, of what shape and extent
it was.
On one side rose M. Debrune's tower, which appeared
more brilliantly lighted, and Philip wondered if he would be
allowed to have the pleasure of looking through the great
telescope some night, to watch those glorious stars that he
loved so much, the sight of which always brought to his
mind that last evening that he came home from shooting.
The thought of the stars seemed to draw him nearer to his
father, and at the same time that he thought of the poor
Captain, the remembrance of his last words came back to him.
Philip did not require to look at the little piece of
paper, that he always carried about with him, to see the faint
writing of those three words, "Straight on, Philip." Those
three words, the last 'his father ever wrote. Straight on "
meant so much to the boy now. Those words meant for
him-honesty, courage, patience, energy to keep to the right
path in spite of all temptations.
In about three years I shall go to the military college,"
murmured he to himself, "and three years will soon pass, and
I must keep straight on during that time; and then I shall go
into the army and be an officer "









92 STRAIGHT ON.

That word officer seemed to the boy as if it were a safe-
guard from all evils and temptations. Once wear that
uniform, that he so coveted, and he was persuaded that all
would be well with him.
An officer! Think what that name of officer meant to a
child whose ideas of honor and patriotism were bound up in
it. To Philip, an officer always seemed a heroic being.
In his mind's eye he always saw him with uplifted sword,
leading his men and cheering them on to deeds of valor. He
never thought that there could be another side to the picture,
or that so gallant and splendid a being could be as weak and
sinful as other men.
Occupied with his thoughts, he was about to close the
window, when Pierre's loud voice, which had tormented him
ever since his arrival, shouted out close to his ear. Philip
started violently, and felt, for the moment, so angry that he
felt very much inclined to give his cousin a welcome with his
fist.
Pierre, however, was not, as Philip at first supposed, in
his room, but was calling out from his own bedroom
window.
I wanted to let you know that I was your neighbor, Mr.
Greens," cried he; "I was watching you eating the leaves
off our trees with your eyes. Don't distress yourself, to-
morrow morning I will bring you in some branches for your
breakfast."
And then he shut his window with a bang, and, after
knocking three blows upon the wainscoat that separated his
room from his cousin's, he relapsed into silence.
But Philip's calmness had disappeared. He felt as if he
could neither think nor move about, fearing each moment
that Pierre would in some way make his near neighborhood








REMEMBERING HIS FATHER'S LAST WORDS. 93

be felt again. And while he walked as softly as possible,
gliding about like a little shadow as le undressed, he was
suddenly seized with an immense pity for all those creatures
that suffer from fear. All hunted creatures, and all orphans,
where ever they might be, with heavy hearts like his. So
passed the first hours Philip spent in the Debrunes' house.
When he awoke the next morning, bright sunshine was
streaming into his room, and the gladness which rested upon
all external things seemed to find its way into his own heart.
There is a great deal of difference in the troubles that come
to us in this world, when one looks at them in the darkness
of the night or by daylight. There is the same amount of
difference that one finds in .the cracking of the furniture,
which at night one thinks must be the mysterious steps of
robbers, and which, by daylight, one does not take the least
notice of, merely looking upon it as a matter of course.
With the first welcome ray of light, phantoms vanish and our
worst troubles are lightened. Everything becomes lighter
and smaller with kindly day. One finds that a giant of the
night is a mere ordinary man, and the terrible grin which
frightens us so much has turned into merely a mischievous
smile. In fact, while night cows us and we are afraid even
to look at our troubles, dawn brings us the courage to face
them and find how really small they are.
However, Philip's recollection of his neighbor of the night
before, was vivid enough to make him dress very quietly and
quickly, and he was seated at his table, writing to Martha,
before anyone knew even that he was awake.
My dear Nurse, I am going to tell you all that has hap-
pened," he began. But then he stopped, for that word all "
meant so much, and so much that was not pleasant, and so he
waited for a little while to think.








94 STRAIGHT ON.

Philip was older in mind, in some respects, than other
boys of his age, andS besides that, he had other.manly quali-
ties. He was possessed of both energy and courage, and he
neither liked to waste time in the contemplation of his
troubles, nor did he like to complain of them to others.
Therefore, he made up his mind that he would not tell Mar-
tha all. He would keep his tears and his disappointments
to himself. His poor old nurse had shed tears enough her-
self already, when she parted from him, and he would not
cause her fresh sorrow by letting her know that he was un-
happy, so he pushed his pen and paper away, and like the
brave little philosopher that he was, he tried hard to look on
the bright side of things.
As far as his uncle was concerned, he had only to say
what he really thought, and felt, about him, as Philip was
full of gratitude for the way he had received him, in spite of
what Pierre had said, though certainly the latter had made
him feel not a little uncomfortable, and it was disagreeable
to think his existence was forgotten by M. Debrune an hour
after he had parted from him. He should meet his uncle in
half an hour, and if he should not appear to know him again
what should he do ?
Then he recollected what M. Debrune had told him, and
he determined that in that case he would walk up to him
bravely and place his hand in his, and he hoped that then he
would be welcomed with as kind a smile as he had met with
the night before.
So he set to work to write to Martha a much more cheer-
ful letter than he had at first thought of sending. He de-
scribed the tower and the wonderful telescope just as he had
seen it the night before. Then he told her about his room,
and the view he saw from his window-a somewhat con-


























T, '"1I, -;
I 'Ijr l


Monsieur Debrune was absorbed in his calculations.
Monsieur Debrune was absorbed in his calculations.


\;<--


I, i


~
i~,









96 STRAIGHT ON.

tracted view, as he could not help telling her, inclosed by a
great wall coveredcwith ivy as old as the house; but there
were trees growing in the garden, and one superb acacia, the
topmost branches of which he could touch from his open
window.
As to Mademoiselle Laura he hesitated what he should
say, for he did not know that Martha already knew a little
about the old lady, and he was anxious not to make his kind
old friend sad. But he was greatly at a loss what to say
about.his Aunt Debrune, for really he could not think of any-
thing pleasant about her, in spite of his determination to look
at everything on the bright side this morning. But on turn-
ing the question over again in his mind, he lived in hopes that
perhaps he might one day render the old lady some slight
service not worth mentioning-such as picking up her balls
of wool, or reels of cotton, or finding and taking to her any
little thing she might mislay, which might please her and
make her friendly with him-this was possible after all. So
he made up his mind that he would only just write an ac-
count of what he had said when Mademoiselle Debrune asked
him if he admired her work, as Philip thought it would be
well to have feminine advice upon the subject.
Tell me what you think ?" wrote he. Tell me if you
think a lady could ever forgive one for answering like
that ?"
The last part of his letter was taken up with describing
his cousins, and it was touching to see with what delicacy
he strove to make the best of their unkind reception, and
their ungentlemanly behavior; it would seem that he felt
shame for them, as he thought of the difference between
what was and what ought to have been; and that he did not
like the idea of others thinking ill of a family with whom he




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