Half a dozen boys

They said that he must have breathed the smoke, for there was no mark of the fire upon him. His lips were set firmly together, as with the nerving himself for some mighty, heroic task; and the coat he had worn to protect himself was closely folded about Fred's head. Lovingly and reverently they raised him, and bore him into the house, where they laid him on Bert's bed, wrapped in the dreamless sleep that could have but one awakening.

Frank Muir had lifted Fred in his strong arms, and turned to Bess inquiringly.

"Home, please; that is, if you can carry him there. It is so near, and Mrs. Walsh has so much now. Oh, Frank, am I to blame?" And she shuddered at the thought.

"To blame; no! Of course not. But I can carry him easily, and we shall need you, so you mustn't fail us." And he looked at her anxiously, for she seemed about to faint.

It was some time before Fred was fully restored to consciousness, and then, while Bess and her mother dressed his slightly burned face and hands, Frank Muir sat by his side, trying to cheer and calm him. It was a long afternoon, for Fred was feverish and nervous, and needed all their care. They let him talk but little, but he told them how he had left the boys, intending to go to the hammock, but, thinking of the hay, he had gone into the barn instead, where he had fallen asleep, and waked to find the air around him filled with smoke. After that, he remembered nothing more until he waked in his own bed, with them all around him. Then he was ordered not to talk, so he lay, sleeping but little, till far into the night, while Bess anxiously hovered over him, suffering even more than he did from the burns which she fancied had been caused by some neglect on her part.

Late the next day, he was so much better that they thought it safe to tell him about Sam. The boy's grief was beyond any words, but, clinging to Bess, he sobbed bitterly, as he learned the sacrifice so nobly made for him. As he gradually became calmer, Bess said to him gently, as she stroked his hair,—

"Fred, my dear boy, Sam has willingly given his life for yours, and nothing can change that now. He is at rest and happy. There is only one thing you can do,—live each day so that, as he looks down on you and watches you, he can be happier still in feeling that the life he saved was the life of a true, noble boy, who deserves the sacrifice."

The story of the fire had been told on all sides, and early the next afternoon the great house on the hill was full, and many were gathered outside on the lawn, for honest, manly Sam had, unknown to himself, many a friend; and now young and old, boys and girls, men and women, had gathered to do honor to the young soldier who had gained "the victor's crown of gold."

The deep hush of sadness as Mr. Washburn slowly began, "I am the resurrection and the life," was only broken, now and then, by a sob from some one who suddenly realized what a large place the quiet boy had filled in all their hearts. Fred had insisted on being present, and with Bess sat near the family, looking sadly worn from his burns, and his sorrow for the friend who had saved him.

But the prayer was ended, and on the quiet that followed rose the sweet boy voices, for Sam's mother had asked the four friends to sing for her son, as they had so often sung with him. Clearly and firmly they began,—

"Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom,
        Lead thou me on."

But one after another the young voices broke and were hushed, until Rob was singing alone, unconscious of the people about him, only seeing the dark outline in the darkened room; forgetful of his hearers, only remembering the good friend and companion in the happy days they had passed together. Never had his voice been sweeter or clearer, until the close of the second verse. Then it was impossible for him to go on. It all seemed like some horrible nightmare, from which he must wake, to find Sam alive and well. He tried to go on with the hymn, but his voice failed utterly. For a moment there was a hush of expectation, a hush that seemed endless to the boy; and then, from behind him, in a clear, mellow tenor, low and gentle, yet so distinct that not a syllable was lost, came the words of the last verse,—

"So long Thy power has led me, surely still
    'Twill lead me on,
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
    The night is gone,
And with the morn, those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since—and lost awhile."

It was all over, "earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust," but as the five lads, the half-dozen now no longer, sat on the Carters' piazza in the gathering twilight, sorrowfully talking over the events of the last three days, they felt that no one of them had made a braver fight to win the victor's crown. And as the stars came out one by one, and smiled down on the boys as they sat there, smiled as they had so often done before, only more sadly to-night, they felt that Sam, too, was looking down upon them from above, and each one resolved, in his boyish heart, to live from day to day, so that at last he should be worthy to meet Sam once more in the happy future world.

CHAPTER XVI.

A LITERARY EVENING.

THE I.I. CLUB

Requests you to be present on Saturday evening, October 29th, at its semi-annual meeting. Essays will be read, to show the work of the club.

These invitations were scattered broadcast among fathers and mothers, uncles and aunts, and Saturday evening was eagerly awaited by the young clubbists.

It was now more than four weeks since Sam had left the boys, and although they missed him sadly and mourned for him most sincerely, there seemed to Bess no reason that the five lads should give up their long-talked-of festival. She was sure that Sam, unselfish as he had always shown himself, would not wish it otherwise. His memory had become a tender centre for all their highest, noblest thoughts and talks, and the five rarely came together without speaking of him, sometimes laughing quietly at the funny adventures they had had with him, but more often dwelling with a boyish pride on the courage and manliness that showed in his every act. It was always, "Sam is," "Sam does;" never the dreadful "was" and "did," that past tense which seems to separate our friends from us by an impassable barrier. Bess encouraged this feeling of nearness, for she loved to have the boys feel that their friend had only left them as if for a little journey, and they would soon meet him again. It was the first time they had learned the real meaning of death, and it had been a terrible blow to them all, but the tender, loving memory, and the thought that their friend was always watching over them, had a sweet, helpful influence on their young lives. No one had been asked to fill his place in the club, but instead, when the lads were discussing the details of their open meeting, Sam's tastes and wishes were followed as closely as if he had been still among them.

Saturday evening found the Carters' large rooms well filled, and at exactly half-past seven Bess, followed by the five boys, took her place on a small raised platform at the end of the room. Each one wore a white carnation in his buttonhole, from which hung the badge of membership, a silver interrogation point, Fred's gift. Four of them were armed with impressive rolls of manuscript, while Fred carried a large, loose bunch of roses that, with Bessie's help, he placed before a picture of Sam that stood on a small table in their midst.

Then, in a few words, Bess reminded the audience of the object and work of the club. Of what it had done in the past six months, they could judge by the evening's entertainment; the secret of what its members would do in the future lay hidden in the boys themselves. She added a few tender words, referring to the member who had left them, and then, after saying that the essays were the work of the boys, and that she had not even seen them, she introduced as the first reader, Master Philip Cameron.

Phil rose with a rather sheepish giggle, hastily smoothed down his scalp-lock that would stand aggressively erect, bowed to the audience, and announced his subject.

"GOLD.

"Gold is a yellow metal that we are all familiar with, though not as much so as we should like to be. It is used for money and for ornaments, and is very precious. It is found in a great many places in the world, and a great deal in a place, but people always wish there was some more of it. The most interesting place to us is in California. It was discovered there in 1848 by three men, partly Mormons. It was their daughter that found it and picked it up and said what a pretty stone. They tried to keep it a secret, but of course they couldn't, and pretty soon everybody was going to California.

"At least, not everybody," explained Phil conscientiously, as he looked up from his paper, "but ever and ever so many people." Then he resumed,—

"The State was soon full of people, and it was admitted to the Union.

"There are a good many ways of gold-mining. Sometimes the mines are in veins in the hard rock. Then the miners bore down to them and dig out the rock, and break it up fine to get out the gold, just as they do silver. Another way is to find it in the loose sand in the bottoms of rocks and in gravel. When the miners first went out, they used to take a little gravel in a dish with some water, and shake it hard, so a little would slop over each time. The gold was heavy, and would sink and stay after all the rest had gone. They called it 'panning out well' when there was a lot left in the dish. Now they turn brooks to run over a row of troughs with holes scooped out in the bottoms, and the gold drops into the holes, and the other stone goes on. Then there is hydraulic mining. They turn a stream of water against the side of a hill and wash it all down to start with, and then they put it through the troughs just the same way.

"Gold is soft when it is pure, so they have to mix it with other metals to keep it from wearing out. They call that alloying it. We tell how pure gold is by the number of carats. Twenty-four is pure, but eighteen is very fine.

"I have only one thing more to say. When you say a person has 'sand,' or courage, that comes from gold-mining. When a miner saw a certain kind of sand, he always knew that gold was mixed with it underneath."

And Phil sat down, amidst a hum of applause.

"Next comes Master Herbert Walsh," announced Bess, from her chair of office.

"We had an evening of the old Greek myths," began Bert, by way of introduction, "and I thought I'd take for my subject

"THESEUS AND THE MINOTAUR.

"Ever and ever so long ago there was a king of Athens that had a son named Theseus. This son didn't live with him, but with his mother, somewhere else; but when he was strong enough he lifted up a great rock, and found under it a sword with a gilt handle, and a pair of shoes. They had been left there for him by his father till he was strong enough to pry up the rock and get them. So he put them on, and started for Athens. He had a good many adventures on the way, with robbers, and a bed that opened and shut, and a wild pig, but at last he came to Athens, and his father was glad to see him, but his nephews weren't, for they wanted the crown themselves. But they had to go away with their mother, Medea, and Theseus had all the right to the throne.

"But in that country an expedition to Crete was prepared every year, to send fourteen young gentlemen and young ladies to the Minotaur, a sort of bull that looked like a man, a little. He was a pet of Minos, the king of Crete, and used to eat them up. Well, when Theseus heard about it, he said he'd go, too, and try to kill the beast. So they sailed away in a schooner with black sails and jibs and all, but Theseus promised his father that if he killed the Monitor, he'd put up white sails to come home with. They passed a brassy giant on the way, but when he found out where they were going, he let them pass without hurting them.

"They came to Minos, the king of Crete, and while he was looking them over to see if they were fat, Theseus was so saucy to him that Minos said he should be the first meal for the Monitor—Minotaur, I mean. But Minos had a daughter, Ariadne, who was in love with Theseus as soon as she saw him, and she let Theseus out of his prison, and led him to the labyrinth where the Moni—Minotaur lived. They had a ball of twine, and they tied one end to the gate-post, and then unwound it as they went in, so they could find their way out, for the walks crisscrossed every way so they would have been apt to get lost. When they came to the Minotaur, Ariadne stood back and cried, but Theseus had an awful fight with him and killed him. Then they came out, hauling in their line as they went along. They let out their friends, and he married Ariadne; and they went off on board their boat, but in their hurry they forgot to take the white sails out of the hold and hoist them, so the poor old king, who was keeping watch, died of broken heart, because the schooner came back with black sails, and he supposed Theseus was eaten up.

"My friends, I think there are two morals to this story. First, keep your promises; and, second, it is a very good thing to fall in love."

A great clapping of hands greeted Bert's somewhat unexpected close. When quiet was restored, Bess said,—

"Master Frederic Allen will talk to us next." And then she gave an anxious glance at the boy, to see how he would bear this ordeal.

It seemed impossible that this could be the same Fred who, less than a year ago, had been shutting himself up, away from all his friends, and brooding sadly over his blindness, because it had spoiled his life. With only a slight touch of shyness, he stood there so easily, with one hand resting on the back of the chair in which Bessie was sitting, and his whole face bright with the laugh he had just been enjoying over Bert's remarkable moral.

"I am going to try to tell you a little bit about that fossil over there," he began, while Bess silently pointed to a superb fossil fish that lay on a side table. "It came from high up in the Rocky Mountains, and people used to wonder how it could get there, so high above water, but now they know. You see, the earth used to be just a great ball of melted rock, whirling around in the air, and growing cool over the outside. But as it grew cool and hard, deeper and deeper down, the core seemed to shrink, and so the outside began to wrinkle, just like a dried-up old winter apple. And because it was colder than the air, the water condensed on the earth like steam on a cold window, and it all ran down into the low places, so there was an ocean where the Rocky Mountains are now. That was where this fish lived. He died, and his body sank down, and the sand washed in on top of it and grew hard. But the earth kept shrinking and making new wrinkles, till by and by they had changed places, and the Rocky Mountains were high up out of the water, and the fish was left there in the rock."

There was a perfect quiet while Fred was speaking, for all those present knew the boy's sad story, and marvelled at the change in him. But as he turned back to his chair, there came a hearty burst of applause, not so much for the little talk, as for the boy himself who had made such a bold fight against his trouble.

"Master Robert Atkinson" was the next announcement from the mistress of ceremonies.

Rob shyly came forward and made his best bow, as he gave his subject.

"LEPIDOPTERA.

"That means moths and butterflies. It comes from two words that mean scale and wing, because the foundation of their wings is covered with little bits of scales that lap over each other like shingles on a roof, and give the color, instead of their being gray, like a fly. They are the prettiest of all the insects, and there are a great many kinds of them, but they all go in two classes: the butterflies, that fly in the daytime; and the moths, that come out at night. You can tell the difference when they settle, too, for the butterflies fold up their wings till they meet, straight up over their backs, and the moth's wings lie flat. Their 'feelers,' or antennæ, that are supposed to be to hear with, are different, too. In the butterflies, they are largest at the end; but in the moths they are larger in the middle or next the head, and sometimes they look just like two little feathers.

"All these moths and butterflies live twice. First they are a worm or caterpillar, and then in the fall they spin themselves up into a silk ball. It is very funny to see them. They hang themselves up head down from the corner of a fence, or some such place, and spin round and round, leaving themselves in the middle. They lie like that ever so long, and then they hatch out and eat their way through. They have to take good care of themselves while their wings are growing, for fear something will eat them up.

"In the silkworm, they wait till they have spun, and then they bake the cocoons to kill the animal inside, or else he would eat out. Then they unwind the silk. Each one lays about six or seven hundred eggs, so they can afford to kill a few.

"Some of the insects of this class are not so pleasant to have. The canker-worm belongs to it, and so does the moth that gets into houses and eats up woollen things.

"All caterpillars change their skins several times, getting a new one whenever it outgrows the old one. Some caterpillars have great appetites. One kind eats every day twice as much cabbage leaf as it weighs, as if I ate one hundred and seventy-five pounds of beef a day."

Rob's somewhat mixed assortment of facts was listened to with a profound attention that was most gratifying. Ted, as the last speaker, came forward with a smile of calm assurance, before his name was called. Unrolling his manuscript, which proved to be a single strip of paper about three inches wide and four feet long, he bowed cheerfully to the audience, and began his theme.

"NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.

"Napoleon Bonaparte was born in 1768, and died in May, 1821. He was born in Corsica, and was sometimes called; 'the ogre of Corsica,' after he was dead, and they dared to. He was a very great general and a very bad man, but he did a few good things. When he was eleven years old, he began going to a military school, and when he was twenty-eight he was put at the head of forty thousand men, and he began to beat the enemy right off. In two years, he had won eighteen pitch battles. The way he came to have such a good position was because at Toulon, in a siege, he was the only man who could point the guns right to have them go into the city. That made him famous. Well, he conquered Italy and Sardinia and Austria and Egypt. But that wasn't enough for him, so he came home for a little while, and went into politics. He made himself first consul of France when he was only twenty-nine. Five years later, in 1804, he made the pope crown him emperor. Then he went on conquering countries, and putting his own relations on the throne—they didn't have any civil-service reform then—till he had most everything but England and Russia in the family. And at home he made a few good laws, and straightened out things where the revolution had mixed them up. But in 1812 he made an expedition to Russia, and there he was beaten. Then, till 1814, he had ever so many defeats, and finally was arrested and sent to Elba. He was there about a year, and then ran away and came back to France. When he came, the king they had put on the throne ran away, and all his old soldiers came back to him. But on June 17th, 1815, they fought the battle of Waterloo. Napoleon was beaten and captured and carried clear down to St. Helena, where they kept an eye on him till he died; and I say it served him right."

While Teddy was reading, Bess had seated herself at the piano. When he finished, she played the opening bars of "Fair Harvard," as the boys rose, joined hands, and made a low bow to the audience. Then they began to sing.

"Dear friends, now this evening you've seen our I.I.,
    And we leave you to judge of its work.
Of its many good times we will tell by and by;
    For as pills under sugar coats lurk,
We must each do our work, ere we share in the play,
    For such does our club make its rule;
And many's the lesson we learn day by day,
    In this jolliest kind of a school.

We have wandered o'er many a subject ere this,
    And our six months have been full well spent;
We no longer sit down and talk nonsense and fun,
    For on learning we're all of us bent,
So we solemnly talk of the pagans and worms,
    Of minerals, planets, and snakes.
We speak of the glory of Washington's fame,
    Of cormorants, Zulus, and lakes.

But we all have a wish to impart from our store;
    To improve those around us is kind;
So we've called you together, and made you a feast
    Of crumbs from each overstocked mind.
And now, our dear friends, we thank you indeed,
    Your attention has been most polite.
Six months from this time we'll invite you again;
    In the mean time, we wish you good-night."

CHAPTER XVII.

ROB ASSISTS AT AN IMPORTANT INTERVIEW.

Another month had passed, and it was the day after Thanksgiving. The feast day had been a merry one, for Mrs. Atkinson had invited the Carter household, Fuzz and all, to dine with her, and the fun had been prolonged until late in the evening. The next day, as was usually the case after any unwonted dissipation, Fred was ill with a severe nervous headache, the only trace left of his illness of the year before. By carefully regulating his habits, Bess had generally succeeded in avoiding them, but the excitement of the day before had been too much for him; and soon after breakfast, he had gone up to the sofa in his room, where Bess had been busy with him all the morning.

In the early afternoon, Rob had strolled into the house. He found no one in the parlor or library, for, as we have said, Bess was with Fred, and Mrs. Carter was lying down.

"Never mind," thought Rob. "They will be down pretty soon, so I'll just sit down and read till they come."

Accordingly, he took up a book and settled himself comfortably in a vast reclining-chair that stood near one of the library windows, half hidden behind a folding Japanese screen. But the book was rather a dull one, and Rob, if the truth must be told, was decidedly sleepy after his late hours of the night before; so before he had turned many pages, the book fell from his hand, his head dropped back into the depths of his chair, and Master Rob was sound asleep.

Half an hour later the bell rang. As Bridget could never be prevailed on to leave her work and go to the door, Bess gave Fred a bell to ring, in case he needed anything, and went down herself. There on the threshold stood Frank Muir, looking extremely glad to see her, although he seemed a little nervous and excited.

"Oh, Mr. Muir, I am very glad to see you," said Bessie cordially. "Come right through into the library, won't you? The parlor seems rather cool."

He followed her into the room, and they drew their chairs up to the fire, quite unconscious of the boy sleeping away so soundly just the other side of the screen. For some reason, the conversation did not run on very smoothly. Bess was listening with one ear to Mr. Muir, and straining the other to catch any sounds from above; and then, too, the young man's uneasiness seemed to have extended itself to her, in a strange and uncomfortable fashion. They said all the approved things and in the approved way, but still there did not seem to be quite the easy, pleasant good-fellowship that had always existed between them. At length Mr. Muir rose and stood leaning on the mantel, looking down at Bess.

"Miss Carter," he was beginning abruptly, and with a sort of effort, "I"—

At that moment a loud, sharp, determined bark was heard at the front door, just the bark to waken Fred, if he chanced to have fallen asleep. Bess sprang up.

"Mr. Muir, excuse me a moment, but Fuzz will disturb Fred, who is ill to-day. I must just let him in."

Frank Muir dropped down into his chair again, with an expression singularly like that of disgust on his pleasant face. Fuzz came dancing into the room, stopped at sight of a supposed stranger, and growled threateningly. Then, recognizing him as a friend, he leaped to his knee and began scratching at his shoulders and face, in token of friendly welcome.

There was another interval of brief remarks and long pauses. Then Mr. Muir cleared his throat and began anew.

"I was just going to say, when Fuzz"—

Another interruption, this time from Fred, whose bell rang sharply. Bess again excused herself and ran up-stairs. She soon returned.

"Poor Fred," she said, as she seated herself once more; "he is paying dearly for his Thanksgiving frolic."

"Am I keeping you from him?" asked Mr. Muir courteously.

"Oh, no. There is nothing I can do for him now."

Mr. Muir drew his chair a little nearer to hers.

"Miss Carter," he said, "I have for a long time"—

"M-m-m-h-m-m-m," remarked Fuzz, in a plaintive falsetto.

Alas for Mr. Muir! Fuzz had brought his ball and laid it at the young man's feet, and then seated himself at a distance, wagging his tail, and blinking suggestively at his toy.

"What does he want of me?" asked the young man helplessly.

"He wants you to throw it for him," said Bess. "See," she added, as the dog rose to a sitting posture, "he is begging you for it."

"M-m-m-m-m-m-m," added Fuzz, in an explanatory tone.

Mr. Muir took the ball and threw it from him with an energy that was not entirely caused by his devotion to Fuzz. But this was just what the dog wished, and away he scrambled after it, twisting up the rugs and knocking down the fire-irons with a clatter as he went. Mr. Muir had returned to the charge.

"I have been trying for a long, long time to"—

"M-m-m-h-h-m-m-m-woof?" So spoke Fuzz, who had re-appeared, and again cast his ball at the feet of Mr. Muir. The young man paid no heed to him.

"M-m-m-h-h-h-m-m-m!" In a tone of low warning.

"No, no, Fuzz! Come here!" commanded Bess.

Fuzz disrespectfully turned the white of one eye up to her, as who should say, "Catch me if you can," and then repeated his former remark.

Mr. Muir shut his teeth tightly together, and again hurled the ball into a remote corner. This time Fuzz collided with the waste-paper basket, and scattered its contents up and down the room.

"I have tried to see you to ask you if"—

"M-m-m-m-h-h-m-m-m?" said Fuzz inquiringly.

"You would"—

"M-m-m-h-h-m-woof!"

"Would be"—

"M-m-m-h-h-m-m-wow!

"If you would be willing to"—

"Wow-wow-ow-ow! Wow!!!"

This time Bessie rose, took the dog, and shut him up out in the kitchen, from which place of banishment his voice could be heard, rising in bitter remonstrance against this undeserved punishment. Was he not trying to help entertain the company, to be sure? Bess was gone some little time, and when she returned her face was very red and there were traces of tears on her cheeks. They were not tears of sorrow.

Strangely enough, Mr. Muir seemed to have lost the thread of his discourse and could think of no other, so there was another prolonged silence until Bessie, taking pity on his evident discomfort, started an impersonal subject of conversation. But Mr. Muir was thoughtful, and only answered her vaguely and inattentively, so much so that Bess, in her turn, became silent, and the two sat there, staring hard at the fire, and almost wishing for a return of Fuzz to break the awkwardness of the situation. This had lasted for several minutes when Mr. Muir pushed back his chair, rose, and began to pace up and down the room. Then he returned to his old place by the mantel, and once more began to speak.

In the mean time, Rob had been dreaming of his summer visit on the St. Lawrence. He and cousin Bess had been trying to row a large trunk from the hotel to Island Den, with a pair of tennis rackets for oars, and Fred stood on the bank, refusing to let them land. Each time that they came near the shore, he would push the boat off again. Then he seemed to hear Mr. Muir's voice calling them to row around to the other side of the island,—and at this point, Rob waked up with a sleepy yawn. As soon as he could collect his scattered ideas, he became aware that some one was talking near him, talking low and very earnestly. He recognized the voice at once as Mr. Muir's, and then he heard Bess speak a word or two, but so faintly that he was unable to hear what she said. What was happening?

Cautiously Rob applied his eye to the crack in the screen. His curiosity was increased. Mr. Muir was bending over Bess, and seemed to be pleading with her, while her face was turned away and looked very white. Rob was sure that he saw that her eyes were wet. It was certainly very strange. What could Mr. Muir be saying to cousin Bessie to make her cry? And what was he doing there anyway? Ah, Rob, much better ask what you are doing there, wonderingly looking on at such a scene!

But a few words from Mr. Muir fell on his ears, and, by throwing some light on the affair, turned his anxiety into another channel. Here was a fine position for an honorable boy, to be caught eavesdropping in this way! Should he stay quietly where he was until they had gone, and then go away and never tell that he had been there? But if he stayed, he must hear every word of the interview, that was bidding fair to be a long one; and then, they might find him in his corner. But, on the other hand, if he emerged then and there, it would lead to an awkward explanation and mutual confusion. Holding his fingers in his ears to keep out the sound of their voices, he meditated on his position. What a stupid he was to go to sleep there, just like a great, overgrown baby! He wondered if he could get out of the window without their hearing him open it. No, that was no use. They were exactly between him and the door, so escape on that side was impossible. But it was all still in the room; could they have gone away, and he not heard them? No, there they sat, their chairs quite close together, and Frank's hand lying on Bessie's. Their silence was but a short one, and they were soon talking again. The crisis must be past, for their voices were once more clear and animated. Rob didn't want to hear what they were saying, for it was no affair of his, and then, it must be confessed, their remarks were not of a nature to be generally interesting. More and more closely the boy held his ears, but it was no use: the words would find their way between his fingers, and he found that he must either show himself, or become a party to all their personal and private plans.

At this point, Rob's mischief asserted itself. It was a bad matter, at best, but he was resolved to have a little fun out of it. Their backs were towards him, that was one good thing. Silently mounting his chair, he stood up so that his head and shoulders appeared above the top of the tall screen, extended his arms in the air, and shouted with the full strength of his lungs,—

"Bless you, my children!"

The effect was marvellous. Instantly the two chairs were drawn to the opposite corners of the hearth, while Mr. Muir began poking the fire with an unnecessary vigor, and Bessie dropped her head guiltily, as her face became rosy red.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I won't again. I didn't hear much," said Rob incoherently, as he burst from his place of concealment. "I didn't care to hear anything about it, really; only I went to sleep there all alone, and when I waked up, you were at it. I didn't s'pose you would do it so soon, anyway. Next time, tell a fellow when it's coming, and I'll try to keep out of the way."

Of course he was forgiven, and kissed, and petted, and made to swear secrecy, before he was sent away. And the boy actually kept his word.

Two hours later, as Bess was following Mr. Muir to the door, the young man said, laughing,—

"I'll tell you what it is, Bessie. Rob has had so large a share in helping this along, that, when the day comes, he shall be best man,—and Fuzz shall sing the march."

CHAPTER XVIII.

"THE VICTOR'S CROWN OF GOLD."

The Old Year was dying fast. It had wrapped itself in a soft white mantle of snow, and was quietly waiting until the midnight bells should announce the coming of the young New Year, laden under its mysterious burden of joy and sadness, pain and pleasure, hope and its fulfilment or its disappointment, that, day by day, it would unfold before the busy world.

But although the New Year was anxiously awaited by many a soul, the old one, now dying, had been a good friend to them all, and especially to the little group now chatting in the Carters' library.

As Bess looked about among her boys, from Ted and Bert, now taller than herself, who sat at her either hand, to Rob, who stood leaning on the back of her chair, and then to Phil, who was perched on the large table that filled the middle of the room, she could see many a pleasant mark that the year had left on them. And even Sam. Hard as the separation had been for those who were left behind, the boy was so safe and happy, safe from the many temptations that follow our boys through their lives, strengthening many a one, it is true, but all too often overpowering and destroying some fine, manly lad, who yet lacks just the courage to speak the one decided word that shall leave him the victor in the fight. Yes, Sam had gained in the past year, although it had been a sad lesson for the other boys, whose careless fun had brought the loss to them.

And Fred? It was with a feeling of unmixed pride and pleasure that Bessie surveyed the bonnie boy who was sitting opposite her, with Fuzz on his knee. His figure and features were the same they had been on that rainy November afternoon, a little over a year ago; but that was all. In place of the pale, listless, sad boy that had greeted her then, there sat an energetic, rosy, happy lad, whose whole face was laughing at the frolic into which he had entered as heartily as any of the other lads, a little gentler than the rest, perhaps, but as full of fun and mischief as ever a boy could be.

"Yes," thought Bess, as she watched him, "Sam made the one grand sacrifice that the world admires and talks of; but Fred's sacrifice is a longer and harder one, even, than his, the constant fighting to forget himself and his blindness, in trying to help make life pleasanter to the rest of us. He is winning his 'victor's crown of gold' most nobly and truly."

Half unconsciously, she hummed the line to herself. Phil gave her a quick glance of understanding.

"Well, Phil?" she asked, rousing herself from her reverie.

"Nothing, only I guess I know what you were thinking about." And he took up the air where she had dropped it.

"Yes, Phil; that was it, and I was feeling so happy as I looked around at my boys, and saw what a good, faithful fight they have been making."

"What is it?" asked Ted curiously.

"Only a little watchword between Fred and Phil and me," answered Bess. Then with a smile of invitation she added, "We have formed ourselves into a little army of three, to fight for the 'victor's crown of gold.' Will you join it?

"I don't think I understand quite," said Bert slowly.

Bess repeated the verse to them, and then went on,—

"All is, we boys want to be as true and brave and unselfish from day to day as we can possibly be, so that at the end of the years, as we look back over the little battles we have fought all through our lives, we can feel that we have conquered in them, and have won our right to the crown. Not all of us will have the power or the opportunity for one grand fight and unselfish victory like Sam's, the day he went into the fire to save our Fred; but, after all, it is the way we meet the every-day cares and troubles, the little petty ones, such as we every one of us have, that shows our heroism as much as the greater ones. If we study a lesson when we should prefer to be playing ball, or do as our fathers and mothers wish, and do it cheerfully and pleasantly, even if it isn't the very thing we choose, or give up some little frolic we have been anticipating, because, by doing that, we can make some one else happy, all these will be so many battles won, and the winning them will give us the crown. What do you think of our army?"

"It's a first-rate one," said Bert heartily, while Teddy pensively added,—

"I'm afraid I shall have to spend all my days fighting slang."

Bessie laughed outright.

"No, Ted; for if you go on improving as fast as you have done in the last six months, you will soon be free to fight another enemy than that one."

"I wonder what mine is?" said Phil, swinging his heels thoughtfully.

"Covetousness," responded Ted promptly. "It's only two days since I heard you wishing you had Miss Bessie's good temper."

"Poor Phil!" said Bess, reaching up to pat the brown head. "You'd much better wish for something more than that."

"I wonder if we shall all be together here a year from now," said Rob thoughtfully.

"Let us hope so," answered Bessie; "but that is something hidden beyond our sight. As long as we can, my boys, we will try to be together, here or somewhere else, on the last night of every year."

For some unexplained reason, Rob looked very wicked during the latter half of his cousin's speech; but no one noticed it, for Ted inquired just then,—

"What are you lads going to be when you grow up?"

"My father says I've got to be a doctor," remarked Bert ruefully, "but I'd much rather go West on a cattle ranch, or else be an architect. What shall you do, Bob?"

"Bugs and things," answered Rob briefly.

"Ted?"

"I don't know. Civil engineer, that is, if father can send me through college. That's what I'd like best."

"Phil?"

"A minister, I s'pose," groaned Phil. "That's the family plan, but I don't think I'm much suited for it."

"Think of the ugly duckling, and have courage," suggested Rob consolingly.

"Fred?"

"Of course I can't tell yet what I can do," said Fred thoughtfully. Then, suddenly turning to Bess with a smile, he went on: "What I want most of all is to be your faithful soldier."

"And Sam has always said that he'd rather be a good mechanic than anything else," added Bert. "That accounts for us all, Miss Bessie. How do you like the assortment?"

"Very much," answered Bess. "I can have Bert to cure my body, and Phil my soul, while Ted shall survey my garden, and Rob shall make a collection of the insects that devour my crops. Fred I shall keep to fight for me and with me. Then, at the end of every year, we will all meet and talk over our battles, and make our plans for the next campaign. And now, my boys, it is growing late, and I must send you away. But, before you go, I am going to bring in some water, and we'll drink a health to the Old Year that has given us so much, and taken away one dear one from the half-dozen boys."

As they stood grouped about her, Bess slowly repeated the toast,—

"'Here's to those that I love; here's to those that love me;
Here's to those that love those that I love;
Here's to those that love those that love those that love me;
Here's to those that love those that I love.'"

"That's most everybody," said Ted, as he set down his empty glass.

"It ought to include all the world, on the eve of the New Year," answered Bess gently.

The last good-night had been said, and the boys were gone, leaving Fred and Bess standing together in the hall.

"Need I go to bed yet?" asked Fred. "I'm not sleepy a bit, even if it is late."

"No, dear; I have several things I want to talk over with you," said Bess, smiling happily to herself as she led the way back to the library fire.

Fred settled himself on a hassock at her feet, in his favorite position, and turned his face to listen. But Bess seemed in no hurry to begin the conversation. She thoughtfully stroked and patted the boy's face, and played with his hair. Suddenly she asked,—

"Well, laddie, has the last year been any better than the one before it?"

"Ever so much." Fred spoke with an air of happy conviction.

"Do you know why?" she went on.

"Of course I do," said Fred, as he reached up and took her hand. "It's because you've done so much for me."

"No, Fred; that is a very small part of it. The change is all in your own little self. It is because you have tried so hard to make something of your life, even if you can't see; and I hope another year will be a still happier one for you, happier and better."

Fred shook his head.

"Not happier, if I have to leave you, for my year here is almost over. I wish it would last forever. But, Miss Bessie, it really isn't near so bad as I used to think it was. You and the boys are all so good to me, and you have taught me to do so many things, that if I could only stay with you always, I shouldn't much mind the rest."

"That is my hero," said Bess tenderly. "But, Fred, this makes it very easy to tell you of a letter I had yesterday from your father. He says that he and your mother have decided to stay abroad another year, and asks if you can still be with us. Are you willing to stay?"

No need to ask. Fred's gesture and smile were all the reply she needed.

There was another long pause. Then Bess said slowly,—

"Fred, I have one more thing to tell you, something you ought to know. I hope you will like it, for I am very, very happy. Mr. Muir has asked me to be his wife."

"Mr. Muir! How splendid!" And Fred sprang up, in his delighted surprise.

"So you are pleased? Well, sit down again while I tell you the rest. Before the next year is over, I shall probably go with him, but it is all settled that our little new home shall have one room in it that will always be 'Fred's room.'"

It was long before Fred went to sleep that night. As he still lay awake, thinking of the happy New Year opening before him, across the still night air came the sound of a church bell. Slow and solemn were its tones, as it tolled out the dying year. Then, at the stroke of midnight, it quickened to a merry peal, to usher in the new-born year, with all its hopes and fears. And, in a gentle undertone, he heard from the distant city the chimes playing that grand old hymn, so linked with sad, tender memories of Sam, so full of help and cheer for himself,—

"Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom,
    Lead thou me on.
The night is dark, and I am far from home,
    Lead thou me on.
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene. One step enough for me."