By A Leap

A small, okl-lishioned cUage wheie a woman sits working in tlie porch. A tiny cottage, in a garden stocked only with fruit and vegetables, save for the hardy creepera clinging to tlie porch. But tlen tlieir blossoms gleam as white and pure as any rare exótica, and the dark leaves move softly in the faiiy light as the brceze nestles there, aiter lts nigiit across the heath trom that far line of brilliancy which, though but a ribboii's width, is the broad soa flashing in the sim. A slight, pale woman, wearing a widow's cap upon lier smooth brow u liair; but with such a look of love and longing on her face that she too has a beauty which it is good to look npon. A sniall and cu unac, uui i nome (h love ana peace; a plain and quiet countrywoman, with a wealth of warm aftectiou in her heart. Asshe sits there alone, Mary Sullivan is dreaming the oíd dreams whichhave cheered her through her ten years of widowliood - briglit, but heverimpossible dreams of the future of her only son - and glaneing backward, too, over her own life, wondering a little (just a little) if many women of her age have seen no more of the world than slie, who lias not speiit one night of lier life bevond this rillage where lier husband had been a schoolmaster. Is it to be al ways so ? A steadfast light comes into lier eyes, and her quiet lips break into a smile. 'ïhat shall be left to Davy,' she says, uUering softly tiie name which now means all the world to her; 'his choice will be my choice.' Froni the porch wliere Mftry sits she Oiin catch a glhnpse through the trees, of the road along which the stage coacli daily passes. This spot she is watehing eagerly, and when the four liorses ooine witliin sight at last, she drops her knitting and rises. Jfervously drawing her hand across lier strained, ?lad eyes, she turns and enters the cage; as ir sne üarea not wait, even those few minutes whieh will bring he coach into sight again, elose to the jarden gate. Tea is laid tor two in the pleasant little kitclien, and the table - though it bears upon its snowy cloth no luxuries beyond home-made cakes and fresh-laid eggs - lias quite a festive look, ïlie inother stands and gazes round lier with a sraile. Is tbere r.othing more that she can bring for Davy ? lier hands are clasped togetlier and lier breath is quid.ening, for she knows that any moment now her boy may rush in past that line of sunshine at the open door. But she uoes not know liow intently she is listening for his footsteps upon the gravel, nor hovv her face brightens when he comes in at last. 'Mother!' 'Oh, Davy! Davv!' The greeting bursts from the hearts of both in that flrst moment; then the boy'a lips are clinging 10 liis mother's, and her arms hold in that entire love which a wklowed methei so often lavishes upon an only son. The meal, which she has prepared with loving hands is over; and the motliiïr and boy sit together in their favcrite corner of the porch, while the sun sets far away across tlie sea. 'Fcur whole weeks of idleness, and of home, and of you, mother,' David says. 'It seems too good to be true.' 'But you like school, Davy?' Mrs. SulHvaa asks, wiskfuliy; 'you are happy there?' lU 'Happy? Oh, yes, and getting on capitaliy. Of course I try to do that mother, as grandfather ured itso when he condescended to put me fo school. Perhaps he will help me i Hitlc, evon when the five years are OTer. r will soon rise if he gives me u start after this promised school term.' 'And if he does not this education is a greathelp, Davy. Yon will be seventeen when you leave the college and elever and able to do anything.' 'Anvthing- everything, mother ' asserts the boy, softly drawing her arm about his neck. 'I shall be a man and you shall never want anything igain ou shall Lave a large house and garden, and I shall come houie to you every evening from iny house, wliere I shall earn the money, you know. It must be near London, because men don't get rich except in London I expect. Shall you like it mother ?' 'You liave made up your mina to be rich, Davy?' 'Only,' the boy answers, bis eyes upn bis móther's face, 'only just rich enongh to inake you comfortable and happy, mother; that you ruay never have to work as you work now. You have so little, mother, to make your life easy and bright.' 'Little!' slie cries, through her happy tears. 'Little, when 1 havo you Davy?' '"We both hal all we need, deur motlier, the boy says, laying kis curlv liead upon her shoulder." 'I would not chango homes with the richest boy in all onr college (tliough lie would laugh at the notion) but still I mean to give you Miore. I un ïuaking the most of mj time.' 'And wnat do the masten say of you. Davy'r" 'ïhat I am the best arithmetician in the school,' the boy says, laughing; 'al bes (lor iny age) in óne or twó other thmgs. ]!ut, motlier, I beat every fellow - older or younger - hollo at gymnastics.' 'Wliat are tliey ?' isks liaiy, wonde ing. Uut tlioiigli David explotas lengtli, her idea of the scieuce is onh little less vague wlien lie linishes than it nas been when lie began. 'Wc have :i splendid gymnasium at school, and you slioukl seeme. There'a not u fellow who can come anywliere near me. And I liave a piïze to show you mother- not for that,' he adds, with a laugh at her surprise, but for iccounte. I won it to please ather, because, ifter all, lie was vei jood (o put me to school, though li will not personally notlco eitlier of na 'It is aJmost like giving me a fortune ton'titï And tlierefore better than i he liad asked me to his house, al thoug' that would show he had forglven m1 father for - settling here.' 'Almost a fortune - yes.' slie answers grarelj stroking his brow emls. 'But Uy to think lesa of being rich thai of being goodund tnie-hearted, my own child.' ■i uomotneiy nesays, earnestly, 'onlv I talk more of the one. And when I think tliings over, mother, 1 feel quite surethac a man 's oecupatioii need make no differenee. My father hart nothing iarder to battle with ttutn the ignorince of a lot of boys, who, aftet all, öved liim and tried toplesise liim. But nay be just as good a man battling vitli the world (which seems so ar from m and so unreal as yet) as lie vas in thïs Jear quiet nook. Don't ou feel tliis, mo.herV' Tes, she feels it. Small as herknowedge is slie knowa of One wlio walked nspotted through the world; and poor s she may be, she is rich in lier trust in Ilim. The sunlight is dying now, and the motlier and son sit vatching it in a silence which is sweet witJi love and sympatliy. And when those fair, pink clouds tade and vanisfl from afoove tlie sea, they rise and go into the cottage together. II. Tlie iirst vacation of David's lias passed like a dream to hi.s mother; and now that tlie last ilay has arrived, she f'eels as if only a week had sped, though she has so regretfully and hungrily counted (ach morning and eaeh night) both the davs that have been sient anri those that are to corne. Another long absence follows; .-üiother bright lionie-coming (on a frosty Christmas evening now;) another absence, and so on, and on, and on, unfcil David comes home from school for the last time of all. He meets his mother just within tlie porch, wliere the flowers bloom that sumiller as iney nave inoomed through every summer oL his life and he his no clOud upon his face. Hut, later on, his inother's anxious question is answered a little sadly. 'Yes, inother, I heaid f rom the lawyer yesterday. Grandfather's will does not mention either of us. Ife has g ven me all the help he meant to give. "Well, he has been very good, and now I am ready to make niy own start in the world. Uut I must tro at once. One delieious day with you here, Uien for London! Don't look so sad my mother; this shall not be a long separation not even so long as the old school tenas, for I will soon come back to fetch you.' So, after this one day, he goes, lauglving over his scanty puree, because his hands are strong, he says, and his fortune - hope and courage. Dut, when he looks back, it is oniy throuarli a mist of tears Unit he can see the little cottage where lie leaves his motlier in her loneliness. After David's departan the days pass fpr Mis. Sullivan just as tlie old schooldays have done, except that now she has a daily excitement in his letters. Nerer can she settle to anything till tlie postman has come up the garden-path and given into lier trembling 1. .1 J. I . _ T.J.J. -t. . " uanu me ïeuer jjavm liever falla to send- the letter (full of love ind bravery and hope) which does hig motüer's lieart so mucn good. At last 011e letter comes in which lie tells her he lias found employmeiit in an aceouiitant's office employment which is very easy to him, and wnieh he likes- thougli lire sul.u y l.u is to receive is a inucli smaller onethan liehad anticipated when lie so hopei'ully began his search. 'Kut I will work so wel],' lie writes, 'tliat the lirm will raisö my Blilary soon and then I will cqiiie Cor you. Ah, inother, I can indeed work hard, long and steadily lor tliat good end!' So, in the cottage, Mar.y works hard too, coiifident in the realiation of his plan, and living with liim, tliroughher long dfty-dreams, in a Loudon whicüi exists in her imagination only - a wide calmcity, where alltheyoungmenhav Davld's face and David's nature, aiu guide skillfully tlie maelrineiy of th world. Hut the time goes on and David on ly earilg what was eaniedatlirst. 'An so,' he writes, a Httle sadlv now, 'tlu home with you is still out of my ceacii, tor poverty here, mother, would be to yon a liumlred Limes vvorsethan iovrty at home.' When lie lias been absent for a yeár, he cornos lióme to spend hú birtiidav vrith liis niothei - a smnmer day vvliicíi tliey liave spent together for all the eighteen years of David's life. Tlien he goes back to liis work, still hopeful Of the rise which his Aarnoaf mu, I ,,.. - uv " iiivu mi) í;cii in. ,iu 1 1 K l í UUtiring servitude is to win. Six nionths past, and then, one Sunday night, David walks unexpeetedly into the cottage kitchen where his motlier sits before the lire softiysinging to herself a hyinii which she had heard in chuifli that day. Wneii slie starte up- her face in that moment of surprise, white as daath- Bajrid sees how IiUle able she is to bear any s)iock where he ir, concerned. But her delight one minute afterwavd, makes up which botli will love to ïemember. 'Can you not stay one day ? the mooier pleads. '.Must you really Ko baek to-inorrow, DavyV ë 'To-day yon mean, motlier. Look we have chatted after midnight aready. Nevermind, we liare four whole hoursmore, tlianks to the uew railwav Don't go tobed, moth; Icannotipara you lor that time.' She has never tkought of leaving 1miu;so, lieside the cheerful live they set and talk; tirst of the liyeg irhlcb tuey have separately led, and Uien of thac life which they are presently to lead together- for David lias come home on pulpóte to biïng joyfu! tidings. The long-talked-of-home will be ready soon, for lie is earning a high salaiy now, and all theold biight plans ure to be carried out. 'But, Davy,' Mis. Bullirán says, wlien lie rises at last to prepare the eiirly breakfast, 'hor verr hard you must ba working only to le spared lor one day, rfter a whole twonty uioiiths of service.' 'I could liare liad oiie liolidav tween,' he answers, but I wonld no tíike it. Jt was wiser not, mother, ■Iris is an expensive joiirney, (ven no hat we have the railway.' 'Andyou hare been sendlng me vou íoney, Javitl.' 'But 1 un earnlng so mueh iow,' lli oung niiui saya, with i bright excite íent tn liis eyes. 'And are you liappy, David?' 'Very liappy motlier, thinkiug how oon everything will be as I plauned it iOllg MgO. 'Jiut for yourself ilone, are you happy, dear?' she asks, wistfullv. I .' Oh yes, niotliei-, quite happy.' Another gootl-bye- 'JJut the last,' ivid sa8, as again and again hekisses s mother's shaking Ups. UI. David said lie would spend liis Mrthy at home- tkat June day wliicli has ways been the one holiday oí thevear tu lua widowetl but on the orning before arrivés a letter Which Is her that he is obliged to dehiy liis ning. London is very full, ]ie says, and he is very busy; so he must give up that day's holiday. In every line of tliis letter the motlier can read hls diaappointraent as well as the sorrow it gives liimtodiaappoint her; and teais come and blot out the inving woras as vreü as the proud descriptions of the home wliich is all ready for lier now out ia ene of the pleasant northem suburb3. They blot out even that simple request at the end - 'Think of me more than ever to-morrow, mother, and pray for me just at aightfall; at that very hour whcu we have been usedto sit togetlier iu the poroh 011 otlier happy birthday nights.' Tbere is the present of money wliich most letters brina1 her now mi) u iu while she holds tbis in lier Jiand tliat she forms a sudden resol ution; and it comes to her at that moment as so natural a one tliat she wondera where it has been hidden before. She is on lier way from the village sost-ofïice, wliereshe has been ehanging David's order into money, wlien tlie plan suggests itself, and when she reacties home she sits down in the porch. inu maíces it all clear to herself'. David is woiking very hard, and is hard to be lonely on liis birthday. How can slie better nse his gift to her tlian by giving liim a pleasure lie eannot expeet, and so prevent his being solitaiy on tliat day whicb they have never yet spent apart ? As lie eannot come home to her, she will go to liim. Ah, how liis face will biighten when he sees his motlier conie in! llow he will stvt. tip witli outstretclied irnis to elasp her! That moment will repay lier tor any trouble slie may have in reaching him. AVIien once the resol ut ion is formed, it hohW lier tenaciously, and she begins her preparatlons at once, glad and excited as a child. She packs her basket, putting la a chieken, and butter, and eggs, and ereain, because David liad said that he never enjoys these things ia London as lie does at home; and ske sumes as sne ties ,a dalnty white cloth overthem all; for she is picturlng her boy's lU'ligiit when he shall npack these luxuries whieh she lias brought him from hla own village. All that night she lies awake, yet rises biïsk and active, almost wonderiDg if she can be the Mary Sullivan who had never entered a railway caniage ín her life- slie, a traveler, starting alone to a far-ott' city of vvhicli she kuows iiotliing! Taking lier basket on lier arm, slic walks to the Rector to leave the key of her cottage with her clergyman, and to obtain fioni hini Inatnictions for her joumey. líe gives tliem ctearlj and 'ironinstiinthilly; and, walking vv'itli her to the station, sees her off, with the precious basket in her care, and that look of' steadfast happinrss in her eyes. ii. ,o ci jong juurncy, uui me antieipation of David's delight at seeing i,er shortens and beautifles tlie way. Ho Bhe starts with surprise when a fellow(ra(ïler tells her slie is at Paddington. TmiKlly slie stands back from the crowd, holding her basket tight upon her arm, and watehing the passers-by with wistiul, patiënt eyes. What a graat place this station is! And eveiv One üo busy and engrossed! 'If you pleaae I waut to reiicli Farringdon street. Would you kiiuily teil me what to doV' She lías at last costee! ;i portar as lie passes wu-li a hamper on his shoulder. Cross lo Metropoli taa.' Croae to Metropolitanl Tlie words are foreign to her. What can they mean 'í ís there i rivtr, then between her and David y Another porter, coming Blowly up as the erowd disperses, sees the puzzled look apon the woman'a face, sees liow she sln-inks spart in her neat country dress, and holds her basket with such care and pride. 'Where do yon waat to go?' he quirecl kindly. 'To Farrlngdon street. ram te cross something, but I eould not uiuleistaml. J'm sorry to be so troublesoine.' 'You'd lar bettw have a c;ib,' the man says, in a tone of involnntary kindliness. 'üoyou mind the expense?' 'I hare aix shillings in ehange,' she answers, looking grateñilly into liis face. 'AVill that do ?' 'Half of it.' Ue takes lier to one of the waitiii" -1k .111,1 IBaAivAa , Mm. _ ■ I j. .l., mi nuuLoi ,i UiUgam Wllll tilt! man in lier presence; then lie closesthe door upon her aad smiles as she drives away. And this is London - this lino of streets, and crowd of people, and deafenin- sound of wheelsl Poor Davy! How lie must long for the qaiet shady lanes, and tlie fresh bi-eeze coming inland l'rom the sea ! The cab stops, and Mary Sullivan stands with beating heart at the door of a tal], narrow house in Farringdon treet, and rings the bell iaintlv. She waits what she thinks a long, Ion time before a yomig woman appeara i anawer to her modest lumraons. 'AVill you teil me, if you plea.se, ii whirl] room 1 shall önd my son?' 'Wliafs your son's name?' the giilaks, with a long .stare. 'David Sullivari.' 'Oh, Mr. Sulüvan,' slie says a little more pleasantly. 'He's at the office all day. Tlien he's forever going out into the country somewhero north, where he's got a house he's been fumishing. I doii't know where else he goes, but he's alvvays away at night.' 'He will be at- that lióme you speak of, I suppose.? questions Maiy, hei voice trembling in te eagemess, aahei thoughtsdwell 011 tliis home which David has been preparing for her 'i wish you could tell mil whereit la.' 'But I don't know.' tlm girl answers noiH sliortly, 'and I shoukUhink you'd' botter Btay here til! he comes baok.' 'I would rather ga to liiin. Do you liink any oue in the house could kínd y tel] me where lie is?' A yoiing foreigner is coming dowi lie stairs as M;uy speaks, and slit coks shyly and wistfully at liim. So lie girl a.sks the question- Doea he rappen to know where Mr. Sullivan ? 'Monsieur Sulli- Sullivan V' tlie onng man questions, laughing aUttle s lie glances into the face of the couny-bred jet delicate-looking woinan ho stands bolding her basket so dosel y irarsiae. 'res, i kiiow. AVIiv?' 'I ara lus mother.' Mary saya her oice bright with pride. 'Had you not better wait liere until ie comes ?' 'I would far rathergo to liiin, if you nld help me.' 'You are quite Mire?' lio asks again, witli the laughing glauce. 'ïuite sure, sir.' 'Uien I will direct you, for I vin o-oingthat way myself. Yon had beiter, at any rale, leave yoia basket liere.' So lie gives it to tlie yonng woman witli a sly request tliat it may beteken care of, ttaen follovvs lier guMe out nto the street. It seems to JShu-y tliat they have walked for milesdown noisy and bewiláering Btreets, when tliev turn, and enter a wide and open doorway. With i sign to nis companion to follovv, the Btranirer walks a .;,- peted passage, only pausing i moment to speak to a man standing there standing just as f he might bewaiting for tliem. Mary follows her guide, on and on, wondering how Uña liglited way can lead to any lióme whiol) David lias cliosen for her. Yet all the wliile lier heart is tiutterïng joyfully, because the meeting must be so near. Once more the steniger stops, again to speak to some one wlio stands nt tlie inner door, then he leads lier through it, mi ;iiiiid a crowd oí' seated figures. 'Ifyou sit Itere,' lie says, with a smile, pointing to a vacant seat which tliey have reaclied, 'yon will soon see your son. Watcli the wide entrance opposite yon there and in a few minutes you will see him.' JSlary thanks him with simple nestness, tlien takes tlie seat and waits -her eyes fixed, with a smile of expeetation in them upon the opening opposite. What a gay, grand place this is, with liglits like suna and stars upon tlie ceiling, so far np, bo verv far up! U'hv the cburch at home "is not nearly so high as this room. But why i t lignted yet ? 'J'he .) une sunshine is lying brightly now ujioh tlie sea at home .mu 11, musí De as iigiit as dav in the cottage rooms. wiiat thousands of faces are gathered here; all looking one way, too, all looking at that whicb sIih had been bidden to watch ie they waitingfor David, too? Suddenly the band begina to play; and- puzzled more and more Marv turas lier eyes from tlie spot slie has been watching so intently. David lias never tokt lifev about this mnsie, and these llglits, and this trreat loftv 'ma.,, and the watofaing crowd. What does . it nie.ni? and why is Davy coming A prompt, tnmultnous sound of elapping in tlie crowd; and Mary turna her puzüled eyes back again to the doorway shehad beon bidden to watch. No one is thwe save the few idle figures which liavc Btood thore all the time. But now, in the eteared open space in the centre of the building, a man (who must nave passed through hile sbe was gazingatthe band, and whose face wturned from lier) is climbinga singlo rope Buspended froip the wall. Woiuleringly, M&ej watehea the light, and active figure- tight dad in white and crimson springiiig npward vritn the speed and agüity ofasquirrel. Why should he do tliia daring foolish tliing? Is a man's Hfe so valueless that lie should risk it thus to provokea moraent's passing wonder V Is deathso trival athingthathe slionld brave it reckleasly thus to win a moment's applauseï Ah, think of tliis inau's life, and thenof Davy8. Anotlier minute and the man she watcbed spiings to a doublé rope which hangs from the lofty ceiling, and, sitting there at case, (ooka down uponthe crowd, Then Maiy'a eyes look full nto his face. ♦ II s a specta] performance at the circus on tlüa Juna uiglit; before the fare well of the fsraoua gynmast, Monsieur Sulli, wlio, after is brief and uruuanc caieer, is retiiing ft-om the profeesion in which he shinea without n rival; intencling to Bettie down- o it is rumored, iionieally and disconientedly- to office woik witli au accountant, and to live in i smal] house out in i north suborb with ,tn oíd mother trom tlie country. So ridienloua, in the very zenitli of liis fame! On this farewell night he is to perform (for the last time) his greatest reut- a l'eat which no one hut himself has ever atteniijtwl. From thn iKi„, trapace where lie now stands, Bwinglng bmiself to and fio, lie wíl] spring to a statioiüuy one, forty feet distan? and passing through thls, will catch it by one.foot only, and ]iang suspended so one liundred feet above the arena. Adangerous exploit, of course; but perfonried with wondrous nerve and skill. Surely it will be a pity if, havíng made bis reputation, Monsieur Sull shall still persist in hte determination to retire rrom tlie ring. Agrandsuccaea! TbeshoKtof ap)lan.se, wbicb shakes the great building fiüin Hoor to ceiling, testiflos to this beyond ;i question. Decidedly a grand success - thougli inone seat among the crowd a solitar woman, who la i stranger there, ait wliite, and still, and dead!