ophilus came up to him slowly, then suddenly lifted a trembling leg and kicked at him. The Judge took him by the collar and shook him, and then held him off at arm's-length, and laughed, his eyes lighting with appreciation.

After that there was no question of Judge Morrison's feeling towards his nephew. The boy amused him, and then interested him; his courage and candor gave him a thrill of pride; and by-and-by, strangely enough, in his withered, mean old heart there came something which he did not recognize, having never felt it: to be sure, it showed itself only in a disappointed irritation if Theophilus appeared stupid; in impatience if the boy looked tired, which he did very often; in anger if he chanced to be late, as he frequently was, for supper. "Broken his neck, probably," the Judge would say, and look out of the window half a dozen times with a snarl of anxiety. Irritation and contempt are not often interpreters of love; certainly it was a good while before the Judge recognized them. He only realized that he thought of the child very often; but he used to tell himself that that was because Theophilus was a nuisance.

Still, he told Hannah to get the boy better clothes-though he forgot to give her any money for the purpose; and he snapped at her because Theophilus did not eat enough. Indeed, he watched the child constantly, his keen cold eyes softening under a sort of film, as an eagle's, when it looks at its young. Once, at midnight, he came knocking at Miss Hannah's door. "I want to feel that child's pulse," he said; "he looked flushed at supper, and you are such a fool, Hannah, you'd let him sicken on your hands."

Miss Hannah, palpitating with fright, sat up in bed and bade him enter.

"I think he's well, brother," she said; "he said he was."

"As if either of you had sense enough to know anything about it!" the Judge retorted. He came in and went shuffling across the room to Theophilus's door-a long, lean figure in a gray flannel wrapper; he had a palm-leaf fan in one hand, and a red silk handkerchief, and he carried a tall brass candlestick - the old-fashioned kind, with a hood, and a spring inside. He had a vague idea that the boy should be fanned if he was feverish, and perhaps his head ought to be tied up.

Theophilus was sleeping placidly, the flush all gone, and his face on its low pillow looking a little thin.

The Judge came back, blowing out his light as he walked. He's to have a tonic. Do you hear? Have Willie King

see him. A funeral is expensive," he ended, with a grin.

Meantime Theophilus paid very little attention to his uncle; he did not recognize any overtures for friendship. Katy had been banished (not that that made any great difference, because Theophilus could play down in Shantytown almost as well as in the orchard); Aunt Hannalı was scolded; he himself was laughed at; his pipe was gone, and he believed any effort to regain it was hopeless; so what did he care about his uncle? Indeed, his bitterness grew as he discovered the practical effect of Katy's fright the day she had been buried; she refused for a long time to be married. She could not, she said, go and live in the garret, because "He" would find her and lick her. Kill her, maybe. No, she would not get married!

But Theophilus pleaded with her with a passion of entreaty. "Oh, please, Katy. Don't say 'no'; oh, please-please, Katy!" And by-and-by there was no gainsaying him.

"Well," said Katy, with a sigh.

"You put on your Sunday dress," her lover told her, "and come to the gate after supper, and I'll be there and take you up to the garret. We'll play it's a railroad journey."

"Father Williams must be gone to first," said Katy.

"Oh, he might tell on us," objected Theophilus. But Katy said again that folks had to go to Father Williams before they were married.

"Why?" said Theophilus.

But on this point Katy was vague; she had heard her mother find fault with girls for not going to the priest" with their sweethearts; that was all Katy knew.

"Well," said Theophilus, reluctantly: "it's too late to-day; but we'll go tomorrow. I'm going to be busy putting the provisions into the garret this afternoon." Then he kissed Katy tenderly, and left her sitting on the fence, scratching her bare legs and reflecting upon her wedding.

The provisioning of the garret was not

difficult. Miss Hannah had gone to the sewing society that afternoon; of course the Judge was not at home; and the little boy had the gaunt, echoing old house to himself. If he had not been so interested and excited, he might have been frightened at the silence and emptiness. Through the wide window in the upper hall the afternoon sunshine poured in, and lay in a dusty pool at the foot of the garret stairs; it pleased Theophilus to say to himself that he had to wade through this pool as he carried up his supplies. The stairs creaked under his eager feet as he lugged up one burden after anotherraw potatoes, a loaf of bread, eggs, apples, a pitcher of water. Then he brought some bedclothes from the press in the linen-closet-his little arms full, and the blankets and coverlets trailing on the ground, so that he walked on them and stumbled a dozen times before he reached the garret.

It was nearly five when all was ready, and then the impatient bridegroom went to claim his bride.

She was waiting for him at the gate; she had put on her red plaid dress, and a little red sack, and her hat with a feather in it; her feet and legs were bare, however, because she could not bring herself to wear her new shoes when it was not Sunday; she had an apple in her hand, and her round little face looked up trustfully at her bridegroom. Theophilus hurried her up the path with such anxiety in his manner that Katy began to be frightened.

"Is He there, Theophilus ?" she said, panting with their run up the hill.

"Not yet," said Theophilus. "Don't be scared, Katy. I won't let him hurt you. If he should attack you, I will throw him down and tie him. Now, Katy, you climb on the back woodshed, and I'll help you into the window in my room, and then we'll go up to the garret."

Katy was stolidly obedient. It would have seemed simpler to go in the back door and walk up stairs, but Theophilus preferred this dangerous mode of entering; so she had nothing to say. When she found herself in the garret, however, her eyes widened with interest, and a little stir of imagination made her suggest that they put a chair against the door, for fear the enemy break in. But Theophilus objected.

"No; if he found the door locked,

VOL. XCVII.-No. 580.-70

he'd think maybe we were here; if we hear him coming, we'll hide behind the trunks."

There was plenty of opportunity to hide in the garret. It was a great loft, extending, without any partitions, over the whole house; two chimney-stacks, rough with plaster and gray with dust and cobwebs, stood, half-way from the centre, at each end.

"They are our breast works to the foe," said Theophilus. However, there was no need to hide, for no dreadful footstep told them of the approach of the enemy. They ate their supper, and then cuddled down on the pillows Theophilus had brought, and slept until the eastern window began to grow into a shining blue oblong that opened into heaven.

V.

The real alarm did not begin downstairs until nearly eight, when Mrs. Murphy appeared, apologizing and crying. Was Miss Morrison after knowin' where her Katy was? The young one had lit out, and the holy angels would tell Miss Morrison that Mrs. Murphy didn't know where she was, no more nor the dead; onless she was with the young gentleman, who was after sayin' he was going to marry her.

The Judge, who had been angry because Theophilus was late for supper, was immensely diverted at Mrs. Murphy's tale, and bade her go and hunt for the children in the orchard, promising the boy a caning, and threatening Katy with the House of Correction; by-and-by he took a lantern and went out himself, looking through the shrubberies, and nearly falling into Theophilus's open grave. The jar and wrench of his stumble, and the flash of remembrance of the little still figure lying there, made him suddenly keenly alarmed, and so, of course, angry again; but anger did not help matters. All that night they looked, and beat through the woods, and flashed lanterns along the river-bank, and called and shouted; the Judge was dreadfully silent, and Miss Hannah prayed; but no children were found.

The next day Theophilus and Katy ate and drank and played-their game being that Theophilus was a hunter, and caught apples in traps in shadowy caves under the rafters, and brought them home to his wife. Katy yawned in the afternoon,

and reminded her husband of Father Williams, and began to get rather tired of being married. So, towards dusk, Theophilus said they would try to get out and "go to the priest "; it was as they were coming softly down stairs that they suddenly heard voices in the library, and darted back for shelter to their garret. But Katy was restless; in a few minutes she insisted upon crawling out again on to the staircase. Theophilus went after her and plucked at her sleeve.

"He'll catch you! Come away." "Don't," Katy said, crossly. Theophilus crept back and sat down on a trunk. The garret was getting dark; those caves under the rafters looked very black; as for what might lurk in them, Theophilus dared not trust his imagination. He felt that if he began to think of their possibilities, his mind would decide upon dead pirates. Why pirates, why dead, Theophilus did not know; he only felt that that way terror lay.

"I mustn't get scared," he told himself, breathing hard, and picking with nervous little fingers at the rotting leather of the old trunk. When he could not stand the silence and loneliness any longer, he came cautiously out to Katy again.

"I can hear 'em talkin'!" she whispered, excitedly. "She's takin' on awful."

66

Come back," whispered Theophilus; "they don't know you're hearing them." Katy looked at him scornfully. "An' would I be listening if they did? Theophilus, she's cryin'!"

And, indeed, poor old Miss Hannah's sobs reached her nephew's ear-for the library door was ajar. At this he took his wife by her arm and dragged her back.

"I must tell Aunt Hannah," he said, in great agitation; "I don't want her to cry. When she goes to bed, I'll go down and tell her we are married, and living up here; but she mustn't tell."

An' leave me alone in the dark?" gasped Katy; and then, suddenly, she began to cry. "I'd 'a' brung a candle 'stead of all them potatoes, if it had been me was doing it," she said. Then she reproached Theophilus for telling her to wear her Sunday clothes. "They'll be shabbying on me," said Katy. She moaned that she did not like living in a garret, and that she wished she had never got married. "I'm going home to my mother," she sobbed.

Theophilus stood beside her in despair. He had never seen Katy in the rôle of her sex. He got down on his knees, and put his little arms around her, and tried to reason with his bride—as other husbands have done before him, and with like success. Katy wept more loudly than ever.

"I don't like being married; and I don't like potatoes that 'ain't been boiled; and I don't like havin' no bed to sleep in, only them pillows and things, which ain't no real bed; and I ain't a-goin' to stay. I'm going home to my — mother!” Katy's sobs were heart-rending. Theophilus was pale with misery.

"Why, you wouldn't-oh, Katy, you wouldn't leave me all alone up here in the dark?" The poor young husband's voice was broken with emotion; he had forgotten the open door, and the wail of Katy's sobs woke only the fear that his domestic happiness was threatened—not that the enemy might hear her.

"I got to, Theophilus; I don't like it. Honest, I don't. Oh, Theophilus, change to Nelly for a wife? She'll do ye; she'll not mind the dark."

"No, she won't do me," he answered, tremulously; "I don't want to change to Nelly; she don't play nicely at all; and she's always talking. I don't want a wife that talks." (Ah, Theophilus, how many men discover this when it is too late to "change to Nelly"!)

“Well, anyway, I'm going home to my mother!" wailed Katy; and this time the enemy heard.

The Judge had been greatly shaken by this day of anxiety; the fact that the children were not immediately and easi ly found had led to the conclusion that they must have wandered in the darkness along the bank of the river-and the black, deep, quick flowing little river knew the rest.

"He's drowned," the Judge said to himself over and over when, towards dusk, he sat in his library, his head bent on his breast. "I've lost him," he said, and drew in his lips, and played a tattoo on the arms of his chair. "Lost himlost him." It was such a wanton and unnecessary loss; if the boy had fallen sick and died, one might say "Providence," and know a sort of dull acquiescence. But this was pure carelessness; there was no need for such a calamity; the child had been neglected. "Hannah neglected him," he said to himself; "the

fool!-why couldn't she have looked after him? She allowed him to play with that little Murphy devil. I'm glad there's one less of them, anyway; she's drowned, too, thank God! Well, I'll clean that place out. They've killed him-Hannah and those people between them. I wish Mary'd lived; she would have looked after him."

It seemed to him that Mary was somehow responsible; if she had staid at home and behaved herself, she could have taken care of the child, he thought, dully --so confused by this sudden meeting of love and selfishness, that whirled like two contrary and tumultuous streams through his dry old heart, that he forgot that if Mary had staid at home, Theophilus would not have been at all. He looked up when, with despair in her face, Miss Hannah came in.

"They haven't heard anything yet, brother," she said. "Oh, brother, what do you think?"

"I think that your promising nephew is drowned, my dear sister." His lips curled back from his teeth as he spoke, and there was a gray pallor under his leathery skin; then he said, "Damn you." Old Miss Hannah sat down on a pile of reports, and covered her face with her hands. The Judge glared at her, and said something fiercely under his breath; yet they had never been so near each other before.

Then, suddenly, from up above them, somewhere in the darkness, a shrill, childish wail wavered faintly, and dropped, and rose again. The two started to their feet together, and listened, breathlessly.

"You are to be off my premises by nine o'clock Saturday morning. I give you twenty-four hours' notice," Judge Morrison had told Mr. Murphy, who was too drunk to do more than hiccough, "Jest as you say, yer honor; jest as you-ach!-say."

And Theophilus?

When that little sound of weeping had struck his ear the Judge had hurried, stumbling and breathless, into the garret. There had been a blank minute of rage; then he had flung Katy to one side, saying viciously something Theophilus did not hear. Then he clutched his nephew's arm in a cruel grip, and storming and threatening for sheer relief, dragged him down to his library. There he spoke his mind..

Theophilus sighed once or twice, and looked out of the window, but said not a word until the Judge had finished. Then, in a voice curiously like his uncle's, he said: "You ain't fair. I am going to tell God on you." And waited for more abuse; but none came.

"Hold your tongue, and go to bed!" his uncle said; and the boy went. But Theophilus Morrison, alone in his library, put his head down on his hands, and drew a long breath.

Miss Hannah, shaking and crying, led Theophilus to his own little room. She asked her broken questions, and exclaimed and protested and reproached him all at once. Theophilus made no response. When at last she kissed him good-night, and left him in the welcome darkness and silence, it seemed as though some weight was lifted from him. He sat up in bed and bent his face forward on his knees. He did not cry, but sometimes he sighed that broken, despairing breath that age knows. He was very white and still all the next day. In vain Miss Hannah tried to make him talk, so that she might comfort him. He ate what she forced upon him, because she cried when he refused. But except to whisper once, "Aunt, I shall tell God on him," he was silent. For Theophilus knew Katy was to be sent away; they would never see each other again. Never any morenever any more," he said to himself over and over.

But, spite of the Judge's orders and Miss Hannah's care, Theophilus did see his wife once more. The morning of the Murphys' departure he watched from the