They attracted considerable attention, in their good clothes and solemn faces, and finally, as they stood on the parson's doorstep, two of the captain's own deckhands saw him, and straightway drank themselves into a state of beastly intoxication in trying to decide what the captain could want of a preacher.

The minister entered, cordially greeted Mrs. Simmons, and expressed his pleasure at forming the captain's acquaintance.

"Parson," said the captain, in trembling accents--"don't go away, Mrs.

Simmons--parson, my good friend here tells me you know all about my case; now the question is, how soon can you do the business?"

The reverend gentleman shivered a little at hearing the word "business"

applied to holy things, but replied, in excellent temper:

"The next opportunity will occur on the first Sabbath of the coming month, and I shall be truly delighted to gather into our fold one whose many worthy qualities have been made known to us by our dearly beloved sister Simmons. And let me further remind you that there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, and that therefore--"

"Just so, parson," interrupted the captain, wincing a little, and looking exceedingly puzzled--"just so; but ain't thar no day but Sunday for a man to be married--"

"Married!" ejaculated the minister, looking inquiringly at Mrs. Simmons.

"Married!" screamed the old lady, staring wildly at the captain--"married! Oh, what shall I do? I thought you'd experienced a change! And I've told everybody about it!"

The captain burst into a laugh, which made the minister's chandeliers rattle, and the holy man himself, seeing through the mistake, heartily joined the captain.

But poor Mrs. Simmons burst into an agony of tears.

"My dear, good old friend," said the captain, tenderly putting his arm about her, "I'm very sorry you have been disappointed; but one thing at a time, you know. When you see my angel, you'll think I'm in a fair way to be an angel myself some day, I guess. Annie's her name--Annie May--an' I've named the boat after her. Don't take on so, an' I'll show you the old boat, new painted, an' the name Annie May stuck on wherever there's a chance."

But the good old woman only wrung her hands, and exclaimed:

"Thar's a lovely experience completely spiled--completely spiled!"

At length she was quieted and escorted home, and a few days afterward appeared, in smiles and the new bombazine, at the captain's wedding.

The bride, a motherless girl, speedily adopted Mrs. Simmons as mother, and made many happy hours for the old lady; but that venerable and pious person is frequently heard to say to herself, in periods of thoughtfulness:

"A lovely experience completely spiled!"

[Illustration: THE CAPTAIN BURST INTO A LAUGH, WHICH MADE THE MINISTER'S CHANDELIERS RATTLE.]

MISS FEWNE'S LAST CONQUEST.

How many conquests Mabel Fewne had made since she had entered society no one was able to tell. Perhaps the conqueror herself kept some record of the havoc she had worked, but if she did, no one but herself ever saw it. Even such of her rivals as were envious admitted that Miss Fewne's victims could be counted by dozens, while the men who came under the influence of that charming young lady were wont to compute their fellow-sufferers by the hundred. It mattered not where Miss Fewne spent her time: whether she enjoyed the season in New York or Washington, Baltimore or Boston, she found that climatic surroundings did not in the least change the conduct of men toward her. In what her attractions especially consisted, her critics and admirers were not all agreed.

Palette, the artist, who was among her earliest victims, said she was the embodiment of all ideal harmonies; while old Coupon, who at sixty offered her himself and his property, declared in confidence to another unfortunate that what took him was her solid sense. At least one young man, who thought himself a poet, fell in love with her for what he called the golden foam of her hair; a theological student went into pious ecstasy (and subsequent dejection) over the spiritual light of her eyes. The habitual pose of her pretty fingers accounted for the awkward attentions of at least a score of young men, and the piquancy of her manner attracted, to their certain detriment, all the professional beaus who met her. And yet, a clear-headed literary Bostonian declared that she was better read than some of his distinguished _confreres_; while a member of Congress excused himself for monopolizing her for an entire half-hour, at an evening party, by saying that Miss Fewne talked politics so sensibly, that for the first time in his life he had learned how much he himself knew. As for the ladies, some said any one could get as much admiration as Mabel Fewne if they could dress as expensively; others said she was so skillful a flirt that no man could see through her wily ways; two or three inclined to the theory of personal magnetism; while a few brave women said that Mabel was so pretty and tasteful, and modest and sensible and sweet, that men would be idiots if they didn't fall in love with her at sight.

But one season came in which those who envied and feared Mabel were left in peace, for that young lady determined to spend the Winter with her sister, who was the wife of a military officer stationed at Smithton, in the Far West. Smithton was a small town, but a pleasant one; it had a railroad and mines; a government land office was established there, as was the State Government also; trading was incessant, money was plenty, so men of wit and culture came there to pay their respects to the almighty dollar; and as there were nearly two-score of refined ladies in the town, society was delightful to the fullest extent of its existence.

And Mabel Fewne enjoyed it intensely; the change of air and of scene gave stimulus to her spirits and new grace to her form and features, so that she soon had at her feet all the unmarried men in Smithton, while many sober Benedicts admired as much as they could safely do without transferring their allegiance.

Smithton was not inhabited exclusively by people of energy and culture.

New settlements, like all other things new, powerfully attract incapables, and Smithton was no excuse to the rule. In one portion of it, yclept "the End," were gathered many characters more odd than interesting. Their local habitations seemed to be the liquor-shops which fairly filled that portion of the town. About the doors of these shops the "Enders" were most frequently seen. If one of them chanced to stray into the business street of the town, he seemed as greatly confused and troubled as a lost boy. In his own quarter, however, and among his own kind, the Ender displayed a composure which was simply superb. No one could pass through the End by daylight without seeing many of the inhabitants thereof leaning against fences, trees, buildings, and such other objects as could sustain without assistance the weight of the human frame. From these points of support the Enders would contemplate whatever was transpiring about them, with that immobility of countenance which characterizes the finished tourist and the North American Indian.

There were occasions when these self-possessed beings assumed erect positions and manifested ordinary human interest. One of these was the breaking out of a fight between either men or animals; another was the passing of a lady of either handsome face or showy dress. So it happened that, when pretty, well-dressed Mabel Fewne was enjoying a drive with one of her admirers, there was quite a stir among such Enders as chanced to see her. The venders of the beverages for which the Enders spent most of their money noticed that, upon that particular afternoon, an unusual proportion of their customers stood at the bar with no assistance from the bar itself, that some spirit was manifest in their walk and conversation, and yet they were less than usual inclined to be quarrelsome. So great was the excitement caused by Miss Fewne's appearance, that one Ender was heard to ask another who she was--an exhibition of curiosity very unusual in that part of the town. Even more: One member of that apparently hopeless gang was known to wash his face and hands, purchase a suit of cheap--but new and clean--clothing, and take an eastern-bound train, presumably to appear among respectable people he had known during some earlier period of his existence.

On the evening of the next day a delightful little party was enjoyed by the well-to-do inhabitants of Smithton. New as was the town, the parlors of Mrs. General Wader (her husband was something for the railway company) were handsomely furnished, the ladies were elaborately dressed, the gentlemen lacked not one of the funereal garments which men elsewhere wear to evening parties, and stupid people were noticeably rarer than, in similar social gatherings, in older communities. Mabel Fewne was there, and as human nature is the same at Smithton as in the East, she was the belle of the evening. She entered the room on the arm of her brother-in-law, and that warrior's height, breadth, bronzed countenance and severe uniform, made all the more striking the figure which, clad apparently in a pale blue cloud, edged with silver and crowned with gold, floated beside him. Men crowded about her at once, and the other ladies present had almost undisturbed opportunity in which to converse with each other.

At the End there was likewise a social gathering. The place was Drake's saloon, and the guests were self-invited. Their toilets, though unusual, scarcely require description, and a list of their diversions would not interest people of taste Refreshments were as plentiful as at Mrs.

Wader's, and, after the manner of refreshments everywhere, they caused a general unbending of spirits. Not all the effects were pleasing to contemplate. One of them was a pistol-shot, which, missing the man for whom it was intended, struck a person called Baggs, and remarkable only for general worthlessness. Baggs had a physical system of the conventional type, however, and the bullet caused some disarrangement so radical in its nature, that Baggs was soon stretched upon the floor of the saloon, with a face much whiter than he usually wore. The barkeeper poured out a glass of brandy, and passed it over the bar, but the wounded man declined it; he also rejected a box of pills which was proffered. An Ender, who claimed to have been a physician, stooped over the victim, felt his pulse, and remarked:

"Baggs, you're a goner."

"I know it," said Baggs; "and I want to be prayed for."

The barkeeper looked puzzled. He was a public-spirited man, whose heart and pocket were open to people in real trouble, but for prayers he had never been asked before, and, was entirely destitute of them. He felt relieved when one of his customers--a leaden-visaged man, with bulbous nose and a bad temper--advanced toward the wounded man, raised one hand, threw his head back a trifle, and exclaimed:

"Once in grace, always in grace. I've _been_ there, I know. Let us pray."

The victim waived his hand impatiently, and faintly exclaimed:

"_You_ won't do; somebody that's better acquainted with God than _you_ are must do it."

"But, Baggs," reasoned the barkeeper, "perhaps he's been a preacher--you'd better not throw away a chance."

"Don't care if he has," whispered Baggs; "he don't look like any of the prayin' people mother used to know."

The would-be petitioner took his rebuff considerably to heart, and began, in a low and rapid voice, an argument with himself upon the duration of the state of grace. The Enders listened but indifferently, however; the dying man was more interesting to them than living questions, for he had no capacity for annoyance. The barkeeper scratched his head and pinched his brow, but, gaining no idea thereby, he asked:

"Do _you_ know the right man, Baggs?"

"Not here, I don't," gasped the sufferer; "not the right _man_."

The emphasis on the last word was not unheeded by the bystanders; they looked at each other with as much astonishment as Enders were capable of displaying, and thrust their hands deep into the pockets of their pantaloons, in token of their inability to handle the case. Baggs spoke again.

"I wish mother was here!" he said. "_She'd_ know just to say and how to say it."

"She's too far away; leastways, I suppose she is," said the barkeeper.

"I know it," whispered the wounded man; "an' yet a woman--"

Baggs looked inquiringly, appealingly about him, but seemed unable to finish his sentence. His glance finally rested upon Brownie, a man as characteristic as himself, but at times displaying rather more heart than was common among Enders. Brownie obeyed the summons, and stooped beside Baggs. The bystanders noticed that there followed some whispering, at times shame-faced, and then in the agony of earnestness on the part of Baggs, and replied to by Brownie with averted face and eyes gazing into nowhere.

Finally Brownie arose with an un-Ender-like decision, and left the saloon. No one else said much, but there seemed to circulate an impression that Baggs was consuming more time than was customary at the End.

Very different was the scene in Mrs. Wader's parlor; instead of a dying man surrounded by uncouth beings, there stood a beautiful woman, radiant with health and animation; while about her stood a throng of well-dressed gentlemen, some of them handsome, all of them smart, and each one craving a smile, a word, or a look. Suddenly the pompous voice of General Wader arose:

"Most astonishing thing I ever heard of," said he. "An Ender has the impudence to ask to see Miss Fewne!"

"An Ender?" exclaimed the lady, her pretty lips parting with surprise.

"Yes, and he declares you could not have the heart to say no, if you knew his story."

"Is it possible, Miss Fewne," asked one admirer, "that your cruelty can have driven any one to have become an Ender?"