University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
THE DOWNWARD PATH.

“Then you still persist in marrying John Jenkins?”
queried Judge Boompointer, as he playfully,
with paternal familiarity, lifted the golden
curls of the village belle, Mary Jones.

“I do,” replied the fair young girl, in a low
voice, that resembled rock candy in its saccharine
firmness; “I do. He has promised to reform.
Since he lost all his property by fire—”

“The result of his pernicious habit, though he
illogically persists in charging it to me,” interrupted
the Judge.

“Since then,” continued the young girl, “he has

endeavored to break himself of the habit. He tells
me that he has substituted the stalks of the Indian
ratan the outer part of a leguminous plant called
the smoking-bean, and the fragmentary and unconsumed
remainder of cigars which occur at rare and
uncertain intervals along the road, which, as he
informs me, though deficient in quality and strength,
are comparatively inexpensive.” And, blushing at
her own eloquence, the young girl hid her curls
on the Judge's arm.

“Poor thing,” muttered Judge Boompointer.
“Dare I tell her all? Yet I must.”

“I shall cling to him,” continued the young girl,
rising with her theme, “as the young vine clings to
some hoary ruin. Nay, nay, chide me not, Judge
Boompointer. I will marry John Jenkins!”

The Judge was evidently affected. Seating himself
at the table, he wrote a few lines hurriedly upon
a piece of paper, which he folded and placed in the
fingers of the destined bride of John Jenkins.

“Mary Jones,” said the Judge, with impressive
earnestness, “take this trifle as a wedding gift from
one who respects your fidelity and truthfulness. At
the altar let it be a reminder of me.” And covering
his face hastily with a handkerchief, the stern and
iron-willed man left the room. As the door closed,
Mary unfolded the paper. It was an order on the
corner grocery for three yards of flannel, a paper of
needles, four pounds of soap, one pound of starch,
and two boxes of matches!

“Noble and thoughtful man!” was all Mary Jones

could exclaim, as she hid her face in her hands and
burst into a flood of tears.

The bells of Cloverdale are ringing merrily. It is
a wedding. “How beautiful they look!” is the exclamation
that passes from lip to lip, as Mary Jones,
leaning timidly on the arm of John Jenkins, enters
the church. But the bride is agitated, and the bridegroom
betrays a feverish nervousness. As they
stand in the vestibule, John Jenkins fumbles earnestly
in his vest pocket. Can it be the ring he is
anxious about? No. He draws a small brown substance
from his pocket, and biting off a piece, hastily
replaces the fragment and gazes furtively around.
Surely no one saw him? Alas! the eyes of two
of that wedding party saw the fatal act. Judge
Boompointer shook his head sternly. Mary Jones
sighed and breathed a silent prayer. Her husband
chewed!