John Paul

He was doubtless a trainp. His worn and dusty dress, bis crusked felt hat, his dirty shoes, and the checker6d muslin shirt, tied at the neck with a bit of rusty black ribbon, and the little bundie borne on his shoulder from the end of a stout stick, told the story plainly. Addïd to this was the beard of a week's growth, except the mustache, which had not been touched by a razor. He Was rather gay and good-looking for all that, with a keen eye, an open countenance. and a well-knit figure, and he strode along as though he feit that the wandering idler was really the king of other men, and tramping a superiur art. Presently ho threw down his stick and bundie, and made a leap in the oad, just in time to stop a runaway ïorse, with the long reins flapping bout his feet, and the wagon behind ïim swaying from side to side. The ccupants of the wagon, a couple as ldfashioned as the carry all in which ihey sat, had been f rantically crying to lie horse to stop, and now that some ne had stopped him, were profuse in heir thanks. 'Bob is not vicious,' said the man, whoso language and dress showed him o belong to the Society of Friends, but two geese flew aeross the road, nd bef ore I knew it he had jerked the eins out of my hands and started on a uu, l'm obliged to the?, for if thee adn't caught him, he might have spilld us over the high bank below thero.' The tramp nodded, and turned to go, vhen the woraan spoke. Triettd,' she said, 'thee has split thy oat up the back.' 'Havel?' returned the tramp, feelng for the rent. 'So I have. I must jet it mended somewhere.' 'As thee did it helping us - ' said the man, putting his hand in his pocket. 'I bar that,' said the tramp, raising lis hand, and showing with his la";'1 set of white teeth. 'I don't take ioney for stopping horses; but I bank you for your intention.' 'I teil thee what to do, friend - 1 On't know thy name,' said the womn. The tramp smiled agaiü, and said, You may cali me John Paul, if you hoose.' 'Well, Friend Paul, does thee see hat white house among the trees, off rom the road back yonder ? Then go there, and say to Rachel - that's our niece - that her uncle and aunt, Mahlon and Xaomi Stacy, sent thee, and ask her to sew thy coat for thee. She'll make it passable at least.' 'Thank you,ma'am;I'll do so.' The tramp removed his battered feit hat, made a bow rather more coujtly than might have been expected, and the parties pursued their several ways, A brisk two minutes' walk brought John Paul to the lane leading from the road to the Stacy farm-house. Down this lane he turned, and when half way in it, heard a woman scream. The next minute a pretty young girl, with her hair flying over her shoulders, ran out of the house, pursued by a great, burly, rough fellow, who stopped when she observed the new-comer, stopped also, in doubt whelher it was not a confedérate. 'Anything wrong V' inquired John :aul. 'That - that man!' gasped the girl. ïhere be tramps, and tramps. The one to whom Paul advanced was of the baser order, brawny, whisky-sodden, and brutal. 'What do you mean by frightening ,his young lady ?' 'Take it easy, pard,' rejoined the big ramp, grinning. 'The gal gave me a unch, an I wanted to sweeten the vii uals with a kiss. There'a Uo bon63 Droke.' John Paul's face reddened. He took off his coat and threw it on the palings of the lane fence. 'Now,' said he, quietly, 'you'll leave.' 'Wnen I git go id an' ready,' anBwered the other, insolently. 'No, sir - now.' 'Ha! ha! Suppose you spell able. Do you see that?' and he thrust his fist under the nose of the younger man. It was dashed aside suddenly, and the right hand of John Paul feil with f uil foree between the eyes of the tramp, who feil, doubled in a heap. He was up in an instant, to go down again by another facer. Jficking hiruself up, he made a rush with both arms extended toward his opponent, it was impossible to parry this, and it was not attempted. Paul stepped suddenly aside, and before his antagonist coulc recover himself, caught him on the throat with his right arm, and sudden ly bending him over his own extendec knee, threw the great mass of flesh to the gr jund with a f orce that made quite an audible sound. The ruffian lay here f or a minute or so motionless. 'Thee hasn't killed him?' timidly inquired the girl. No, miss,' said John Paul, 'but I've given his backbone a jar that makes him sick of fighting. Come, sir, get up,' he added, as the man began to stir 'piek yourself up and go, or I'll give y ou more of it, and worse.' 'I'm goin',' said the other, rising slowly, and rubbing his back - 'I'm in', boss. But I say, you ain't a man you're a steamingine, you are.' As soon as the f ello w had dragged l.imself out of sight, John Paul took his coat, and flnding on inquiry that the girl's name was Rachel, gave her the message of heraunt. He followed her, at her request, to the house, where he seated himself on the back veranda, while Rachel, coatinhand, disappeared in the kitchen. In a few minutes she cam out. 'There is thy coat, friend, as good as new: it was only ripped in the seam, not torn, and- Oh dearl There is that vexatious Crumple in the garden againl' Paul looked, and saw that a cow had got into an inclosure not meant for browsing ground, and volunteered to get her out. It did not prove an easy job, however; and by the time he had managed to overeóme her dodges and manoeuvres, and flnally got tho brute safely into the barn-yard, he saw the farmer and his wife drive in, andknew from her marnier that Rachel was telling them all about the flght. As he carne forward to reclaim his mended coat, Mahlon Stacy met him with a beaming countenance. 'Thee has placed me under obligaüon again, friend Paul,' he said. 'I liear thee was obliged to resort to forcé. It is against the principies of Friends, but since thee had to do it, I'm glad to learn thee did it well. A big man too, for I think the one we met with blood on bis face was the one thee dealt with. 'There was no trouble in handling him, sir. The matter is not worth speaking of. I am only too glad to have been of service to the young lady.' With these words he moved off. 'Stay, friend,' cried the farmer. 'If thee won't have compensation for thy service, thee'll at least grant us another favor, and take supper with us.' The young man hesitated, butglancing at the wonien, said, 'I - I am uot in a fit condition for the table; I - ' 'If that's all," eagerly rejoined MahIod, 'we can arrange l.hat. Come with me.' And the youug man was speedly ushered into a chamber, where his ïostgave him shaving materials, and eft him to hear more defmite particuars about the encounter, in which, like many men of peacef ui habits he took a deep interest. At the supper table, John Paul, n evading minute inquiry, let hem know that he lived in iew York when at home, and gave them some account of the metropolis, of which they had heard, but never seen, and did it in a plain and lucid way that showed he kept his eyes open during his tramping. After supper Mahlon Stacy and John 'aul sat on the veranda while the women folk were clearing the table, and .he former, after two or three preliminary hems, spoke his mind. 'Thee was looking for work, perhaps, friend?' 'No, I can't say that I was.' 'Thee would take a job if thee could get one, maybe?' 'That depends on what it is.' 'Can thee mow ?' A smile broke over the young man's face. 'Not very well,' he said. 'I did 1ourn how to swing a scythe once - when I - when I was on a farm for a uonih in the hay season; but I'm not n expert mower.' 'That might come by practice,' reoined the farmer. 'You see, my man tu obliged to leave me before the hay s a!l made - and when I met thee I was goini after some one to take his place, ind did not succeed. Thee might be of ïelpif thee would, and I would give thee 'air wages.' 'Well, sir, it is new business for me; ut Til do the best I can for you till yoH can do better; and as for the wages we'll not differ on that.' 'Then thee'll stay here, and we'll ackle the south field to-morrow,' exclaimed the farmer, joyoualy. 'Naomi, hee'll get a room ready for friend Paul. He's going to help with the hay.' So John took service with Mahlon Stacy, or, as he put it to himself that night, Tm hired to Kachel's uncle,' and he laughed at the same time as though it were the funniest thing possible. The hay making was over in three days, but John, as they called him now, remained. He evidently knew very little about farming, but took teaching kindly. He developed a great knowledge of horses, their needs and wants, and altogether Mahlon was satisfied with his raw hand. ïhe fourth day it rained so that out-door work was stopped. The farmer and John sat in the kitchen, the farmer in a rather downcast mood. John watched Rachel's motions for some time, as she moved about gracefully, and then took a book which lay upon the shelf, and began reading. Mahlon srniled grimly. 'If thee likes to read,' he said, 'there ia Ne Cross, No Crown, and Barclay's Apology in the sitting room. That is a foolish book of poetry that Kachel delights in. But it can do no one any good. It is funny in parts, though.' It was Hood's Poems. 'Some of tliis is by no means funmy,' said John, 'the Bridge of Sighs, for instance.' 'I don't remember. Will thee read it out?' John read the poem, and in a way that no ono there had heard - read it with feeling and force. 'Thee reads remarkably well, John,' said Mahlon. ' i 'Poor creature!' said Jïaomi. She referred to the heroiiic, and not to John. Rachel said nothing, bat her eyes were f uil of tears. On Saturday John got two hours' leave of absence, and returned with a bundie, which he carried to his room. The next day he carne down to breakfast in a new lightsuit. Mahlon made no comments, but af ter breakfast asked John if ho would go with them to Friends' meeting, or to some other place of worship, or would stay at home 'We go to meeting, of course; bul Rachel's father was 'Piscopal, anc Rachel goes there. Then there's the Methodista and Presbyterians.' 'I shall go to the Episcopal church, said John. 'Ah! Well, we drop Eachel at the crossroad always, and thee eau get out there.' So John walked from the getting-oul place to the church, which was a missionary chapel, where the rector of an adjoining parish gave a service every altérnate Sunday. ïhere were few attendants, and the coming of a flne-looking young man made a sensation. When service was over, however, and they all came out, some one whispered that the new-comer was 'Mahlon Stacy's hired man,' and the sensation died out. Absalom Browning was waiting in his buggy. 'Shall I drive thee home, Rachel ?' he asked. 'Thank thee, 110, Absalom. I came in the carry-all with unele and aunt, and they'll stop for me at the corner.' Absalom walked alongside, however, leading his horse and talking to Rachel, and John feil behind. When they came to the corner, Mahlon and his wif e were already there, and Absalom renewed his request. Kachel made no demur, for Naomi said it would relieve their liorse vrith one less in. John smiled to limself. The aunt favored the courting. The summer months came and went. Absalom Browning came and went once a week, and sometimes twice, and John Paul remained on the farm. He jrew to be a favorite, and his activity and physical strength, with his great jood-nature, made him popular with ;he young men around. Absalom did not like him, however. With Rachel ie got along famously. She had been lis friend trom the first, never forgeting his opportune championship. Then ie read so beautif ully, and was full of ales of adventure, for, according to his own account, he had travelled a great deal. In his wanderings he had ricked up a deal of knowledge too, as eaked out bit by bit, and he bade fair :o make a good farmer, so the iarmer iked him too. But Mahlon, whose spirits had been getting lower and lower, at length grew quite gloomy, and lis gloom was shared by his wife, and even infected Rachel. The cause of this trouble John Paul earned from the talkative clerk at the store where the Stacys dealt, and with t he got some of the faruily ïistory. It appeared that Rachel Faylor, the younger sister of tfahlon's wife, had eloped and married with Gordon Forsyth, a gay and wealthy young gentleman from New York, vho had accidentally met and fallen n love with her. Rachel had been disowned, for marrying 'out of metng,' but worse followed. Forsytl1, who was on the downward course, oon Lot tired of his pretty wife, reumed his dissipation, and was drowned while drunk ;woyearsaftervard, leavinghis widow with a one year-old child. Rachel ?orsyth did not long survive her hus)and, who proved to have been at his death bankrupt. He had managed to jet Mahlon Stacy, who believed in him, o become bondsman in a case involvng, it afterward turned out, aquestionable transaction. Mahlon paid the udgment, but was obliged to mortgage he farm, which had been in the Stacy amily for four generations. He adoptd the little Rachel, sent her to the Vest Town school to be educated, and )it by bit accumulated money suffleient o discharge the mortgage. The bank n which he kept his savings broke, ind he not only lost his store, but was unable to meet the interest for a year. Che mortgage was in olher hands - a rich New-Yorker held it - and proceedngs to foreclose had begun. If Rachel narries Absalom Browning, who was ich himself and a rich man's son, there will be no difflculty. 'They say that Rachel hangs back,' concluded the clerk. 'I raythur guess she'll give in at last. That's the way Mahlon'll pull hrough, in my judgment.' John came home after hearing all his, and found Absalom Browning lure. The young Quaker was got up quite smartly. - in plain clothes, to be sure, but his shad-bellied coat was of he flnest olive-colored broadcloth, and üs broad-brimmed hat of the very best beaver. He remained to supper, and was treated with marked consideration )y the farmer and his wife. Rachel seemed to be a little embarrassed. John 'lanced at her a little curiously, but she avoided his eye. The hired man went out after he had eaten his supper, attended to the horses and cattle, and, his done, came intothe house. It was usual lor the family to sit together for an hour or two after supper before reiriug to rest. It was their main recreation from daily labor. But the od couple had retired, and John retired also, leaving the younger couple together. John sat the window in the dark, ooking out on the night, and thinking. n a little while Absalom Browning eft, and he heard the wheels of his wagon driven after the fashion of Jehu, ,he son of Nimshi. Then he heard the ight step of Rachel on the stairs on her way to rest. The nextmorning John went out eary to see to the hoises and cattle. When he returned to breakf ast he observed that Mahlon was curt and monosyllabic of speech, Naomi gloomy, and Rachel distressed. John ate his meal silently, and then went to the field with Mahlon. But he soon made an excuse to return to the house. Rachel was alone there, seated with her face buried in her hands, and so intent on her thoughts that she did not hear him come in. 'What is the trouble, Rachel?' he asked. The girl started up, and the bloo'l rusked to her face, but she mado no reply. 'Is it to be a wedding?' he continued. 'John Paul, thee's - thee's - ' 'Or did you send Abs lom B. about his business last night?' 'What is that to thee, John ? Uncle is displeased with me, aunt is sorry, and now thee must - What is it to thee whether I have or not ?' 'Rachel,' said he, taking her trembling hand, and retaining it in spite of her effort to withdraw it, 'it is everything to me, for 1 love you dearly.' The eyes of the girl filled with a sudden light. 'Thee ! thee love - me !' John read the answerto his question before he put it, and drew the sobbing Rachel to his breast. How long they stood there neither could teil, but at the sound of Mahlon Stacy's heavy step on the veranda, Rachel made her escape. 'What keeps thee in the house, John ? inquired the farmer, entering the room. 'We have work to get through with.' 'Let that pass for a moment. Mr. Stacy. I have something to say. Who holds now the mortgage on the farm ?' 'Why does theeask?' 'From no idle curiosity. "VVhat is his name, and wheredoes he live?' 'His name is Frobisher, and he lives in New York. It is his lawyer, Woodford, who has the business in hand.' 'Woodf ord ! Not Charles Woodf ord ? So! In that case, make yourself perfectly easy. I can arrange all that for you.' 'Is thee serious, John Paul? Does thee think Frobisher would do it for thee?' 'Why not? He never refused me anything I wanted yet, from the time we went to the same school.' 'Thee must be out of thy mind, John. This Frobisher, they say, is worth a million of dollars. Does thee expectto influence him? If I didn't know thy habits, I should say thee'd been drinking.' 'The man you speak of is worth more than yoa saj-, in catate, but he'll give you all the time you need. Let me see. This is nearly eight. The mail closes at ten. I have timo to write a letter, hitch up, and gtit to the postoffice in good timo. You'il have an answer by to-murow evening;' and without farther wordá he went out, tiamessed the Iiorse, and drove to the village, leaving Stacy staring in nmsizement. When he carne back, the farmer was stiü in the house, with Naorni and Rachel, di.scussing John's freak. During that day and next mornmg Mafalon would glance at John at times with an expression made up of hope, and suspicion of John's sanity. At noon next day John quietly hitched up the horse again, and without asking leave, drove off, with a reassurng smile to Rachel's inquiring looks as he went. This was hours before the mail was due, and John had on his Sunday clothes too. He did not get back until supper-time, and then handed a letter to Mahlon, in presence of .he rest. It was postmarked 'New York,' and the farmer opened it with rembling hands. 'John,' said he, after he had read it, and handed it to Naomi, 'thee made no vain boast. Woodf ord says I can have ill the time I want. Thee has done r.e great service. I only wish I knew ïovv I could repay thee.' 'Perhaps you can,' said John, smilng, and taking Rachel by the hand. 8uppose you let me take care of this young lady in future ?' 'Why, Rachel!" cried Mahlon, in astonishment. 'Does thee and John - " But Rachel's answer was not disinctly audible, her face being so close 0 John Paul's waistcoat. 'Has thee thought about means to upport a wife ?' inquired Naomi, with a last (lutter of expiring loyalty to Absalom Browning. 'There need be no trouble on that score,' returned John. 'But I have a confession to make. I have in some measure deceived you. When you asked my name, I just said - John Paul.' 'And has thee been using a name to which thee has no right?' demanded iaomi, severely. 'I have a right to that name, but tere is more of it. I am John Paul Trobisher.' 'Frobisher!' exclaimed Mahlon, as a ight broke in on him. 'Then thee s- ' 'I am, or rather was, the holder of 'our mortgage. I say was' - drawing 1 paper from his breast pocket and landing it to Naomi. 'I have been to West Chester, and made an assignment to your wife. I hope she'll be a lenient creditor to you, Mahlon. You see, I ïad been taking a pedestrian tramp for health and amusement, and you came across me just as I had run sumciently o seed In the journey, and was about to take the cars for home. This face of Rachel's attracted me, and she's the captivo of my bow and spear, anyhow. [ won her by fair fight,' said he, laughmg. They all sat down to supper. The 'armer said his customary grace with jreat unction - 'For what we are to re ceive, the Lord make us truly thank'ul!' and John, whose hand had found hat of Rachel somehow under the ;able-cloth, responded with a fervent Amen!'