Oh, mother, where did you get those bouquets? As I live there is the very one that I looked at and talked about with Joseph Butler, last night. Did you buy them, mother?"

"No, Tom Top brought them here just as we got home, and said that an old gray-headed gentleman bought them of Joseph, and gave him a shilling to bring them here, one for me, and one for you."

"Oh, my, that must be him, who else could it be? And then, only think of it, his name is just like Mrs. Morgan's before she was married."

"What, Lovetree? Is his name Lovetree? How remarkable it would be if he should turn out to be my uncle from the West."

"So it would. Now I think of it, he does look like you. No, no, I cannot eat now, I must run and tell him, that you are here, it will make him so happy."

So it did. There was another happy person that day; ah, two or three of them, for Mrs. May and Stella were almost as happy as Athalia; when he came they saw how quickly she recognized him, and how overjoyed he was to see her, and how he hugged her and kissed her, and then he took Stella in his arms and kissed her, and told her that she should never go out peddling again; that he would set her mother up in a little shop, and Stella should be her clerk, for he felt that he owed all that he now enjoyed to her, and he owed her mother a great debt for her kind intention and goodness of heart, in getting Athalia away from that house; and then he told them all about his visit to Mrs. Laylor's, and Mrs. May told all about how she worked her plan to get Athalia away; how she dressed her up and sent her down first, and then she watched until she saw the other girl in the hall, and then went down herself. Then Stella said, she must run and see Joseph, she wanted Joseph to tell that other gentleman; and so she did, and Joseph told "the other gentleman," when he came by and stopped to give the poor crippled black man a kind word, which always lighted up a pleasant smile upon his fine face; and in the evening the two gentlemen, and the two ladies, and the dear little girl, all sat down in Mrs. May's little parlor, to such a supper, as, perhaps, never had been set in that room before. This was one of Mr. Lovetree's whims. It was a thanksgiving supper, he said, for the prodigal returned, and he wanted to eat it there, all by themselves; and so he went out and ordered the best of everything that could be provided sent there, and then as happy a party sat down as ever enjoyed a supper in New York. Athalia and her uncle had talked all day, and she had told him all the secrets of her life, and he had forgiven her everything, and told her that he would love her as long as she would love him. Then he asked Stella to go out and get him some writing materials, and then her eyes fairly danced with joy as she ran and got her own little portfolio, one that she had made herself out of some colored paper, and asked him if he would use her pen and paper. He did so, and then wrapped up the little home-made article in a newspaper, and carried it away with him, without saying a word. Stella thought it very queer that he should do so, and she almost dropped a tear at the thought of losing it, for it had cost her a good many hours of busy work to make it. After awhile a boy brought it back, wrapped in the same paper, but as it had her name on the outside, she thought she would open it, to see what he had put in it; "some paper, I dare say, in place of that which he had used." That was not what she found; she found in place of her old one, the most beautiful portfolio that could be found in New York, filled with all sorts of stationery that could be desired.

After supper was over, of course Stella had to get her portfolio, and show it, and talk about it; and then Mr. Lovetree talked about what he had written with Stella's pen--it was his will.

"I have made," said he, "Athalia my heir. I adopt her as my daughter, and shall always treat her as my child. I hope she will always feel towards me as she would if I were her father in fact. She is an orphan, and she is----a widow."

"A widow--a widow?"

"Is Walter dead?"

"Is that so, uncle--father?"

"Yes, it is so. When I went to the attorney to see if I had got my will all right, and when he came to the name of Athalia Morgan, he said, 'Oh, that is Walter Morgan's widow.' Then, I said, widow, widow, just as you all did a minute since. And he told me, that was the fact; and a good thing it was that he was dead, for he got to be a terrible sot. And now, Athalia is my heir, and my executor. When I am dead she will do what she pleases with what I leave, and get married again if she likes; she has promised me that she never will while I live. There is one little clause in my will that I will read now, for I like to make people happy, and I am going to make a mother happy, free from anxiety about what her child will do when she is gone. This is the clause, 'To the owner of the pen with which I wrote this will, I bequeath five hundred dollars.'"

"Why, what is there in that to cry about? Bless my heart, I thought I was going to make you all happy, and here you are all shedding tears."

"Oh, uncle, uncle, you have made us happy. These are tears of joy and gladness. How n.o.ble, how generous, how good!"

"Just like him," said the other gentleman.

"This to me! Oh, Mr. Lovetree, this to the poor widow! This to my daughter!"

"To me, mother, to me? Does it mean me? Yes! Oh, mother, may I kiss him?"

Before anybody could say no, if they had been disposed to, Stella was in his arms, and who shall say, that to one of his wealth, that moment was not cheaply purchased for five hundred dollars. Happiness is contagious.

Those who feel it, feel as though they would like to make everybody else feel just so. Stella did, for she reached out one hand and drew her mother to the same enfolding arms, and then Athalia enfolded them all, until it seemed to my dim-growing eyes that four exceedingly happy people were blending all in one. Feeling how useless is a fifth wheel to a vehicle already having four, and feeling too a sort of choking sensation, as though the air of the street would be beneficial, while this scene was on, I went off.

When I had breathed the fresh air long enough to recover my equilibrium of thoughts, one came into my mind that I might do something to increase the happiness of the full hearts I had just left. With this new idea in my mind I took my way directly to Mrs. Laylor's. Of course I found the storm had pa.s.sed. A May morning could not be more calm and pleasant. Of course I was a welcome visitor. I had ordered a bottle of wine the night before, that paid my footing. I had spent money for one sin, and apparently seemed willing to spend more for another, and that always makes welcome guests, because profit can be made out of such visitors. I had an object in my course the night before; I had nothing of that kind to accomplish to-night, and so I ordered no wine. I looked serious, earnest, determined, and asked Mrs. Laylor for a private interview. It is not necessary to inflict the particulars upon my readers; it will be only interesting to them to know that one of the results of the talk did add to the happiness of those whom I had just left already very happy, for just as Lovetree was in the act of kissing good-night to Athalia, there came a rap to the door, it was a porter's rap; his load was a trunk, a bandbox and a square bundle. The bundle was opened first, its contents were now doubly dear, and Athalia longed to show it to her uncle. It was the old family Bible. Everything had been sent but the watch. That was irrecoverably lost.

As I was leaving Mrs. Laylor's, with the porter and Athalia's trunk, I met Frank Barkley and had five minutes talk with him. As we parted, he said: "Depend upon it I shall claim my bet, and the stake is in the hands of a friend who will fork over."

The next morning Athalia met with another surprise. The three had just finished breakfast, and sat talking over the strange events of the last day or two, congratulating each other upon their singular good fortune, and laying out plans for the day, while awaiting the momentarily expected arrival of Mr. Lovetree. Mrs. May and Stella were to go out and look up a place for the "little shop," which was to hold an a.s.sortment of just such goods as she had been accustomed to sell out of her basket, to which her mother was to add her nice shirt collars, and perhaps the work of some other poor woman who might be in need of a.s.sistance; and Athalia and her uncle were to go "house hunting," a very common employment in New York, for he was going to set her up in a business that she could live by, and have a house for herself and him too, when he was in the city, and pretty soon he hoped that would be all the time; it should be as soon as he could get his Western business settled up; but she should have a house and take a few boarders, and always keep a room for him, and he would always call that home; "and we shall be so happy," says she, "and if he is sick I will take care of him, and if I am sick I know he will be kind to me, he looks just as though he would; don't you think so, Mrs. May?"

"Indeed he does; and you will be so happy, but I do not know as you will be quite so happy as Stella and I shall be, when we get a-going. I am happy now, only one thing troubles me a little, I do not know what I am going to do for a little money for present necessities. I had just paid my month's rent, ten dollars in advance, and bought a piece of linen for my work, and Stella had laid out all of her little stock, and now we are quite out. If you had money as you once had, I should know very well what to do. I should ask you for a loan of five dollars, and I know very well what you would say; no, you would not say anything, you would jump up and run to the little drawer, the left-hand top drawer of the bureau, I can almost see it now, and then you would say, 'there, there it is, go along, I don't want you to stop to thank me.' But that time has past away. I suppose I shall have to do what we poor folks often have to do, go to the p.a.w.nbroker again.

"Your trouble, Mrs. May, is just mine too; I want a few dollars so bad that I do not know what to do, and I was about to ask you; I do not like to ask my uncle, so soon, and would not on my own account, but will on yours."

"No, no, no, do not, I can get along very well, I can p.a.w.n the linen, I shall not want that for a few days."

"Yes, I will, do not say anything more, I have made up my mind, and here he comes, so it is too late for argument."

There was a rap, and as they did not expect anybody else, of course it must be her uncle; who else should it be? but it was not. It was the same porter who was there last evening. He did not bring any trunk or bundle, he simply brought a letter and a very small package; a letter addressed, "Lucy Smith."

Athalia was on the point of denying it, but then she thought that Mrs.

May and Stella both knew that was the name she was known by at Mrs.

Laylor's. Still she blushed and trembled. She blushed to think that she had once said of her first name, "I never shall change that." It is a sad thing for a girl to change that. She trembled at the thought of having any of her old acquaintances, who knew her by that name, write to her or speak to her as friends, for they were only friends of days which she would gladly blot out of memory--days of sin and shame, which she looked back upon with horror, as she felt their deep degradation. She trembled still more when she opened the letter, and saw that the signature was Frank Barkley. She felt faint, and her eyes grew dim, for she felt that she was still pursued--"the guilty flee when no man pursueth"--by one with whom she had sinned, and she felt that it was a renewal of the proposition to sin again. She saw the name, and the "Dear Lucy" with which it commenced, she saw no more, she could see no more, and so she handed the letter to Mrs. May, with an "oh, dear!"

Mrs. May read it, and then _she_ said, "Oh, dear," but it was a very different "Oh, dear," from Athalia's. It was an "Oh, dear, what a fortune," and then she handed the letter back to Athalia, and said, "read, you will not find it very bad." Her joyous smile rea.s.sured the fainting, trembling Athalia, and she read:

"MY DEAR LUCY.

"Dearer to me now than ever. I have heard from a mutual friend all about it. First, forgive me for the wrong I have done you.

I shall not do it again. Blush not to meet me in the street or church, for by no look or word will I ever seek to renew our acquaintance. I know you now, I never did before, and I feel that I am not worthy to renew that acquaintance. I am a man of the world, and enjoy what my own cla.s.s call pleasures. I have enjoyed pleasant hours with you, but I never enjoyed a night as I have the last. I have been alone in my room all night. I have been thinking. I have thought how much myself and my a.s.sociates have done to swell the cla.s.s of females whom we look upon with contempt, as they pa.s.s us in the street. I have found that it is good to think. I have thought a great deal of you, and of your history, as I gleaned it partly from you and partly from Mrs. Laylor, but the last and best part from your friend.

Believe me when I say that I am most sincerely glad that you have escaped from a life which I had persuaded you to adopt. I was selfish then. I am sober now.

"Of course you know I have won my bet. I have got the money. I do not need it, you do. It is your due and much more from that avaricious woman who deceived you so bitterly. You lost your watch. It was partly my fault. If I had not believed the lies told of you, it would not have happened, for then in a spirit of retaliation, I had not been false to you, nor you to me, and you would not have made the acquaintance of the gambler who stole your watch. I cannot return that, but I send one in its place. I also send you my check for the money won, and the same sum which was staked against it. If you are ever in need hereafter remember your real, truly sincere friend,

"FRANK BARKLEY."

She looked up with tearful eyes, and simply said, "Mrs. May, you will not have to go to the p.a.w.nbroker's to-day. Take this check and go to the bank, or I will write a note to a friend who will cash it in a minute, it needs no endors.e.m.e.nt, it is payable to the bearer, and you shall have one hundred and I the other. Now let us look at the watch." They did look at it, and of course admire it, and then Mr. Lovetree came in, and then the letter was read again, and then he said, "the fellow has got a heart after all, it has only been spoiled by bad a.s.sociations; he has got a good start now in the right path, and I shall make it my business to look him up and help him along. Do you know, Athalia, where he lives?"

"I have his card, sir, in my trunk."

"Very well, give it to me at your leisure, and we will let him know that the pearls of that letter have not been cast before the very worst sort of pigs."

Then Stella was going out to get the check changed, and then he said, "Never mind, give it to me," and then he put it in his pocket-book very carefully, and put that away in his left-hand pocket--he had a place for everything; and then he put his hand into his right-hand pocket, and took out fifty dollars in gold, and handed that to Athalia, with the remark that he would bring her the balance to-morrow, that that was as much as she would want to-day; and then he said, as he saw her slipping it slyly into Mrs. May's hand, "Oh, that is it, is it?" and then Mrs.

May said, "she _must_ tell, and then she did tell all about her want of money, and how she used to go to Athalia when she was in want, and now, when neither of them had any, it did seem as though the good spirit had opened the heart of that man to repentance and good works, just when it was most needed."

And then they all went out, Mrs. May and Stella to hunt for the shop, which they found and had in operation in a week, and which was the foundation of a fortune, for it prospered wonderfully. The ball only needed a start, it would acc.u.mulate at every roll. It is acc.u.mulating still. I wish a few more benevolent old gentlemen would take each one of them a little girl out of the street, and set the ball to rolling.

Good bye, Mrs. May--good bye, Stella. "We may never meet again, but we never shall forget you, good-hearted little girl, and kind, blessed, good mother. Thy good works have their reward."

Athalia and her uncle found a house. We have heard of that before, from Maggie; we shall hear of them again, in some of these shifting "Scenes."

I shall draw the curtain now. It may remain down for one or two or more years, what does it matter to the reader? It is facts that he wants, he cares nothing for time, or which scene comes first. If the reader is a woman, she cares neither for time nor facts, so that the story is good.

What next?

Look in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XIV.

NEW SCENES AND NEW CHARACTERS.

"There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would man observingly distil it out."