Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, June 10, 1897, Page 2

———— CONDEMNED | --TO-- WEALTH. Je y CHAPTER WI. i It was a fine, double-fronted, four- storied brown-stone building, with rows of plate-glass windows, wrought-iron balconies, and all other external signs of wealth, taste and refinement. The gaslight over the transom above the street door revealed a stately entrance. And to the right of this, through the half-closed shutters of two lofty win- dows, the glow of light through gold- colored cartains showed the warmth and comfort of the drawing room. By the time the boy had made these observations through the window of the carriage, the door was opened and the steps let dowa. The old clergyman alighted and stood blocking the way, until the pro- fessor and the schoolmaster handed out the boy, keeping hold of him, lest he should bolt again. The carriage was paid and dismissed, and while it rolled y, the boy was led between the cl yman and the professor, the schoolmaster following up the marble steps to the stately portals. “Oh, see here, now! I say! this is getting beyond a joke, you know! Let me go, governor!” cried the boy, ap- parently frightened by the grandeur around him. But at this moment the door was opened by a footman in livery, who, seeing the party, exclaimed, quite in- voluntarily: “Master Fulke! and in that dress! Oh! I beg your pardon, Mr. Dornton, but it was such an astonishment!” “I can quite understand that. Benja- min. Let your mistress know that we have brought Master Greville home, and are w ng to see her.” « sir! Sit down, sir.” And the footman offered chairs in the spacious entrauce hall, while he opened the door on the right, and entered a parlor to do his errand. “You see, even Benjamin recognized ‘ou, sir, in your disguise!” said Mr. ornton. al “Yes! he is another lunatic! Now 1 tell you all what! You've been and caught the wrong fish! and you'd bet- ter throw me back in the water again! I am not a troat, my masters—I am motiing but a dog-tish,” said the boy- “Le silent, sir, and respect at least your mother’s house!” said the clergy- man. “And if you do not, it will certainly be the worse for you,” continued the professor. “Your only chance for escaping con- dign punishment is putting yourself upon your best behavior,” added the schoolmaster. “Very well! I've warned you all! You are keeping a free-born boy against his will. It is kidnapping! It is false imprisonment! It is felony! And blowed if I'll stand it.” Before either of his captors could an- swer his speech the footman reap- peared and reported: “Mrs. Greville begs that you will walk in the parlor, and she will be with you in a moment.” f ‘as but the ordinary sitting room of a woman of moderate fortune and cultivated tastes, yet, to the unaccus- tomed eye of the fish boy it seemed a miracle of luxury and elegance—a scene of fairy-land and enchantment. In gazing around, he forgot for a mo- ment his own personal fears and cares; and while he was wondering what could possibly be the contents of such very ele t books, and where such lovely flowers could have grown, and how people dared to walk on such a splendid carpet, or sit down on such superb sofas, the door opened and a lady entered. A queen she seemed! tall and nobly formed, with a stately and graceful mien, a proud head that sat rather back upon her shoulders, giving her a natural air of haughtiness, fine Grec- ian features, and a marblelike com- plexion, large, full, clear blue eyes, and auburn hair, inclined to red, bright as sunshine, that dropped in glittering ringlets upon her fair, round, well- tarned neck and bosom. A blue moire dress fell in ample folds, and flowed in undulating grace around this queenly figure. She advanced up the room, bowing in turn to her visitors, until her eye fell upon the awe-stricken visage of the poor ragamuffin, when all her dig- nified self-possession gave way, and, ‘with a smothered cry, she hastened to- ward him, clasped him in her arms and burst into a passion of tears—genuine tears that welled up from the bottom of her heart—plentiful tears, that fell in showers over the fish boy. This ragged form was embraced by her fair arms, his rough head pillowed upon her soft bosom, and veiled by her splendid ringlets, and his sunburned face covered by her warm kisses, while, with loving inconsistency she poured upon him epithets of endear- ment and words of reproach. “Oh, Fulke, my dear boy, how could you be so very wicked? Oh, my dar- ling, what a figure you have made of yourself! How could you break my poor heart so? But if I forgive you this time, you will never go away again, will you, dear? No, I am sure you will not. It was only a freak—a lark, as you wild boys call it! And my son Cid not remember that what was ‘sport to him, was death to his poor mother,’" ete. ete. she continued, thrugh at least an hour of sobs and tears and caresses. “Another lunatic,” thought the fish boy; “but my eye! what a nice mad ‘woman this one is, to be sure; I don’t object to her one bit! only I should like to know what all the row is about!” At length, when this lady, much to the detriment of her elegant toilet, over the fish boy to her heart’s con- tent, she suddenly ceased, stood up, resumed her queenly dignity, and turned to her visitors, said: “J can never sufficiently thank you, gentlemen, for the zeal, discretion and great delicacy with which you have rosecuted this search—a search ren- dered doubly difficult by my refusal to advertise; but I could not bear to have my son's boyish freak exposed in that way- Again I thank you.” The gentlemen bowed in return. “And now may I ask where you found this unfortunate boy?” she in- quired. “Crying oysters, madam, in Canal street,” answered Mr. Dornton. The lady was betrayed into an invol- untary start of horror. But without regarding that, the cler- gyman proceeded to detail all the cir- cumstances connected with the arrest of the fish boy. The lady turned a melancholy gaze upon the supposed delinquent, but for- bore all reproaches. And soon after, the three visitors arose to depart. They took a respect- ful leave of Mrs. Greville, and then went to shake hands with their late captive. “Good evening, Master Greville! We hope to see you at school again after the Christmas holidays,” said the cler- gyman. “When all that is disagreeable to be remembered shall be forgotten,” added the professor. “And it will depend upon yourself whether you are happy with us or not,” concluded the schoolmaster. And with three more deep bows to the lady of the house, they withdrew. “And now, my darling, that they are gone, and we are quite alone, tell me why you left the school where I placed you?” said the lady, affectionately put- ting her white and jewelled hand upon his rough head. But the fish boy did not reply. “If you have received just eause for dissatisfaction, would it not have been better to have remained for a few days longer, until my return from Europe, which you know was hourly expected? But let that pass. And now that we have met, tell me, tell your mother, all about it!” “My lady. you are not my mother, no more nor the Queen o’ Sheba is!” said the fish boy, sorrowfully. “Oh, Fulke! Fulke! ungrateful boy! how can you speak to me in that cruel way?” said the lady, with tears in her eyes. “How can I help it? It’s the truth, my lady! you are not my mother! I wish you was!” “Wish I was? Well, I am, Fulke! that is. I am all the same. And I am sure I have never let you know the dif- ference. Have I now, Fulke?” The fish boy was so touched by her plaintive voice and tender look, that he answered evasively, and referring only to the present time: “I know you try to be a mother to me, my lady.” “Yes! do I not, boy? But leave off calling me my lady, you absurd fellow! Where did you ever pick up such a habit? Yes, Fulke, ever since I mar- ried yoyr father, when you were but three years old, I have taken you to my heart of hearts and cherished you even as my own child. Didn't you and Lois share one nursery, one school- room. Were not you and she like the truest brother aad sister, although you were the son of Mr. Greville’s first wife and she the daughter of my first hus- band? It used to delight us both to see how fond you were of each other in those childish days, before it became necessary to send you to separate schools. Oh, Fulke, don’t you often think of those happy days of infancy?’ The fish boy did not reply. He was thinking of the days of his infancy, in- deed, an infancy passed first in the arms of the tramps and beggars of Westminster, and afterwards sus- tained by the crusts and bones thrown to him, as to a little stray dog, by his poor neighbors. “And in all those days, Fulke, do you remember one single instance in which I treated my own child better than you?” The fish boy did not remember any- thing about the matter, and he said so. “And after your poor father died, did I not continue to treat his orphan son with as much tenderness as I gave to my own daughter? You know T.dida!” The fish boy could not deny it, since he knew nothing about i and the lady continued: “And when, a year ago, i.y failing health rendered it necessary for me to relieve myself of all family cares and go to Europe,did I not wish to take you and my daugter with me? But your ! guardian, Mr. Courtney, objected to your leaving the United States, and requested that you might remain at school? And then, when I placed you at the Collegiate School, did I not give up the idea of taking my own daugh- ter with me, who would have been a great comfort to me, indeed, and did I not place her at a ladies’ boarding school here, so that she could be near you and see you often? And, oh, Fulke, what could a mother do for a son more than that “Nothink,” answered the fish boy, with tears in his eyes—tears called up by the recollection that he had no mother to do anything for him. “Then, my dear, dear boy, why do you wound me by saying that I am not your own mamma, only your step- mother?” “My lady, you mistake! I never said as how you were my step-mother. ’Cause you're nyther my mother, nor yet my step-mother. I wish to the great goodness alive as how you was! Boo-hoo-00," blubbered_ the fish boy, grinding his greasy cuffs into his over- flowing eyes. These words were so smothered and drowned in sobs and tears that their meaning scarcely reached the lady’s sense. She drew his hands aside from his tear-stained face and said: “There, do not cry; I did not mean to hurt your feelings. But do not ever leave me again, my dear, dear boy! Oh! think what an event to meet me on my return to my native shores! I, all eagerness to see you and your sis- ter, called at your school before com- ing to my own house, and there, to my astonishment and terror, was met with the news that you had eloped! Be- tween that time and this, I thought I should have died of fright and anxie- ty and suspense! But there, all is over now, and all forgiven! Only, for my peace, promise you will never leave me again without my consent, Fulke, at least while you are a minor. Promise your mother.” “My lady, I would promise you any- thing to please you; but one little word more! It’s no use to argue with luna- tics—begging your pardon—so I shall say but this: By-and-by, when you find out the truth, don’t go for to call me an imposter.” “We will drop the subject, if you please, Fulke; here is Lois.” At this moment a door opened and— oh! such a vision of loveliness dawned upon the fish boy. CHAPTER IV. The young lady who now entered was a little beauty, of about his own age, with a graceful, fragile, fairy-like form, dressed in white tarleton that floated around her like a mist as she moved. She was as fair as her moth- er, with a brilliant bloom on her cheeks and lips, and a metry, dancing light in her starry, hazel eyes. Her hair was bright auburn, with golden gleams, and fell in spiral ringlets all around her glowing face. She came in dancing. “Here is your brother come back to see us, Lois,” said the lady. She danced up to the fish boy, ex- claiming: “Oh, Fulke! I am so glad to see you!” but when qute near, and on the point of embracing him, she shrunk back with every symptom of disgust, exclaiming: “Faugh! phew! Oh, you shocking, naugkty boy ! whatever have you been doing with yourself? What a figure you are! Wherever have you come from?” “Ts that the way in which to meet your brother, Miss Howard? Remem- ber the parable of the Prodigal Son, and be ashamed of yourself!” said Mrs. Greville, severely. “But, la,j mamma! if the prodigal son had come home in such a plight as that, I doubt whether his father would have fallen on his neck, at least until he had had a bath and a change of clothes!” replied the laughing girl. “I was not afraid of his contact, miss.” “No, mamma, dear; but just see the consequences! Your beautiful new moire all spotted and greased, and, ugh! I declare, smelling quite fishy!” “You are a spoiled child, Lois, but you mean no harm! Don’t mind her, Fulke! You know her of old!” (“I’m blowed if I do!” thought the fish boy to himself, who, having quite determined to make no more useless denials, but take his fate as he found it, remained silent.) “——Though in the matter of the bath and change of clothes, I think her sug- gestions worthy of immediate atten- tion, my dear,” continued Mrs. Gre- ville. “Your trunks were sent home when the school broke up for the Christmas holidays, and they have been placed in your room—not your old room——” i (“No, I should think not,” thought the oy:) “—_But in a much larger and pleas- anter apartment. I think you had bet- ter go and attend to your toilet at once. Yet stay—I will ring for a ser- vant to show you up stairs,” conclud- ed the lady, touching the bell-pull. A smart mulatto boy answered the summons, to whom the lady said: “Romy, go and attend Master Gre- ville to his apartment, and prepare his bath.” And as the fish boy, with a sigh, arose to follow his guide, she said to him: “Fulke, you will find us here when you return, and supper will be served at nine.” “Yes, my lady,” submissively replied the boy. “Ridiculous! Why do you persist in giving mesuch an absurd title?” “What ought I to call your ladyship, then?” “Why, you preposterous imp! call me what you have always called me— what —Lois calls me—mamma.” “Yes, mamma,” answered the fish boy, as he left the room. “Now, is it not provoking, Lois? Here that boy has been masquerading as an oyster-carfrier in the service of some low fish and oyster man on Wa- ter street, for a month past, and really, he has picked up so much of the air and the slang of that sort of. people, that it seems to me he cannot leave them off!” said the lady, as soon as the fish boy was out of sight. “Or else,’”’ she added, “he is purposely playing a part, for he has been going on in that way ever since he was discovered.” “T think, mamma, a good, sound, old- fashioned caning woutd be of immense benefit to him; it would bring him to his senses!” “Lois, if he were my own son, I should be tempted to request Mr. Dorn- ton to administer that caning; but my step-son—never!” While this conversation was going on between the mother and daughter, the fish boy followed his guide out into the brilliantly-lighted hall, and up the grand marble staircase, through a back passage way into a spacious bath room. “Glad to see you back, Marse Gre- ville, sir,” said the negro, as he busied himself turning on the water and lay- ing out towels. “Are you dead sure my name is Gre- ville?” inquired the boy. “He, he, he! La, Marse Greville, how funny you is! What for shouldn't it be Greville?” “I’m sure I don’t know. What is your own?” “La, now, Marse Greville, what you make game long o me for? Sartain my name what it always wur. Who gwine for to change it?” “And what is that?” “La, young marse, you know!” “Blowed if I do! What is it?” “Get along wid you, Marse Fulke, making a fool of a poor boy! You know well ’nuff my name, given me by my sponsors in baptism, is Romeo Montague.” “Well, Mr. Mt. Ague, as the bath seems ready, you can take yourself off.” “Ring when you want me, sah.” “Oh, of course! just so.” Half an hour later, when the fish boy did ring for his newly-appointed servant, Romy entered with clean lin- en, embroidered slippers and a brocade dressing gown. “My eyes!” exclaimed the fish boy, as he surveyed these splendors. “You'll please to put these on, sah, and then I'll show you to your new room,” said Romeo. The dazzled boy arrayed himself and followed his guide to a superbly fur- nisted and brilliantly lighted front chamber, where a young gentleman’s elegant evening suit lay upon the bed, and a costly dressing case stood open upon the bureau.’ The fish boy, or Welby Dunbar, as we had best call him since he cast his shell and emerged such a brilliant but- terfly, went up to the bureau, carefully brushed his really fine black hair, lib- erally anointed it from a cut-glass bot- tle of macassar, and arranged it with some natural good taste. Then he ar- rayed himself in his evening suit, sur- veyed his person in the glass, and final- ly received from the hands of his at- tendant a pair of new gloves and a perfumed pocket handkerchief. “And now what time is it, Mr. Mt. Ague?” “Half-past eight, sah. Supper on de table at nine, sah.” “All right! but will all this change back again when the clock strikes twelve?” “Sah?” “Blowed if I don’t feel like a male Cinderella, as if I should have to cut it for old Carne’s oyster shop, at about half-past eleven, for fear of being met- amorphosed back again into a raga- muftin at twelve. ” “La, Marse Greville, how funny you do talk, to be sure!” “Well, Mr. Mt. Ague, I'll go down and join my lady mamma and my young lady sister! And if this ain’t the rummiest go as ever was my name is not Welby!” Romeo preceded him down stairs and opened the little drawing rovm door, where he found Mrs. Greville and Miss Howard awaiting him. Mrs. Greville had been obliged to change her dress, and now appeared in a delicate mauve crepe. A tall and elegant looking man of middle age, fair complexion. light hair and light gray eyes, was with them. This gentleman immediately arose and held out his hand to the new comer, saying: “Fulke, my dear boy, I am glad to see you home again. We have been intensely anxious on your account. Mr. Dornton was good enough to call in to- night and let me know that you were found, and also that all was to be for- given on condition of your never re- peating the offense. So let us shake hands upon it.” “Go it, old fellow! Keep the ball moving—nothing like it!” thought Welby; but he said merely: “Thank you, sir!” Lois also sprang up and ran and em- braced him, saying: “T'll kiss you now, Fulke, to make up for my rude reception of you this evening; but really, you know! you were such a figure!” “And now let us go to supper. Give me your arm, Fulke! Mr. Courtney will lead my daughter?’ said Mrs. Greville. They thus passed into a lofty dining room, whose walls were covered by choice paintings, and whose center was occupied by an elegant supper table. But what attracted and rivetted the gaze of Welby was a full-length por- trait of himself, hanging between the two front windows! Yes, there he was! The sane tall, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, round-limbed, athletic form; the same well turned neck and stately head; the same regular fea- tures, full, black eyes, straight, black eyebrows and curling black hair; the same character and expression of countenance; the very same smile; yes, even the same little black mole on the right side of the short upper lip! Won- derful! the likeness was perfect from its general aspect down to its smallest details. This was the most mysterious part of the whole affair. But for this he might have supposed himself the sub- ject of some practical joke enacted for the benefit of his betters! But here was his portrait! What could it all mean? Was this a case of mistaken identity? And was that the portrait of his counterpart, his fac-simile, his double? And was he himself honestly taken for the run- away young heir of the house? Well. if so, he could not help it, that was certain. He was already weary with fruitless denial that he was any such person, in vain assertions that he was himself. He could not prove his iden- tity; the ship that had brought him over had sailed again; the companions of his voyage were dispersed; and no one else knew anything of him previ- ous to the day of his first appearance on Water street, which happened, also, to be the same upon which he was ac- cused of having, as Master Fulke Gre- ville, run away from the Collegiate School. On the one hand he could not prove that he was Welby Dunbar. On the other hand, every one who saw him was ready to swear that he was Master Fulke Greville What was to be done? Why, evi- dently nothing but submit to his fate; take the goods the gods provided; and bend to the burden of “greatness thrust upon” him. But he had no time to speculate far- ther; he was called upon to take his place at the table, where a sumptuous supper was spread. Like all poor boys in good health, Welby rejoiced in an amazing appetite He ate straight through the bill of fare, doing ample justice to every dish. His soi-disant sister's eyes grew sau- cer-like in their expansion at the hete- rogenous viands he devoured—tish, flesh and fowl; pastry, puddings, and jellies; preserves, pickles and salads; olives, cheese and walnuts—nothing came amiss. But what will not the stomach of a boy amalgamate and di- gest? At length they left the table and re- turned to the little drawing room, or parlor, as it was often called. Lois, at her mamma’s desire, down to the piano to play- Welby, being greatly refreshed and comforted. felt his spirits rise wonder- fully. He even followed Mr. Court- ney’s example, and went and stood be- side the musician. “She shall give you your favorite, my dear boy! Lois, sing that song he loves so well,” said Mrs. Greville. “Dashed if I know what my favorite is, unless it is the ‘Perfect Cure,’” thought Welby. But the young lady played a mourn- ful yet inspiring prelued, and then, amid the low murmurings of the ap- proaching tempest, her voice rose slow- ly with the first lines of Longfellow’s glorious “Excelsior.” as set to music by Helen Lindsay. The singer had a fresh, clear, elastic voice, well suited to the music. The boy listened, his nerves tingled, his heart beat, his eyes filled; he be- came rapt, inspired, transported; for some moments he experienced those sat heroie yearnings commen to all noble souls. And then, by a satural conse- quence, these exalted sentiments were mingled with admiration for the beau- tiful singer who had excited them. Lois finished her song, yet continued for a few seconds, abstractly calling forth a few dying notes from the im strument, and then ceased entirely. “That will do; we wish to hear noth- ing after ‘Excelsior; leave us with the impression that has made,” said Mrs. Greville, in a low voice. Lois elosed the piano; Mr. Courtney arose and took leave, and soon after the family separated for the night. Mrs. Greville and Lois both kissed their “returned prodigal.” as they called Welby, and dismissed him to seek repose. He went up stairs to his handsome chamber, locked the door on the in- side, an being very tired, undressed and got into his luxurious bed- But he was far too much excited to sleep. He had left the gas burning, and now lay surveying by its brilliant light the magnificence that surrounded him—the frescoed ceiling, the stuecoed walls, and the medallion carpet of his room; the green and gold satin damask win- dow hangings, sweeping in heavy folds from the ceiling to the floor; the hand- some, full-length mirror swinging be-~ tween them; the rosewood and marble- topped bureau and dressing table; the rosewood wardrobe, with its mirrored doors; the couch and arm chair, cov- ered with green and gold’ satin damask to match the window hangings; and the numerous little accessories of com- fort, convenience and luxury scattered through the apartment, from the ormo- lu clock on the mantle piece to the moss foot cushion on the floor. Then his thoughts flew back to the poor, bare room at Carne’s, of which he had only the privilege of his own length on one of the wooden benches as a couch. What magic had brought about this sudden change in his fortunes? He could not answer this question with any degree of satisfaction. Of one thing only ne was certain, that he had been no party to this arrangement; that he had resisted it as much as pos- sible until he found all resistanec vain. He could not even surmise how long this wondrous change might last, or if it might not be as short as it had been sudden. But, short or long, he deter- mined that he would industriously “make hay while the sun shone.” He would read as many books and acquire as much knowledge as he possibly could while in this house of leisure and abundance. He would go to school anywhere that his self-styled mother pleased to send him, and study hard while the opportunity of doing so should be granted him. He would save up all the pocket money they might give him, as a little fund in case of another change of fortune, and if that change should come suddenly, and they should find out that they had deceived themselves, why, he would remind them that he had never de- ceived them, and so appeal to their sense of justice and kindness, not only for pardon for the past, but aid for the future to continue his education. In the midst of these cogitations he fell asleep, and passed in fancy at once to the newsbo, domicile at Carne's. CHAPTER V. It was quite late in the morning when he was aroused from a deep sleep by a loud knocking at his door. Still fancying himself at Carne’s, and that his master was calling him, he rubbed his heavy eyelids and an- swered: “Yes, sir; directly, sir; I'll be down in a moment, sir!” Then opeiing wide his eyes, he stared around the superb room and its fur- niture in bewilderment and _ terror. The knocking continued, accompanied now by a voice calling: “Master Greville! Master Greville! 1f you please, sir, breakfast is quite ready and the ladies are waiting!” Then the impression that he had died and passed into a happier state of existence left him, as the recollection of the previous night's events returned. He started up and admitted the mu- latto boy, who assisted him to make a hasty toilet. After which he went below stairs, Romy preceding him to open the door of a pleasant breakfast room, where he found Mrs. Greville and Lois How- ard, both in pretty, white cashmere morning dress. Both met him with caresses and compliments on his im- proved appearance. Oh, that Lois! with her gay, spark- ling beauty, and her fond, sisterly free- doms! How dreadful it would’ be to lose her, if he should lose all the rest! This was the thought that sped like a bolt of ice through the boy’s: heart as he sat down at the breakfast table. He tried, for her sake, to speak and act with propriety. He narrowly ob- served the manners of Mrs. Greville and Miss Howard, that he might learn: from them. Nature had done much al- ready for him. She had made him handsome, graceful and intelligent. He was, therefore, quick to apprehend! and skillful to imitate the amenities of cultivated society. And if sometimes: he made a mistake, his ‘“‘elected"’ moth- er would suppose that he did it on pur- pose, or from the effect of habits con-~ trected on Water street. After breakfast. Mrs. Greville, who was unwearied in attention to her “re- turned prodigal.” asked him: how he would amuse himself. And, to her great delight, the boy answered, if he could have his school’ books he would like to study;. as he had lost so much time. “Certainly, my dear Fulke, certain~ ly. And you need not immure. your- self in your own room. Xou may have the library; no one uses-it now: I will order Romy to unpack your class books and take them there at oncet” said Mrs. Greville, im a high state of approbation. And now behold the fisk boy im a dressing gown and slippers, seated in an easy chair. with a pile of books be- fore him on the table, in the sumptu- ous library of Greville House - Here he invariably passed his long mornings in assiduous study, and so won upon the good opinion of his “mother” and his “guardian” that they decided upon rewarding him by giving him a juvenie party during the Christ- mas holidays. When Welby heard of this he privately procured Count D’Orsay’s Etiquette for Gentlemen and read it with attention, keeping it in his pocket for constant secret reference. When the night of the party arrived, and the large drawing rooms, beauti~ fsily decorated and splendidly iMum!n- ated were filled with a numerous ‘conrpany of young ladies and gentle- men, from the ages of ten, to seven- teen, Wel:y was much enrbarrassed to find hin?.elf constantly aecosted by young persons who claimed acquaint- ance with him, but upon whom, of course, he had never in his life set eyes. ‘But luckily, the imeessant gabbling ef these young magpies put him in possesion of their names and enough of their histories to relieve his perplex- ity and place him at ease in their seci- ety. And thus the affair passed off pleasantly for all concerned. A few days after the Christmas par ty, Welby thought he would go dowB to Water street; and, for the curiosity of the thing, look upon his old home and his old master. When he reached the well knowB corner house and entered! the shop, honest old Carnes, who was still shuck- ing oysters behind the counter, as if he had never moved from that spot, looke@ up, and burst into a jolly laugh. ex- claiming: “Well, Master Greville, I have hearn all about it! Wa’n't that a pretty lark for a young gentleman, like you, to go on? A sunning away from school: and a hiring ef yourself to me for a dollar a week and your keep! You crying of oysters, and your fine lady mamma crying of ber eyes out! Oh, Master Greville! what will young gentlemen do next, I wonder!” “Carnes,” Welby felt impelled to y, “I am no more a young gentlemam you are. There is some great ake. Iam just what I told you I as when I first came here.” Yet along with you, Master Gre~ yille! running of your rigs on an old ecve like me! Sure, I knew from the first you were none of the common sort; though why you came down to erying oysters in the street, I didn’t know: But E was no ways surprised- I tell you,. when I hearn as how you was all the time a young gentleman oution @ lark!” “Well, time will show, I suppose. Carnes. But I wish to know if you got back your oyster bucket. lt was knocked out of my hands in the row. when I was kidnapped by the nobs, you:know,. and I didn’t see what be- came of it?” get it back! who was to fetch it? sir; and that bucket with the tin dipper; and the four measures, to say nothing: of the oysters being all lost,. warn't: less than four dollars out of my pocket! And all along of the larks of you; young gentleman.” “Well, Carnes, here is a five-dollar piece, and now I hope we are quits. It was partly to pay you this that I came to-day.” “And you for to go for to say as how you're’no gentleman! Why, yo’ve got the very ways of one!” exclaimed the well pleased oysterman, as he tossed 'the half-eagle in his hand. Leaving kind messages for Mrs. Carnes and the old father of the fami- ly, Welby bade the oysterman good- by and /léftittie shop. When he reached home, Mrs. Greville desired his: presence in her dressing room. He: repaired thither immedi- ately. “My dear: Fulke,” said the lady, “I sent for you to say that to-morrow the Collegiate Sehoek re-opens for the next term. But if you dislike to return thither; you need not go; we can think the matter over, and select some other institution off learning.” “Mamma; since you permit me to call you so. I have not the slightest objec- tion to the Collegiate School. I will go there or anywhere else where you may please to send me for education. And I will do my best to improve to the utmost the opportunities of learning you are so good as to afford me,” said Welby, with earnest and sincere grati- tude. “That is:my noble boy! Oh, Fulket you will be a blessing to me yet, as your dear father on his death-bed pro- phesied that you would!” said the lady, warmly embracing him. “I wish to heaven I might be madam —dear mamma, I mean!” answered Welby, with a sigh. The next day Welby Dunbar. as Master Fulke Greville, entered the Col- legiate School’ under the direction of the Reverend! Simon Dornton. Here, too, he was. greeted by a host of youth, who loudly welcomed him back, and laughingly. rallied him over his late escapade. Not one of these had he ever chanced to meet before, though all seemed to know him as a very old and intimate friend. As upon the oc- casion of the juvenile party, Welby showed tact enough not to betray his: ignorance. By watching and observ- ing, he: soon learned enough of the names ans. characters of his future companions: to make himself at home: among them. When the classes mets the professors certainly thought that Master Fulke Greville had fallem wonderfully behindhand in every one of his- studies, and that he had cem tainly the most treacherous memory they had ever met with. But this was alli’ For the rest, they encouraged him to study hard, in order to make up for lost time. And as Welby was re- solved to do this very thing, and did do it, his progress in learning was won- derful, and won from all his masters the: most cordial approbation. To Be Continued. Story ef “Watch Dog” Holmen. Among the many stories which have been told regarding the late-Represent- ative Holman of Indiana, whe was well Known to the country as the “Wateh Dog of the Treasury,’* is one ef an incident that happened twelve years ago, when he was made chair man of a committee of the house to in- vestigate certain allegatioms of abuse upon Indian reservations. The com- mittee made an extendra trip through the West, and, among other places, vis~ ited Fort Reno, Nev; The post was commanded at that time by Col. Sum- ner of the Fifth cavalry. who ordered a salute to be fized when the visitors arrived. Representative Holman in-~ quired the meaning of the cannonad> ing, and when told it was in honor of the congressional committee, promptly ec hed Ph ioed his wont. ie ir; stop it ri off.” he said; “it isa useless ee the pub- eae money, and should not b epermit- “I am very sorry, sir; imdeed I am,” said Col. Sumner, “but those guns have got to be fired, for the regulations re- quire it."—Washington Post. cr ¢ Se aaiiieee » \