Jack Hall

Jack’s first thought on reëntering the house was for his tea-party, so he went into the dining-room, where he found Hannah, to his satisfaction, already setting the table.

“Got the cream cakes?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” answered Hannah. “Sakes alive, Master Jack, where’ve you been?”

“Snow-balling. We’ve had an awful fight with the muckers.”

“I guess they gave it to you, then,” replied Hannah, whose sympathies in the matter of snow-ball fights were not, perhaps, wholly on the side of her charge, as her home was in the vicinity of Anderson Street. “You’re wetted from head to foot; go right up-stairs and get off those things.”

“They didn’t lick us any more than we licked them. I threw Joe Herring, and they all piled on me, and that’s how we were when the ‘cheese it’ came,” said Jack. He went to the mirror and examined his cheek, which was beginning to feel a little swollen where the butcher boy’s snow-ball had struck it under the eye.

“I guess it won’t be black,” he said, under his breath. “Holloa!” he exclaimed, as he seated himself on the edge of one of the leather chairs. “My tails are gone.” By way of explanation he held out his Scotch cap, from which both the ribbons which ordinarily fluttered in the breeze had been torn off.

Hannah sighed. “That’s the third time this week,” she said. “Get up this minute, Master Jack,” she continued vehemently; “you’re ruining the nice furniture. Your mamma would have a fit if she could see you.”

The cause of this outbreak was that Jack, having plumped himself down as described, was trying to remove one of his rubber boots by pressing its heel against the toe of the other. It yielded suddenly, and at the same time a quantity of loose snow was scattered over the carpet.

“Jiminy!” exclaimed Jack.

“Go right up-stairs the back way this minute. Why, your leg is wet as sop as high as your knee,” said Hannah.

“The dam was over my boots,” he answered. “We made a bully dam,” he continued, hobbling toward the door on one leg with his bootless foot drawn up like a stork.

Hannah followed him up to his room, where she proceeded to pull off the other boot. It was harder to start than its mate. Accordingly Jack tipped himself back on the bed so that she could get a purchase with her foot against the iron frame.

“Golly!” he cried, as a small deluge of water flowed back over him. The boot stuck like a vise, and came off at last amid a splutter of slosh. Hannah was breathless.

“Now take off every stitch of clothes, or you shan’t have a bit of supper this blessed night,” she said with decision, as she turned to go.

Fifteen minutes later Jack sat waiting in the parlor to receive his friends, looking a pattern of spruceness. His broad white collar was set off by a cherry tie; he wore knickerbockers, red stockings, and pumps, and his hair lay smooth and neatly parted. Although he appeared ordinarily in trousers, his mother still made an exception in favor of knickerbockers in the case of his Sunday go-to-meeting suit. He had walked three times round the dining-room table, with his hands in his pockets, surveying the delicacies, so as to make sure that nothing had been forgotten, before composing himself. But he had not long to wait; the bell rang loudly three times in quick succession, and promptly at the hour set for the feast the three guests and their host took their seats at table. They all four looked very smiling, and showed no ill results from the experiences of the day. Bill French, apparently, had quite forgiven Jack for his ducking, though he took a mild revenge by observing—“Your eye’ll be black to-morrow.”

“I threw him, any way,” answered Jack, referring, of course, to Joe Herring.

They talked the fight over in detail, and as they discussed, the good things disappeared with astonishing rapidity. Nothing was wanting; the cream cakes were fat fellows, and Jack showed strict impartiality and skill in dividing the extra two so that each of the company should get an equal amount of the inside.

Dubsy had received the wishbone of the chicken, which he carefully picked and held out to Jack to pull with him. “Wish!” he cried.

“I am wishing,” said Jack, after a pause.

The others looked on with interest while the two holders pulled energetically to tear the forked bone apart. Not being dry, it resisted their efforts for some moments, but at last broke on Jack’s side just below the crotch, so that Dubsy retained the larger piece, thus becoming the winner.

“What did you wish for, Dubsy?” they all asked.

“I wished that it might always be Washington’s Birthday,” said Dubsy jubilantly.

This seemed to every one an eminently sensible wish, though Harry Dale qualified it by remarking, “I’d rather have every day Fourth of July.”

“That’s so,” said Bill French. “Father’s promised me a big show of fireworks, this year.”

“What was your wish, Jack?” asked Dubsy suddenly.

“That’s telling.”

“Of course you ought to tell,” said Harry.

“Not if I lost.”

“It can’t come true, any way,” said Bill French.

“How do you know?” retorted Jack sharply.

“What was it, then?” asked Bill.

Jack hesitated a moment. “I wished,” he said a trifle bashfully, “that when I grew up there might be a war and I might be a colonel, like my father.”

The boys followed Jack’s glance at the oil portrait, over the mantelpiece, of the handsome officer gazing down on them, whose face and dark hair were not unlike his son’s, and became contemplative.

“He was a soldier, too,” continued Jack, pointing to a portrait of Israel Hall at the other side of the room. “He was my great-great-grandfather, and was killed at the battle of Brandywine.”

“Are all these your relations?” asked Harry, indicating the half-dozen pictures on the walls, among which the strong features of the old Salem sea-captain looked forth stanchly.

“Yes,” answered Jack. “The others were merchants.”

“That’s what I mean to be when I’m a man,” said Bill French. “And when I’m rich I mean to have a steam yacht. Father’s going to give me a cat-boat, this summer.”

By this time they had got to the puff cakes, which proved to be all that Hannah had predicted. After finishing his third help, Dubsy patted his stomach complacently and observed that he was full up to the muzzle, which seemed to be each one’s sentiment as regards himself, though to tell the truth there was scarcely anything left to eat on the table.

How to spend the evening was now the problem. For a while a bagatelle board sufficed for their amusement, but growing weary of that, Bill French chanced to draw up the window-shade a little and peep outdoors. It was a fine night, with plenty of stars, but no moon. The other boys joined him, and all four stood with their noses pressed against the pane.

“Golly!” exclaimed Jack suddenly, in a delighted whisper, “I know what we’ll do.” He put his finger to his lips and proceeded to run up-stairs two steps at a time, but noiselessly as a cat, until he reached his room. Without needing to light the gas, for he knew the whereabouts of everything well enough to find it blindfolded, Jack rummaged in his tool-chest for a piece of chalk and a ball of twine. Then he started down-stairs again, stopping in the parlor a moment to obtain a sheet of paper from his mother’s desk. With these implements the four boys, having put on their overcoats, slipped out the front way and carefully closed the door behind them.

As soon as they were outside, Jack stooped and with his piece of chalk drew on the bottom doorstep the outline of an envelope, which he whitened and whitened within until it stood out so distinctly that any one opening the door would be certain to be misled. Then he rang the bell, after which all four glided across the street to hide in the shadow of the grocer’s shop. Hannah, who answered the bell, stared with surprise at first, and then perceiving the envelope, as she supposed, descended the steps to pick it up, but naturally her fingers scratched against the cold granite. A second time she made the same attempt, but with no better result. The chuckle which Harry Dale was just then unable to repress was not necessary, perhaps, to make clear to her that she was the victim of a practical joke; at any rate, she bounced up and slammed the door indignantly behind her.

This trick was repeated once or twice at other houses, varied by a second of a similar character, which consisted in fastening a string to the real piece of paper and jerking it away on to the sidewalk as the street-door opened. The unfortunate maid-servant, supposing that the wind had carried it away, would follow for some little distance the paper flitting along at intervals, until the truth dawned upon her that she had to deal with “them boys.”

But the novelty of this mischief wore off after a few experiments, and the culprits arranged themselves on the sill of the grocer’s large window, like a row of sparrows, to cogitate as to what they should do next.

“Let’s smash lamp-posts,” said Dubsy.

“I’ve promised my mother not to any more,” answered Jack sadly.

“Well, I haven’t,” said Bill Dale; whereupon he aimed a snow-ball at the corner gaslight and let drive. A crash of glass followed, and the boys ran like deer until they were safe in Jack’s alley-way; from this they cautiously peeped out after a moment or two, and, no policeman or other censor being in sight, leisurely sauntered forth again.

“I know what let’s do,” said Bill French suddenly in his confidential tone. “Give me the string, Jack.” Taking the ball of twine, Bill went noiselessly across the street and up the steps of the house immediately opposite, which was occupied by a gentleman who was known to them all as “Stiffy Bacon.” Mr. Bacon, who was regarded by his contemporaries as a very worthy person, had thus far been unable to preserve friendly relations with the boys who congregated at the corner, and who, as a consequence, delighted in making his life miserable. His house and the one adjoining fronted on a narrow terrace, some six or eight feet above the level of the sidewalk, which was approached by a few winding stairs at either end.

Bill fastened the fine twine around the bell-handle, and letting it unwind returned to the alley-way with the ball, having established a taut line across the street at a height which would endanger the hat of any passer. The street was pretty well deserted at this hour, but the boys were content to wait with a patience worthy of a better cause. It must have been five minutes before Jack exclaimed, “I hear some one coming.”

They listened, and could plainly distinguish footfalls and the resonance from the ferule of a cane on the opposite side. The person was coming up-hill, and soon, to their delight, proved to be a man wearing a silk hat.

“Now’s your time,” said Jack to Bill, who had hold of the string.

Bill accordingly pulled the bell and adjusted the line to what seemed the proper height. The mischief-makers were rewarded by perceiving the door open and the gentleman, who was walking rather fast, come abreast of the twine at precisely the same moment, a consummation for which they had fondly hoped. The unwary pedestrian was brought up short; his silk hat flew off and striking upon the bricks with a hollow thud bumped along the street; while the other, who happened by chance to be no one less than Stiffy Bacon himself, encountering only empty space and then hearing the mutterings of surprise and indignation below, stepped forward and peered over the railing. There was a gas lamp a hundred and fifty yards away which enabled Mr. Bacon, as he thought, to distinguish the disaster and to divine the cause.

“What do you mean, sir, by ringing at my bell at this hour in that condition?” he asked angrily.

“What do you mean, sir, by obstructing the highway in such an outrageous manner?” retorted the stranger, who, having picked up his hat, was endeavoring to smooth its nap against his coat-sleeve.

“You are intoxicated, sir,” replied Stiffy Bacon.

“How dare you insult a gentleman in such a fashion; you are an insolent scoundrel, sir! I will enter a complaint against you in the morning for obstructing the highway and for defamation of character,—yes, sir, for defamation of character.”

The unfortunate stranger, who drew himself up to his full height as he delivered this speech, had such an air of injured respectability and spoke with so much assurance that Mr. Bacon, although very angry, peered forward a little further and exclaimed, “I obstructing the highway? Explain yourself.”

“What do you call this, I should like to know, but obstructing the highway?” replied the victim, pawing the air in search of the twine which Bill, immediately after the catastrophe, had let drop so that it lay along the sidewalk. “Fastening a rope across the street to cut the throats of honest folk at night is akin to manslaughter. Ah, here it is.”

He picked up the string at his feet, and, perceiving that it dangled down from the terrace, shook it indignantly at his insulter. “There, sir, what do you think of that?”

Apprised by the rubbing of the string against his leg that something was wrong, Mr. Bacon glanced around him and in an instant realized the situation.

“My dear sir,” Mr. Bacon protested, “you will excuse me. This is none of my doing; it is the work of some bad boys who are a torment to this neighborhood.”

“They ought to be arrested; I’d make short work of them if I lived here,” said the gentleman, brandishing his cane. “Another time, sir, perhaps you will be more careful as to the aspersions which you cast on respectable people. Good-evening, sir.” Whereupon the stranger stalked away at his previous rapid gait.

Meanwhile, the boys had been squatting still as mice in the dark alley, almost afraid to breathe for fear of giving any indication as to their whereabouts. The affair had exceeded in dramatic effect their wildest anticipations, and there had been moments, especially when the stranger had brandished his stick, during which they had felt a common impulse to run into the house. But now that they had only Stiffy Bacon to concern themselves about, terrible as he was, a feeling of relief so far took possession of them, that the irrepressible Harry Dale, unable to contain himself longer, chuckled again. Mr. Bacon, who had stooped to examine the arrangement of the device by which he had been victimized, caught the sound, and, turning in their direction, shook his fist and exclaimed, “You young rascals, you!”

At these strenuous words, which were delivered in what seemed to them a tone of terrible wrath, the young evil-doers turned and fled with precipitation up the alley, save Jack, who lingered for an instant to pick up the ball of twine and pull the line as taut as possible with all his might. He could hear the jangling of the bell as he followed the footsteps of his companions, who ran through the back yard into the house again. From the windows of the dining-room the four peeped once more into the street, but all was still. Stiffy Bacon had apparently retired to his lair. After watching a sufficient time to make sure that the enemy was not lying in wait for them, Jack’s visitors ventured to take leave of their host, as it was now half-past nine, and in fifteen minutes more Jack himself was sound asleep.

An hour later, Mrs. Hall returned home. Stepping into the laundry, as was her custom every night before going to bed, to make sure that all was safe from fire, she saw Jack’s mittens and pea-jacket hanging up to dry, and smiled to herself as she thought of the happy day he must have passed. Hannah, who would sooner have cut off her right hand than have got Jack into trouble, had already reported to her mistress that the tea party had been a great success, and smothered her own resentment at having been made to scratch her finger-nails on the stone step. Before entering her chamber, Mrs. Hall went into Jack’s room, and, bending over the little iron bedstead, stood watching for some minutes his peaceful, regular breathing. “Dear boy!” she murmured, “what should I do without him?” She stooped and kissed his soft cheek, which unexpectedly aroused him.

“Is that you, mother?” he asked.

“Yes, dear; good-night.”

“But I’m not asleep; you mustn’t go.” He rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed.

“It’s late, dear; lie down again. Have you had a happy holiday?”

“Bully, mother; sit down, I want to tell you about it. You shall stay,” said Jack, putting his arm about her neck and drawing her cheek against his own.

“You shall tell me all about it in the morning.”

“No; now, mother.”

“Well, dear?”

Jack was silent a moment. “I smoked to-day,” he blurted out.

“Smoked?”

“Yes; it wasn’t tobacco, it was rattan. Dubsy and Bill French smoked too. Dubsy was sick afterwards; I wasn’t sick, but I felt queer.”

“Why, how came you to do that, Jack? You must have known that it was wrong.”

Jack said nothing, but played with his mother’s hand.

“Didn’t you, dear?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Who put such an idea into your head?” she asked.

“Bill French. I guess he smokes lots; we went on top of his house, so that no one could see us.”

“You forget, my dear, that God saw you,” said his mother.

Jack was pensive a moment. “And Washington?” he asked.

“Sh!” Mrs. Hall was a little doubtful how to take this observation.

“Do you suppose,” Jack went on after a moment, “that he knows his birthday is a holiday?”

“I think very likely, dear.”

Jack was again silent. “Mother?”

“Well?”

“Bill French says that when you smoke rattan the blood is sucked out of your lungs; do you believe it’s true?”

Mrs. Hall started a little, but a moment’s reflection enabled her to answer composedly, “No, dear, certainly not; such a thing would be impossible.”

“He showed us the dried blood in the rattan, afterwards.”

“Nonsense, dear. Bill French was trying to make sport of you.”

“Charley Buck told him so.”

“Charley Buck ought to know better, then. Charley is too old to tell such foolish things to little boys. What he says about the blood isn’t true; but it would make me very unhappy to have you smoke, Jack, until you are a man. It’s a very bad habit for a boy to get into, no matter what he smokes, rattan or anything else. But I’m very glad you told me, Jack. If you had concealed it from me and I had found it out, I should have been very unhappy.”

“I didn’t want to go to sleep until I’d told you,” answered Jack, drawing her cheek closer to his own.

“You will promise me not to smoke again?”

Jack promised, and then laid himself down again perfectly happy, still clasping his mother’s hand, which she did not withdraw until he had returned to the land of dreams.

But while Mrs. Hall was dressing in the morning, Hannah brought word that Jack had waked up covered with a rash, and that he complained of a headache. The doctor was hastily sent for, but on his arrival the fears of anything serious were promptly dispelled by the announcement that Jack had a thorough case of measles. The loss of the holiday outdoors seemed to be very nearly made up to the invalid himself by the news that he could not be able to return to school for a fortnight at least; and his mother, who sat beside his bed for a while after the doctor had gone, was on the point of leaving him with a comparatively light heart to his own devices, when word was brought her that Mr. Briggs, the grocer, was down-stairs and would like to see her.

“He has probably come to explain why his last supply of coffee is so much poorer than I have usually had,” said Mrs. Hall to herself.

But Mr. Briggs had come for a very different purpose. He looked very grave and a little embarrassed as she entered the sitting-room into which he had been shown. He was a tall and rather thin man, with a worried expression, which became intensified as he proceeded to explain the reason of his visit. “I’ve come, ma’am, to say that something must be done about that boy of yours. I’ve stood it a good many years, ma’am, and my patience is pretty much exhausted, I’m free to confess.”

Mrs. Hall colored violently. “Are you speaking of Jack, Mr. Briggs?”

“Yes, ma’am. If I may be so bold, he’s a very troublesome young gentleman, and there’s plenty in the neighborhood who think as I do,” he said respectfully.

“Sit down, Mr. Briggs; what has he been doing now?”

“You know it ain’t the first time I’ve had to complain,” he remarked apologetically.

Mrs. Hall bowed coldly.

“If it isn’t one thing it’s another,” he continued. “I’m willing to put up with their coming into the shop and purloining beans and dried apples and figs which they don’t pay for, knowing as boys is boys; but when it comes to”—

“What! you don’t mean to tell me that my son takes things from your store which he doesn’t pay for!” interrupted Mrs. Hall, in a horrified tone. “Why, that would be stealing.”

“Yes, ma’am, strictly speaking, I suppose it would,” replied the grocer, with a judicial air. “But as I was telling you, I’m willing to say nothing about that for the sake of your custom, provided as no more snow is fired into my cellar. The basket into which the baker drops the rolls for my customers is so wet every morning that they’re mostly spoiled, to say nothing of the dents in the door from the snow-balls and stones which don’t go in. I only want to be reasonable, or I’d send in a bill for my wheelbarrow which some of them broke last week by upsetting it down the area steps. I’ve told you most of this before, ma’am,” he continued, after a pause, “and you’ve promised to speak to your son.”

“I have spoken, Mr. Briggs. I have cautioned him particularly to let your wheelbarrow alone, and not to fire snow-balls at your door. But this stealing is a more serious affair, and shall be put a stop to at once.”

“It isn’t the stealing that I care about,” replied Mr. Briggs dryly. “But if I have to put the matter in the hands of the police, as I’ve made up my mind to do if my cellar ain’t let alone, I can’t answer for what’ll happen. I’ve put up with their tricks as long as I can.”

“What makes you think that Jack is still concerned in this mischief?” asked Mrs. Hall. “I assure you that I have told him repeatedly that he is not to molest you.”

“It doesn’t seem to make much difference, ma’am, then, for my clerk see him with his own eyes shy two snow-balls at the door only yesterday morning, and one of them went through. Besides, he’s a sort of leader of mischief hereabouts. He and the Perkins boy and the Honorable Horatio French’s youngest son are up to all sorts of pranks, and it’s hard to say which of them is the worst.”

Mrs. Hall sighed and looked sad. She said presently, “I will make a point this time of seeing that Jack avoids your premises, Mr. Briggs, and if you will send in a bill covering whatever he has taken from your store, and the cost of a new wheelbarrow, I will pay it.”

“Thank you, ma’am; I should never think of doing that.”

“I insist,” said Mrs. Hall decidedly. She felt fairly ready to cry at Jack’s depravity.

“Then I shall consider that from this time forth there will be a change,” said Mr. Briggs, rising. “It’s the last time I shall speak,” he added, as he stood with his hat in both his hands, evidently feeling it his duty to be explicit.

“Very well, Mr. Briggs. Let me say that at present there will be no occasion for you to trouble yourself, so far as—as Jack is concerned, for he has the measles.”

“I’m sorry to hear it, ma’am; he must have been took sudden.”

“This morning.”

“Well, I hope he’ll get well soon. I bear no malice, ma’am, I hope you’ll believe, and if it weren’t that I thought him a smart, likely lad, I should have spoken to the police long since. Good morning, ma’am.”

“Good morning, Mr. Briggs. Oh, one moment. The last coffee you sent was very poor,” she said, unable to forego this opportunity to put the worthy grocer a little in the wrong.

“Very well, ma’am; I will take it back and send you some more.”

When she was alone, Mrs. Hall wiped her eyes, which were full of tears. The idea of Jack’s taking what did not belong to him! Honesty was honesty, no matter whether it were a question of dried apples or of diamonds, and the boy who got into the habit of thinking trifles of no importance would soon degenerate. Then, too, how often she had warned him not to interfere with Mr. Briggs! That hole in the area door had been a constant source of trouble ever since Jack had been able to fire a snow-ball. What with catapults and bean blowers in addition, which were the engines of assault when the snow was gone, poor Mr. Briggs had ample cause to complain. It was evident that he had been goaded to a point where he would take desperate measures unless something were done to restrain effectually his tormentors.

This was by no means the first occasion, as Mr. Briggs had seen fit to remind her, that she had been called to account for Jack’s mischievous behavior; but somehow or other she had flattered herself from time to time that the grocer was crabbed and prone to fault-finding, and that her son’s high spirits would moderate themselves as he learned more clearly to recognize the rights of others. But of late it had seemed to her that instead of improving, Jack was growing steadily worse. Rumors of his ill-doings reached her ears from various sources, and even Hannah had given her to understand that he had been alluded to in neighboring kitchens as little inferior, in capacity for wickedness, to a fiend. His clothes, alternately soaking wet, stiff with mud, or full of rents, bore silent but eloquent testimony to the recklessness of his conduct. She felt that she did not, of course, mind the mere rough usage, though it entailed perpetually washing and mending; that was to be expected, perhaps, of an active boy; but his constant return home in a draggled condition made her anxious as to the character of his amusements. He was perpetually in the company of Bill French, whose family, though rich, were new-comers in that part of the city, and to whose society she would have liked to see him less devoted. This incident of rattan-smoking was another piece of testimony to confirm her opinion that Bill was an undesirable crony for Jack. Dubsy Perkins and Harry Dale seemed to her less objectionable, especially Harry, who was a quieter and more thoughtful-looking boy than most of the others who made a playground of Mr. Briggs’ corner. As for Dubsy, he imitated Jack in everything, applauding all he did, and trying his best to keep up with or even surpass him in whatever was proposed.

Little by little, it had come over Mrs. Hall of late that the best thing for Jack would be to send him to some school away from home. The growing city seemed no place for a high-spirited boy, for whatever he did was pretty sure to be mischief or against the law. Time was when the Common had been an ample play-ground, but the crews of children which crowded it now, to the annoyance and even peril of adult persons, had induced the municipal authorities to consider whether the population had not become so large as to make it imperative to forbid ball-playing and other healthy sports to go on there. One strong argument in favor of the proposed restriction was that the playground was usurped by youths of seventeen and upwards, large and powerful as men, who kept away the smaller boys. For a time the vacant lots on the outskirts of the city had become favorite resorts, but these were rapidly being occupied by houses. Only the streets were left, and boys who tried to play there were involved in an incessant warfare with the police. To keep Jack indoors was impossible, and she reasoned that if the natural outlets for youthful energy were obstructed, others of an unwholesome kind would be found by him. Nothing disturbed her more than the thought of Jack becoming old before his time, one of the knowing little gentlemen of fifteen, who sauntered about the streets in standing collars and kid gloves with an eye to the girls. She wished to see Jack remain an unsophisticated manly boy as long as possible, and she feared that another year of city life might bring about a change in him far more to be deplored than any amount of mischievousness.

But the thought of parting with him was unbearable. He was her idol and the delight of her existence. At present he was under her eye, at least for a part of the time, and could not go very far wrong without her perceiving it. Would it be possible to find a school in the country where, in addition to the advantages of a natural boyish development, Jack would find also the watchful care of a home? There were, she knew, academies—some of them large ones—to which certain of her friends had sent their boys, but she had derived the impression that at them excellence in instruction was the chief consideration, and that the masters were not expected to concern themselves with the morals of the pupils—many of whom were day-scholars who lived in adjoining towns—outside of the class-room, unless any boy became conspicuously disreputable. She had discussed the matter somewhat with her adviser, Mr. Warren, who agreed with her that Jack would be better off away from the bricks and mortar, and who promised to make inquiries as to where it was advisable to send him. He had further made her understand that the question had only latterly been forced upon the attention of parents by the growth of our cities. Hitherto there had been, and there was still in the smaller places, facilities for children to play naturally and yet to go to school at home. Our system of free education, which dated from noble John Winthrop’s time, had properly been our boast, and we had, accordingly, always rather regarded it as superior to the English system of large public schools away from the cities, without perceiving that it might not always suffice for our needs. Home training was, doubtless, the key to many virtues, but there was unquestionably a more preponderating danger to be feared, to the growth of the muscles, and to the action of the liver, lungs, and heart, and, most important of all, to the character itself, in the cramped, unwholesome life which a boy is in danger of leading who goes to school in a large city.

There was another point of which Mrs. Hall had thought in this connection. She knew that her husband had been very anxious that his son should grow up an American, without false notions of equality, and with pride and faith in his country. It had been his intention to send Jack to the public schools so that he might mix early with all sorts of boys. And yet she could remember hearing him remark shortly before he went to the war, that it might well be a question how far, to insure this, one would be justified in subjecting a child to the companionship of rough or vicious boys. Since then she had discussed the matter with Mr. Warren from this point of view. She was far from wealthy, but she could afford to pay a reasonable sum for Jack’s tuition. Would sending him to a school to which the mass of boys were not well enough off to go tend to foster in him undemocratic notions? As her adviser explained to her, it would be folly to assume that because free education was open to all for the sake of the poor, all were obliged to take advantage of it in order not to be regarded as aristocrats. As well say that a man was no lover of republicanism because he lived in a more expensive house than his neighbor.