University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.
ADVENTURES AT HOME.

As soon as Ruth was restored to tranquillity
by her brother's auspicious return, she resumed
her labours upon the woodcut with new spirit
and hope. In a week she had completed it to
her satisfaction. Through Frank's agency, she
procured a little box of printing-ink and some
fine paper, and with them took what is called
a proof impression of the engraving.

“It's a first-rate picture!” was Frank's exclamation,
as, with a beating heart and a cautious
hand, Ruth drew off the paper from the block,
and looked at the print it had received. As
she scanned it, she could not prevent a blush of
satisfaction and pleasure from rising to her forehead.
The result was entirely successful. All
the lines of the engraving seemed to be in their
right places and of the proper width. It formed,
as Frank had asserted in his peculiar phraseology,
“a first-rate picture.”

Mrs. Bangs was called in to look at it, and
the good woman could hardly find expression
for her admiration and astonishment at the inspection.

“Now, the next question is,” said Ruth,
“how shall we manage to dispose of it?”

“I know where a wood engraver keeps,” exclaimed

Frank. “I will take it to him, and see
what he will pay for it.”

“So you shall, Frank,” replied Ruth; and,
carefully wrapping up the cut in paper, she consigned
it to his charge.

He started off with his usual alacrity, and,
hurrying through the Bowery to Chatham-street,
knocked at the door of a Mr. Slimsy, who was
accustomed to cut rude designs on wood.

“Well, what is wanted, boy?” asked Mr. Slimsy,
rather testily.

“I have a woodcut that I would like to sell
you,” replied Frank, displaying the specimen,
which he held, of Ruth's handiwork.

“Did you steal this, you little rascal?” inquired
the engraver, examining it with some
surprise.

“Don't judge other people by yourself, Slimsy,”
retorted Frank, kindling into anger.

“How—what—you insolent little—you ragamuffin—Slimsy
indeed! where are your manners?”

“Gone in search of yours, I suspect. I am
no thief, Slimsy.”

“What are you?”

“I am a news-boy.”

“Oh! then that accounts for your impudence.
Had you been anything else, I should have kicked
you into the street.”

“That's a game at which two can play, Slimsy.
But let's to business. What will you give
a fellow for that cut?”

“Well, I suppose it's worth a dollar, or a dollar
and a half, or thereabout.”

“I shouldn't be surprised if it was,” said
Frank, stretching out his hand to receive it.

“I will give you a dollar and a half for it, although
that is more than it is worth; but I don't
mind parting with a little in charity.”

“That's humbug—I know it is,” exclaimed
Frank, with a very positive air. “If you can't
give me a fair price for the thing, just say so.”

“Will you take three dollars for it?” asked
Slimsy.

Frank hesitated for a moment, and then replied,
“No, I won't.”

“Leave the premises, then, before I thrash
you,” said Mr. Slimsy, who began to grow quite
enraged because he could not outwit a mere
urchin.

“Give me the cut, first,” said Frank.

“What if I don't?” inquired Mr. Slimsy.

“I will go and bring up my gang to settle the
business with you. It is just as well, perhaps.
So don't concern yourself, Slimsy, about giving
it up.”

The renegade artist—if the cherished name
artist can be applied to such a one—turned
pale at the idea of having his windows broken
by the news-boys; but he still seemed very reluctant
to part with the engraving. There was
no name upon it, and it had occurred to him to
advance his reputation by passing it off as his
own. After haggling some minutes more, he
said, in conclusion, “Well, look here, boy—I
will give you five dollars for it, and that's a
fair price.”

“You shall have it at that,” replied Frank.

“Can you bring me any more like it at the
same price?” asked Slimsy, eagerly.

“I shouldn't be surprised if I could bring you
one a week.”

“Well, don't fail to bring them to me first.
If you take them to anybody else, I shall refuse
them. The only reason why I am so liberal
with you now is, that you may know where to
come the next time.”

Saying this, Mr. Slimsy paid Frank the five
dollars, and reiterating his charge, that if he
had any more such engravings to dispose of, he
must come to him first, he bade him good-by
with affected cordiality; and, the moment he
had closed the door, exclaimed to himself, “The
little sharper! After all, he managed to get out
of me almost half as much as the cut was
worth.”

Ruth was elated at the result of Frank's negotiation.
To her it seemed supremely successful,
and she looked upon her little brother
as the most wonderful of financiers. When he
placed in her hand the five-dollar bill she had
earned by her own invention and skill, it sent
a far more delightful sensation to her heart than
if thousands had fallen to her share through the
mere caprice of Fortune. A glow of satisfaction
and self-respect pervaded her bosom. By
the energy of her own will she had discovered
a means, and by the labour and cunning of her
own hands she had accomplished an end!

The good news was soon communicated to
Mrs. Bangs, who readily participated in the joy
of her young tenant.

“How fortunate, my dear,” said she, “that
you should have hit upon this scheme for getting
along! Here you have made in one week,
with the aid of this little chisel, as much as I
can make by all my labour at the washing-tub
and the ironing-board. I am sure you should
be thankful to Heaven for giving you your pretty
talent, and sparing you such tedious drudgery
as I have to put up with.”

“I am grateful, Mrs. Bangs. I am certain that
I feel so, for I have many causes for continual
gratitude. In the first place, we all enjoy excellent
health; then I have hit upon an employment
which will amply support us; then Arthur has
found a nice place with Doctor Remington, who
lends him books, and lets him read them while
he is sitting in the chaise attending to the horse,
which, you know, is much better than if he had
to be idle all the while, or to be shut up from
the fresh air at some unwholesome task; and
then Frank is such a smart, manly little fellow!
Do you know, he sometimes makes half a dollar
a day selling newspapers? But I do not altogether
like his occupation. He is obliged to
mix with rude, foul-mouthed boys, and must necessarily
learn some of their slang; though, when
I hear him say his prayers at night, I try to blot
out all the evil impressions he may have got during
the day. We shall soon be able, I hope, to
find him a place in some good merchant's store.
As for May, she is the bravest little housewife
of my acquaintance. You should come up here
some night, and see her pour out tea.”

“Tea! Do you have tea?” exclaimed Mrs.
Bangs, surprised at the intelligence.

“Oh, yes! `Grampar' gave it to us,” lisped
May.

“I didn't know you had a `grampar,' my
dear,” said Mrs. Bangs.

“I must let you into a secret, Mrs. Bangs,”
interrupted Ruth, smiling. “The other afternoon
I sent May round to Mr. Bibb's, the grocer's,
to buy some candles. It was almost an
hour before she returned, and I had begun to get
worried about her. When she came, such a long
story she had to tell me about `a nice, funny,
fat old man' whom she had met, and who had
kissed her, and given her some raisins, and
made her tell him where she lived, that I thought
she would never have done talking about it.
The next day, who should knock at the door and
walk in but Mr. Bibb! And then, such romping
and laughing as there was between him and May,
you never heard. He made May promise to call
him `Grampar,' and the same evening he came
up again, with his pockets filled with seed-cakes,
loaf-sugar, and a paper of black tea. Arthur and
Frank came in. I hunted up a teapot, and Mr.
Bibb taught May how to prepare the tea, and
pour it out; then we all sat round the table, with
her at the head, and such a pleasant time as we
had! And such funny stories as he told us!
He kept us all laughing till bedtime.”

“My stars! What would his wife say if she
knew it all!” exclaimed Mrs. Bangs.

“I do not think she makes his home happy
to him,” said Ruth; “for he comes up here
every evening now, and May is quite uneasy
unless she sees `grampar' at least once in the
course of the day.”

“He is extravagantly fond of children, and
his wife hates them,” resumed Mrs. Bangs.

“How happens it,” asked Ruth, “that we
do not hear any music now from the room below,
as we used to?”

“Ah! the poor old `Mounseer' has been very
ill indeed, and I am afraid his purse is getting
low too; for, since paying me his rent last week,
he hasn't sent out to buy anything but a little
coffee. He lies in bed all day, figuring music
with his pen and ink, and looking wistfully at
his piano-forte, without having the strength to
play.”

“I wish I could help him,” said Ruth, musingly.

“I wish you could, my dear; but—My stars!
it is after five o'clock, and I haven't sent those
shirts yet to Mr. Dangleton! Here! William!
William Bangs!” and with these exclamations
the good woman hurried down stairs.

Ruth continued to muse upon what had been
just told her about the Mounseer. “He is old
and sick,” thought she; “a stranger too, and
in a strange land. He has no daughter to smooth
his pillow, to hand him his drink, and to speak
to him in sweet, comforting tones.” The tears
started to her eyes at the picture her own fancy
had helped to draw, and she at once resolved
to follow the impulse of her heart.

“I am going down stairs, May, a few minutes,”
said she, “to see how the poor French
gentleman is getting on. Do you keep house
till I return.”

“Oh, yes. `Grampar' and the boys will be

here soon,” said the little one, well contented
to assume the responsibility devolved upon her.

Ruth knocked softly at the invalid's door,
and in a few minutes she could distinguish a
faint voice whispering “Come in!”

She entered, closed the door, and approached
the bedside, near which stood a chair covered
with blotted music, upon which lay an inkstand,
some pens, a pair of spectacles, and a
cup of cold coffee.

The pale face which peered above the bedclothes
belonged apparently to a man who had
passed the age of sixty. His hair was gray,
his chin and nose were prominent, and there
were deep wrinkles on his forehead and about
the corners of his mouth.

He smiled benignantly, lifting his cheekbones
and his eyebrows nearly an inch out of
their places in the effort, and said, as Ruth made
her appearance,

“Bien! qu'est ce que c'est, ma petite? Vat is
it you want, leetel girl?”

“I am Ruth Loveday, sir, who has the room
up stairs; and I have called to see if there is
anything I can do for you.”

“Merci, ma chère! Thank you, my dear.
Vous etes très aimable. You are very good. Je
suis malade—très malade. I am ill—very ill.
Mais comprenez-vous ce que je dis? But are you
comprehending what I say?”

“I do not understand French, sir,” said Ruth.

“C'est dommage! It is a pity. C'est une belle
langue, ma chère, une belle langue! A beautiful
language, my dear, a beautiful language! Mais

je m'oublie—vous ne me comprenez pas? But I
forget—you do not understand me?”

Ruth shook her head, and asked, “Is there
nothing I can get for you? Your room is
cold.”

“Oui, ma chère; il fait froid. Yes, my dear;
it is cold.”

“There is but one blanket on your bed. You
shiver. Wait a moment. I will bring you
some clothing from my bed;” and, as she said
this, it occurred to her that she could hire a
couple of blankets for her own use from Mrs.
Bangs.

Ruth glided noiselessly out of the sick room,
and in less than two minutes returned with a
sufficiency of additional bedclothes, which she
threw over the invalid, who now seemed to regard
her movements with a childlike, silent astonishment.
Her good offices did not soon
cease. She took some of her own wood and
made a fire; opened the window, and ventilated
the room; got some clean, fresh pillowcases
from Mrs. Bangs, and replaced the old
ones with them; and then, gently lifting the
invalid's head, she laid it in an easy position,
and smoothed back his gray locks with her fingers.

The poor Frenchman did not speak a word
all this while. He seemed to be hesitating to
make up his mind whether it was a human being
who was ministering to him, or whether it
was not some disguised angel, who, pitying his
forlorn state, had come down to earth to perform
the functions of a nurse. At length a

consciousness of Ruth's spontaneous kindness
seemed to fill his soul. His breast heaved;
the tears sprang to his eyes; he took one of
her hands, pressed it to his lips, and said,
“Tank you ver mooch, ma chère enfant—bless you
—tank you—tank you—bless you—vous m'avez
déja rendu mieux. You have already made me
better. I sall be ver well yesterday—demain—
vous êtes un ange—oui, un ange. You are an angel—yes,
an angel. Mille remercimens! Tousand
tanks!”

Ruth smiled with pleasure at the old man's
excess of gratitude, and said, “You must let
me take away this cup of cold coffee, which I
am sure is not good for you, and I will bring
you in its stead a bowl of nice hot tea and some
milk biscuits. Then you shall have a tub of
hot water to bathe your feet in, for you are
slightly feverish; and after that you shall go to
bed, and get a good night's rest: shall it not be
so?”

“Oh, oui, oui, mon enfant. Yes, yes, my child.
Je ferai tout ce que vous désirez. I will do all you
desire. Mais dites-moi, est-ce que vous etes un
enfant? N'etes vous pas un ange? But, tell me,
are you a child? Are you not an angel?”

“I do not comprehend,” said Ruth, shaking
her head.

“Ah! Je m'oublie—Ah! I forget—et moi—
I speak Anngleesh ver leetel—mais vous sall know
of me to speak Francais—parceque—because—c'est
une jolie langue, et vous etes une jolie fille.”

“I will go now, and prepare some tea for
you,” said Ruth.

“Du thè? Ah, merci! Mais, ecoutez-moi un
moment—connaissez-vous la musique? Jouezvous?
Ah! Vous ne me comprenez-pas—Voilà
my piano-forte! Can you play?”

“I love music dearly,” replied Ruth, “but I
cannot play.”

“Ah, la pauvre enfant! Vous ne jouez-pas!
Mais il faut jouer! Ecoutez! Vous serez donc ma
petite ecolière! You sall be my leetel pupil—Voulezvous
l'étre? Will you not?”

“I will first be your nurse, and get you well;
and so,” said Ruth, smiling and raising her forefinger,
“you must not talk any more now. I
will be soon back.”

“Ah, mon Dieu! C'est un ange!” sighed the
poor Frenchman, as Ruth glided noiselessly out
of the room and closed the door.

She was not long absent. Up stairs she found
the tea-table spread, and Mr. Bibb and the boys
taking a jovial meal, while May presided. The
worthy grocer had brought a liberal supply of
seed-cakes and gingerbread, and was laughing
heartily at Frank's account of his visit to Providence.

“What is the matter, Ruth?” asked Arthur,
as she entered the room.

“Do not move, brother. I am merely going
to take a cup of tea and some biscuit down to
the poor `Mounseer,' who occupies the room
below.”

“Is he quite ill, Ruth? For I can get Doctor
Remington to visit him if it is advisable.”

“I think, with a little careful tending, he will
be soon well. So pour me out some tea, May,
and let me take it to him.”

“You had better let me send him round a
nice beefsteak,” said Mr. Bibb.

“We will talk about that to-morrow,” replied
Ruth. “For the present, this will be sufficient.”

And, with these words on her lips, Ruth tripped
down stairs, and again stood by the bedside
of her patient, who, in broken English, laboured
to give some expression to his lively
gratitude. He was soon so much recruited by
her ministrations that he was able to sit up
against the pillow. A tub-full of hot water was
then brought to him by his little nurse, who,
after assisting him to bathe his feet, wiped them
dry, shook up his pillows, and gently placed
back his head; and, assuring him that he would
have a good night, and wake up much refreshed
in the morning, bade him farewell. The old
man lapsed into sleep, still doubting in his mind
whether he had been visited by “un ange” or
“un enfant”—an angel or a child.

Ruth's prognostics in regard to the poor
Frenchman proved true. He rapidly recovered
under her kind and watchful care; and his gratitude
knew no bounds. His first impulse was
to compose a long piece of music, in six parts,
in her honour, which he actually accomplished,
and named it “The Recovery.” As, in order
to do it justice in the performance, however,
it would, according to Monsieur Mallet, be
necessary to have an orchestra of two hundred
violins, sixty trombones, ten pedal harps, twenty
bassoons, a hundred flutes, twelve trumpets,
fifty bass viols, fifteen kettledrums, with a great

variety of instruments not yet introduced into
this country, I despair of ever hearing this astonishing
production properly presented to the
American public.

The “Mounseer's” gratitude took, likewise, a
more useful, if not a more complimentary direction.
He commenced giving Ruth instruction
in music, and persuaded her to practice a couple
of hours every day upon the piano. He also
taught her to speak French, not by formally
initiating her into the grammatical rules, but by
repeated conversations.

“But how could Ruth afford to find time for
such recreations?” it may be asked.

She acquired the ability by rigid industry, by
indulging herself in no vacant moments, and by
a methodical arrangement of her occupations.
A month passed rapidly by; and at the end of
that time she paid her landlady another month's
rent in advance, without subjecting herself to
the apprehension of wanting enough for the
daily support of her little family. An incident
also occurred about this time, which shed another
sunbeam upon her prospects.

Happening in at a bookstore one day, Frank
recognised in a volume for the young, that had
just been published, four of the identical engravings
that had been executed by Ruth. He
immediately went to one of the clerks, who was
in the habit of buying papers of him, and asked,

“What did you have to give Slimsy for these
cuts?”

“What is that to you, Frank?” inquired the
clerk, in reply.

“I have a good reason for asking; so tell
me, there's a good fellow.”

“Well, you are the coolest boy of your inches
in the whole circle of my acquaintance. However,
seeing it is you, Frank, I will look back
in the daybook, and see if I can gratify your
curiosity. Here it is! We paid Slimsy for
those four cuts fifty dollars. Does that satisfy
you?”

“Fifty dollars!” exclaimed Frank; “and he
got them for twenty! Isn't that too bad?”

“Why, Slimsy engraved them himself. Don't
you see his name to them? They are so well
done that he has got more business than he
can attend to on the strength of them.”

“He didn't engrave a line of them,” replied
Frank. “My sister made those engravings.”

“Your sister! Nonsense! I never heard of
a girl's engraving on wood.”

“I tell you it is so; and to prove it, I will
bring you an engraving of that kind every week
for the price you pay Slimsy.”

“If you are really in earnest, Frank, I will
speak to one of the firm about it, and I am
quite sure they will gladly accept your offer,
for they are getting up a number of picture-books
for the spring trade.”

“Well, I am in earnest, and no mistake,” returned
the boy; “so go and speak to Mr. Jackson
about it. There he stands at the desk.”

“Yes, but he is busy just now. To-morrow
or the next day I may find a chance to tell him
what you say.”

“But why not speak to him now? I never

put off things till to-morrow without repenting
it. Go, there's a good fellow. If you won't,
I will.”

“Well, if you arn't a driving little chap, I
don't know who is,” said the clerk, laughing,
and proceeding to make the desired communication
to the head of the firm.

Mr. Jackson was not discomposed by the
clerk's interruption of his labours. He listened
attentively to what he had to say, and replied
that he was not at all surprised at this
instance of Slimsy's duplicity; that his suspicions
of his integrity had been awakened long
since; and that, knowing the man's inferiority
as a wood-engraver, he had openly charged him
with trickery in putting his name to those specimens
of the art, the credit of which he was
now satisfied belonged to another. The worthy
publisher then beckoned to Frank to draw
near; asked him a few questions; told him he
had known his father some years ago; and, in
conclusion, offered to pay him twelve dollars
apiece for such cuts as Slimsy had been purchasing
for five.

Thanking Mr. Jackson warmly for his kindness,
Frank left the store, and put more speed
into his legs in his journey home than he had
ever before exerted. He was quite breathless
as he rushed up stairs and burst into the room,
where Ruth was hard at work upon a new drawing.

“What ails you, Frank? Why do you tear
round so, and dash your hat upon the floor?”
asked Ruth, turning round from her task with
an expression of surprise.

“Have you burned yourself with a hot flat-iron,
brother Frank?” inquired May.

“Nonsense, May! Hold your guns up! Never
say die while there's a shot in the locker!”

“Do not talk so, Frank. It is very unbecoming
in a small boy like you,” observed Ruth.

“Small,” replied Frank, “but all-fired hard
to catch, as the Irishman said of his pig; and
yet that is not exactly true, for old Slimsy certainly
did catch me napping, and pulled the
wool over my eyes; but this child is wide
awake now, or there are no omnibuses in Broadway;”
saying which, Master Frank began whistling
and dancing the “Fisher's Hornpipe,” concluding
it with saltations after the manner of
Jim Crow.

“Do be quiet, and tell me the meaning of all
these antics,” said Ruth.

“I have made a discovery, Ruth,” replied he,
at length, in a sobered tone. “What do you
suppose old Slimsy made a bookseller pay for
your four engravings?”

“I cannot imagine,” said Ruth.

“Fifty dollars! Think of that, and weep,”
exclaimed the boy, snapping his thumb and
middle finger.

“So he made just thirty dollars out of my labour!”

“Yes, or there's no truth in the rule of subtraction.”

“I am very glad to learn that he doesn't lose
by me.”

“Why, when I took the last cut to him, the
old fox tried to beat me down. He said that

he should lose at least a dollar apiece on the
four. Oh, Slimsy! Slimsy! arn't you a deep
one?”

“But, Frank, as long as he pays us punctually,
we should not find fault with him.”

“Listen to me. I have found out the man
who buys the cuts after they leave my hands,
and he is willing to pay you twelve dollars
apiece for as many as you will engrave.”

“Is it possible? What brave good news!”
exclaimed Ruth, turning almost pale with delight;
and then, checking her exultation, she
said, “But will it be treating poor Mr. Slimsy
well if we deprive him of this means of making
money?”

“Oh, that would be very wrong, wouldn't
it?” replied Frank, ironically. “And don't you
think, Ruth, it is rather wicked in us to charge
him so much as we do for the cuts? Only
think, if we sold them to him for fifty cents instead
of five dollars, he could make eleven dollars
and a half upon every one. Indeed, upon
the whole, wouldn't it be better to give them to
him for nothing? Yes, that will be the most
pious plan. Old Slimsy shall have them for
nothing!”

“For shame, Frank, to laugh at me so. I deserve
it, however. It is certainly a duty we
owe, not only to ourselves, but to others who
toil at the same trade, to put the highest market
valuation upon our labours. So we will bid our
new customers welcome; for now, with our increased
income, we can make a good many little
reforms in our management. In the first

place, you, Frank, shall drop the news-vending
business, and find some employment that will
not expose you to such a rough-and-tumble kind
of life as you have been leading.”

“But I love to be a news-boy,” said Frank.
“It is first-rate fun, except when the weather
is wet and cold.”

“You are necessarily thrown among bad, ill-mannered
boys, my dear Frank, who swear and
fight, and use the strangest language, too much
of which you have picked up already. Now
would it not be better for you to go into some
respectable store, where you will learn bookkeeping
and accounts, and where you will be
likely to see and hear what will improve you,
and fit you for a creditable place in society
when you grow up?”

“You are right, sister Ruth, as you always
are. I would like to be a merchant, and own
ships, and go to sea sometimes myself.”

“But, before you can obtain a good situation,
you must go to school a while; and I think you
had better commence attending forthwith.”

“I will begin to-morrow, if you wish it, Ruth.”

“I mean that May shall go to school also as
soon as the warm weather is nigh; and who
knows but that we shall get on so prosperously,
that I shall be able to give an hour or two more
a day to Monsieur Mallet and the piano forte?”

“I wish that you would, Ruth; for I look
upon music as first-rate. By-the-way, you can
parley-voo with the Mounseer in prime style
now—can't you? Your tongue seems to take to
his Frenchified talk very kindly. For my part, I

could never see the sense of calling a horse a
shovel, or a house a maison. Humbug! A horse
is a horse all the world over, and I should like
to know why a house should be called a maison,
when it's the mason that builds the house?”

“You have said quite enough, Frank, to convince
me that you ought to go to school. You
have not learned enough yet to be aware of your
own ignorance; and I would not have you make
yourself ridiculous, should you be thrown among
intelligent people.”

“Grandfather Bibb says that I know more
now than many a man that has been through
college.”

“I dare say you do, Frank, know more—mischief,”
said Ruth, laughing. And then kissing
his cheek, she added, “But you are a brave
lad for all that, and I don't know how I should
have got along without you.”

“You can change me and guide me, Ruth, by
a single look, but the whole city corporation
couldn't make me budge if they undertook to
bully me.”

“I would never have you obey a command
that you believed unjust or wrong, come from
whom it may; but where you are not conscious
of being in the right, do not be obstinate. It is
far more manly to honestly confess an error,
than to persist in it through vanity or a false
notion of spirit.”

“Well, if I go to school, there is one thing
that I'll not stand from man or boy: right or
wrong, I won't be struck.”

“But if your conscience tells you that a punishment
is merited—”

“I don't care. Thrashing may do for beasts
and for wheat in the husk, but hang me if I'll be
made a brute or vegetable of. So don't try to
alter my mind. If I can't learn to write and cipher
without being whipped like a dog, why
I'll stay ignorant. I told Grandfather Bibb the
same thing, and he slapped me on the back, and
said that I was a lad of wax, and that them were
his sentiments.”

“Those, not them, Frank,” interrupted Ruth,
correcting his syntax.

“That's what Grandfather Bibb said, any
how,” retorted Frank.

“Who is that talking about Grandfather
Bibb?” exclaimed the jovial voice of the grocer
on the stairs, in stern, guttural tones.

“That's grandpapa! I know his voice! He
can't frighten me, if he tries,” cried May, running
and opening the door, and jumping into
the fat man's extended arms.

Mr. Bibb entered the room with the evident
air of a privileged acquaintance, took a chair,
placed May upon his knee, loosened his neck-cloth,
and, drawing forth a red bandana handkerchief,
wiped from his forehead the perspiration
produced by the effort of mounting to the
attic story of the house. It was plain, however,
that he considered his toil as amply recompensed
by the cordial, gleeful reception
which he met with from the children.

“How many cab-drivers have you knocked
down to-day, Frank?” asked he, looking approvingly
at the young object of his admiration,
and giving one of his richest winks.

“Frank isn't going to get into any more
brawls, Mr. Bibb,” said Ruth. “He means to
study hard, and be a good scholar.”

Ruth then briefly informed her portly visiter
of the important event of the day, by which their
income would be more than doubled, and Frank
would be enabled to turn his attention to the
improvement of his mind.

Mr. Bibb seemed a little chagrined at the idea
of sending Frank to school; and while Ruth set
the table and prepared the tea, he instructed
“young Hopeful” in certain arts, and sleights of
hand and of foot, by which he could at any time
trip up a schoolmaster. To all his teachings,
the boy lent a most attentive ear; and, finally,
when Mr. Bibb, the more fully to explain the
interesting process, rose from his chair and
went through the movements, Frank undertook
to test his own proficiency by experimenting
upon his instructer in the mode prescribed;
and, seizing him by the leg, actually upset him
upon the floor. The fall shook the house, but
produced no other effect upon the fat man than
to throw him into a violent fit of laughter, which
made every part of him quiver like a pile of
jelly.

As soon as Mr. Bibb succeeded in regaining
his seat and composing himself, and quieting
May, who had been much alarmed by the flesh-quake
her mischievous brother had produced,
Arthur entered, and the candles were lighted
for tea. It chanced that there were no performances
that evening at the little theatre where
Monsieur Mallet played in the orchestra; and

Ruth, ascertaining that he was in his room, invited
him to join her tea-party: an invitation
which was thankfully accepted. He was formally
introduced to Mr. Bibb, whom he accosted
in French:

“Monsieur Beeb, je suis ravi de vous voir.”

“He says he is happy to see you,” interpreted
Ruth.

“Thank you, Mounseer: the same to you,”
replied Mr. Bibb; and here the conversation
dropped between the grocer and the musician.
Indeed, as Ruth was the only one who could understand
the latter, this was less a matter of
choice than of necessity.

The spirit of joyousness is contagious, however,
even when we are ignorant of the language
in which it is vented; and, had any one
stood at the door and listened to the glad voices
within, he might have imagined that Champagne,
and not black tea, was the beverage that
was flowing.

Mr. Bibb, understanding that the Mounseer
was a musical character, volunteered to entertain
him with a song; and, while the poor
Frenchman looked aghast at the discords that
ensued, the fat man, with a supremely self-satisfied
air, commenced:

Before the singer could give utterance to the
words “hasty pudding,” with which the first
stanza of our great national song concludes, the

cup of tea that was raised half way to his lips
fell from his hand, his lips quivered as if with
an ague-fit, his eyes seemed starting from their
sockets, and an expression of blank despair
spread over all his features.

“Ma foi!” exclaimed Monsieur Mallet, “I
knew it would keel him—c'etait très horrible—de
l'eau, ma chère! de l'eau fraiche! Some cold vater!”

The Frenchman attributed the attack to what
seemed to him the diabolical discords in which
Mr. Bibb was indulging. Alas! there was a
deeper, a more direful cause!

In plain prose, the voice of Mrs. Bibb, coming
up stairs, had suddenly stricken his ear, and,
a moment afterward, she burst into the room
with an aspect full of portentous meaning.
She seemed thinner and smaller than ever; but
her little pursed-up mouth, like the cloudy speck
which, in tropical latitudes, holds the hurricane,
was evidently keeping back the storm only that
it might explode with the more terrific effect.
Monsieur Mallet instinctively drew back his
chair and dropped his head between his shoulders.
Little May nestled against the breast of
the poor victim of the impending tempest, as if
to protect him by her feeble aid. Frank clinched
his fists, and Ruth and Arthur looked on with
silent concern.

“So! Mr. Bibb!” began the virago, drawing

a long breath, placing her arms a-kimbo, and
jerking her sharp face into his, so as to come
very near hitting it: “So! Mr. Bibb, sir!”
continued she, laying an ironical emphasis upon
the last word, “this is the way in which you
treat your lawful wedded wife—stealing away
from her with your pockets full of cakes and
loaf-sugar, to take tea with these ugly brats, the
children of nobody knows who, and whom no
decent people care about! So these are the
ward meetings that you pretended you had to attend
every night, you vile man! But I have
found you out at last, and now, aren't you ashamed
of yourself? Dare you ever hold up your
head again? Can I ever forgive you? Ugh! you
deserve to have your eyes torn out—you do!”

“Sacre! ce n'est pas une femme — c'est un tigre!”
murmured Monsieur Mallet, unconsciously
giving utterance to his amazement.

“None of your gibberish, you poor fiddling,
frog-eating Frenchman!” exclaimed Mrs. Bibb,
diverting her batteries for a moment from the
main object of attack. The composer of sixty-five
“grand oratorios” retreated towards the
fireplace, and persuaded Frank to stand between
him and the enemy.

“As for you, you forward little hussy, you,”
screamed the shrew, turning to our young housekeeper,
“as for you—”

“Now, Ruth, it's your turn,” interrupted
Frank; “don't start like a two-year-old as the
guns go off—eyes right, now—here it comes—
bang!”

“Silence! you hateful, saucy, vile, insolent

little wretch,” said Mrs. Bibb, actually gasping
with rage. “And you, you cruel man,” added
she, diverted by Frank's soldier-like skirmish
from the charge upon Ruth, and returning to
the attack upon her husband, “how dare you
sit tamely by, and see your lawful wedded wife
insulted by such a whipper-snapper as this?
Why don't you speak, Mr. Bibb? Put down
that odious brat, and speak to me!”

As she said this, she rudely pulled May by
the arm from his knee, hurting the child so
much in the act that it could not repress a cry
of pain. The circumstance, slight as it was,
seemed sufficient to produce an instantaneous
change in the influence of Mrs. Bibb's presence
upon her too submissive lord. He rose from
his chair with as much dignity as was consistent
with his corpulency, and, while his countenance
assumed an air of grave decision, he said,
“This course of conduct must stop here, Mrs.
Bibb, or you and I can no longer live together.
Until you can ask my forgiveness for the past,
and promise to change your manner towards
me entirely, I will not sleep under the same
roof that covers you. You well know that I
am in earnest, so act accordingly.”

Had her husband been suddenly metamorphosed
into a hippopotamus, Mrs. Bibb could
not have been more confounded than she was
by this unexampled and unlooked-for display
on his part of spirit and determination. She
looked for a full minute in his face, as if incapable
of realizing that it was he who had spoken.
As he did not quail before her glance,

she at length seemed satisfied of the fact; but,
like Napoleon at Elba, she could not at once
forsake the hope of regaining her lost dominion.
So, summoning her severest looks and
her sharpest tones, she exclaimed, “Mr. Bibb!
I command you to leave this place this very instant—this
very instant, I say — and accompany
me home. If you obey, I forgive you; if not—
Come along this instant, sir! I command you!
Do you dare—”

Alas for Mrs. Bibb! Her tones grew feebler
and less imperious! She was even then upon
her “field of Waterloo,” the vanquished, not
the vanquisher! Her husband, the Wellington
of the day, stood firm as a rock. Not the shifting
of a muscle indicated that his resolution
was ebbing. With his left hand placed gently
upon May's head, he stood pointing significantly
with his right to the door. Humbled and in
tears, Mrs. Bibb hesitated a moment, as if in
doubt whether to renew the conflict or to ask
pardon; and, finally, stamping her foot, she
tossed herself out of the room and took her
departure, muttering, “Oh, you shall repent
this, sir—you shall repent this!”

“Courage, mon ami!” exclaimed Monsieur
Mallet, jumping up as the door closed, and
shrugging his shoulders, while a grin of admiration
and delight irradiated his face. “La
victoire est pour vous! Bravo! Vous avez bien
fait cela!”

“Was it well done, eh?” replied Mr. Bibb,
with an honest pride in his achievement.

“What do you say, Frank? Couldn't have
done it better yourself, eh?”

“It was first-rate!” said Frank, rubbing his
hands.

Even little May, who had been weeping
through fright, looked up, and began to laugh
as she felt the genial return of pleasure and
satisfaction to the bosoms of the rest of the
party.

It was now proposed by Monsieur Mallet to
adjourn to his room, and hear a grand medley,
or rifaccimento of melodies, in honour of the
triumph of his new friend. The invitation was
gladly accepted; and the good-natured Frenchman
entertained the party till the clock struck
nine with a number of popular airs, admirably
executed upon the piano-forte. The children
then bade the two old men good-night, and retired
to their beds, where, if the image of Mrs.
Bibb mingled in their dreams, it did not prevent
their enjoying a sweet and refreshing
sleep.