Kit Grale

[Copyright.] I. Hilbury harbor - a little oíd house by thi water ride. Sunset, tlie lst of June. He sat in the open door, looking out. Before bira lay the reach of quiet water, winding away tothe right, between shaded grassy Blopes, patcbes of rank salt gross and pebbly beach, to the bay and the sound beyond. Across the wooded ridge on the other shorë, the golden light of the setting sun carne flooding over his gray streaked bead and f ever worn oíd face. There carne a weary, wandering look into his eyes, wuich sent no message to bis brain of the pleasant summer Ecene. Kit saw the strange expression in his face, through the door of the inner room ■wbere she was busy getting tea. That vague, jUnmeaning look was not strange to her, but only too familiar. Yet it pained her none tthe less for that. She saw that something must be done now ; that he must be roused and set to work with a purpose, if this settled despondeney was to be hindered from drifting into soraething worse. He was almost strong again. It was time to act. i She came througb and leaued over his chair; laughed and ohatted to hiin with a .lovilig art; smoothed back his grizzled 'loeks witb a caressing touch. When he grew brighter sho told him her plans for the future, used all a woman's tact and all the skill of love to brighten the doubtful prospect and 'incite to try once more the battle witb fate In wbich he had been beaten already. She knew there was uo use trying to move him Ijy his own interest. He had no heart to try egain, no desire for what he migbt gain. Only one motive was lef t by which she might move bini - his love for her. To tbatshe did appeal, earnestly, prevailingly. She argued (her cause with skill and fervor, persuaded, reasoned, pleaded. "Promise me, father," sbe finished, her face flushed with eagerness; "promise me you'll try. For my sake, father, for my sake!" rHe got up and leaned against the door post. He looked away aeross the western bilis to the matchless glory of the suuset elouds. The rich, deep glow feil f uil upon his face, and the face was lirmer and more manfnl than it had been for months, more like the face of the happy old time that was gone forever. He turned to■ward Kit tben. andsaid, slowly and solernnly, lGod help me, Kit, I willl" That night they discussed their plans and prospecta, and resolved what had best be donefirst. Kitsaw her father brighter and more hopeful than for many a day, and knew that to keep him so he must be kept in action. 80 it came about that they made the little necessai-y preparation for Grale to go to the city in the morning. It was rare pleasure to Kit to see how he strove against the gloomy inertia that had grown habitual with him since their troubles; to see him once more interested and thoughtful of the future. She !ay down to rest that night, not indeed without anxiety, but with a thauliful, happy heart. Grale took the morning boat, Kit watching him oiï and wishing him safe back. He missed her cheery voice and smile when he ■was gout'-; he was feeble yet, in mind and body. The old weary, stolid feeling stole upon him again, while the steamer plowed on down the sound, through the river, and ran in to the wharf. He turned into Ship street and walked along slowly, watching the shipping at th wharves. It was a sight very familiar to his eyes. Many and many a time he had ■walked there and watched the same strange, bustling seene, when his step was quick and strong, and his blue eye bright with the Jight of hope and the pride of Ufe. But times were sadly changed since then, and he ■was another man. Street and shipping and Jbusy lifo were pretty much what they had been years before. There was the very pier before hi:n where he had moored the Plying Fish a hiindred times. But a strange Bchooner lay in her old berth now, and John Grale stood there a broken man - broken in spirit. He stopped and looked about him awhilo at the familiar surroundings, and the memories of the oíd time carne thronging upon him very sadly. He stood irresoluto- had no heart to go on. . "It ain't no use," ho muttered. "They're all gon.e no'-v- all gone. ïhere was George went first on tbat cursed reef, an' that was hard enough, God knows. I vrish I'd 'a drowned along of him that night. Theu there was poor Emily went after her brother, an' noiv the Fish is gone, too, with the rest. It's late ia the day to begin it all over again - it ain't worth the while a-tryin'." ■ He leaued against a wall a while in gloomy abstraction. But after a little he started up ■with a changod expression, put nis hand vaguely to his head, then muttred again, as one who suddeuly recovers a broken toread Of memory : "Yes, yes, I forgot. I remember now. No - not cll gone, not alL That's what I said to Kit. An' Kit, she said, wouldn't I try for her sake. Ay, Kit, I've you left, anyway; an' you're worth any man's working for, late or early. Yes, yes, I promised an' I wiS- for your sake, Kit, for your sake!" ' He started on then more briskly thau before, with an evident purpose in his gait- down Ship street, up Bullion lane. It was Bumruer time, aud the sun glowed hot and sultry oxi the bricks and stonea The human tide rolled onward up the street, went swirlíng and eddying round and round hira. He lound the immber he wanted, 209, and weut np to the eecond floor where the office waa. i Was Mr. Wyckel in? He was; would the gentleman walk into his private office! Grale went iu. The lawyer sat at his desk, -niio.a rapidly, his head screwed round to one side to clear his eyas of the smoko oL tue cigar which was always between his teeth. As Grale entered, be looked up keenly f rom underhis browe, without lifting tus head, bis hand still driving thd pen. His eyi riropped again. He scratóhed and puffed on to the end of his sentence, bis bead all the while screwed awry. Ue sat up then, took tho dgar from bis mouth, and said: "Ah, John! it's you, is it? How do you do?" He got ua put the pen betwcen his teeth, and offered nis hand. "What's the newsf he asked, behind the penholder. "How's all the folks in Hilbury? You ain't just looking like Samson yourself, John." "Pretty well, sir; pi-etty well, thank'e. Not much nevvs, I reckon. Hüb'ry's pretty much what it was when your father had the Pine Hill place. But what I come in today, Mr. Wyckel, was to see if you couldn't help me in a little matter o' business." He took the pen from his teeth, replaced it with the cigar, and sat down, relapsed at once from his cordial appearance of interest In au old acquaintance and his early country home. 'You want legal advice, I suppose," he said. '"Take a ehair. Let me hear your case." "No," Grale answered. %'I don't want no advice, I want money." "Oh, money, eh? Well, let's hear," said Wyckel. 'Til teil ye how 'tis," Grale went on. "Ye know I been a many year now a runnin' packet 'tween Hilb'ry an' town. 1 started in a little sloop, the Lapwing, forty-seven ton, in '39. We got along pretty well, au' laid by enough in iive year to sell out an' buy the Fish. You know the Fish, Mr. Wyckel? You come down in her with me once for a lark, I recollec', when you was a young feller in old Joe Urapple's office." "Yes, yes, I know the Pish well enough," said the lawyer impatiently. "Get to the point, John. Come to the business." "Well, I wül, sir, fast as I can. But ye tnight gim me a little time, Mr. Wyckel, for old times' sake. Well, as I was a-sayin', we kep' the Fish a-goin' pretty tight tarough the seasoii, year an' year, an' never heerd but we give good satisfaction - tried to, anyway. We was misfortinate some years - bought on a venture sometimes and lost, or the Fish would carry away somethin' in a blow. But takirf one year with 'another we couldn't complain, an' managed to lay by somethin' handsouie, case of anything should happen. But the tide turned in '49, an' the ebb's left me in pretty shoal water. My wife Emily died in '50, an' that was a hard blow, though Bat and me bore up the best we could. But since then, seems as if everything went wrong. I bought hay ot the farmers on a spec' one winter, an' it went down a third on my hands. Then a lubberly Brexam schooner went an' run into us in the Gate, an' cost me more'n I could well spare to repair, lettin' alone losing the freights oL four reg'lar trips in the drivin'st time o' year. Then they went and started that infernal propeller on my route and I was fooi enough to try to fight 'em off. But it wasn't no use, as I might 'a known. Sheet an' sail ain't no sort o' a match for steam and screw. But I had got reckless like; didn't care; didn't stop to think or count. I f ought 'em desperate ; carried for half what it cost me to run the schooner; carried for anythin' or for nothin' rather than let the 6tuff go to the Dreadnought. Week after week the bank book dwindled more and more. Kit tried an' tried to git me to hold on to what we had, an' try some other place. But I was mad an' a fooi, an' kep' on, losin' regular every trip. "Well, ye see, that couldn't last forever. One week I come home an' there wasn't no more money at the bank. But I wouldn't stop even then. We had passed the Dreadnousht on our way up, an' Delevan an' bis crew chaffed us as they went by and give three eheers for the Dyin' Fish. I couldu't stan' that, no how. I swore I'd take freights freethe next day she loaded, xa' I did. I borryed what X could from the farmers an' took a full load that day anyway. Delevan laughed on the other side of his mouth that night - ha, ha! '"But that was my last trip. I couldn't porry no more money - couldu't pay what I lad borryed. They come down on me ; got a tachment on to the Fish, an' sold me up. 3he went for a song, poor thingl to Ben Egerley, oí Ncirtkhaven, and after sheriff, constable and lawyers - no offense, Mr. Wyckel- had got all they could lay their ïands on, there was just enough to pay the oan, au' ten dollars an' a quarter to me. Well, I don't exactly remember just what íappened since: I been a little wíld, I think, 'or some time - a little wrong, you know. I wouldn't 'a cared so if 't hadn't been for the Fish. I'd got io used to her ways, ye see, sir; I come to feel to her like she was alive - ike she was human. I ain't so young as I was once, Mr. Wycke), an' it's hard work rowin' up stream when you've got so far down. Lf it wasn't for Kit, sir, I think I'd 'a gone au' drowned myself when they sold the Pish. Ye see, I wasn't just right in my íead. But my Kit's the best girl, sir, an' the handsomest. She never give me one nard word for all my crazy folly. 'Father,' she says, ' we' ve been misfortmate, but we mustn't give in. You've had hard times, father,' she says, 'but you must keep a good heart. We must bear up au' try again. You'll try, 'ather, won't you,' says Kit, 'for my sake?' An' Ipromised her I would, sir, an' God help me, I will! "An' thafs what I've come about today. sir. I don't know how 'tis, but somehow I can't bear to think of goin' on the water under another man, after bein' master so ong in the Fish. Howsever there's a bit of and on Kensel Point that a cousin of ours ef t to Kit somo years ago. We'd try an' sell off part of it to start on the rest with the money, but Kit she promised that she'd never aell it as long as she lived. So X've come to ask you, sir, to lend us five hundred to start with. We'ü give you a mortgage on the place, an' I think we can pay you the interest ■egular, an' clear it all off in three years. Kit an' me made some calculations 'long of ;he crops, an' I'ra pretty sure we can promise ;hat safe enough. I've brought the deeds of he place so you can see it's all clear." The lawyer took the papers, exanüned them carefully, and said: "This is all straight, I believc, John. I mow the farm, I think - the old Halibyrton jlace, lan't it, on the harbor side of the neck?" "Yes; that's it," Grala answered. "You'll je easy on us iu the terms, Mr. Wyckel, for the sako cf old times?" "I'llmakeit right," said Wyokel. "You bnow these things mast be doos aceording to rule and custom." He stopped into the outer office and spoko to one of the clerks: "Mr. Marshal, will you take a mortgage and fill it out according to this deed? take a blank with interest, assessment and insurance clauses. And make it twenty days' default, at 7 per cent.- for five hundred at three years." Abraham Wyckol knew perfectly well that rule and custom made a mortgage from thirty tosixty days' default; but hts rulo and custom was to get all he could and give as little as the law would let him. Once he had been an impulsivo, generous boy. Kow he was a hard man, and none the leas for the mask of Urbanity whieb he commonly wore. Through years and years of perpetual referenco to the letter of thu law - years of familiarity with, and continual use of, its inevitable errors and cmissious, wlioreby it may be, and daily Is, vrarped from the support of simplest justic - the habit liad grown upon him of measuring all Queatio.is of right and wrong by cod and statute, and, in business transactions, of using the saine, either by an exti'eme construction or teehnical evasion, and always in the most strictly legal form, ia such a marnier as to givo him the best of the bargaiu. Yet the world called him an upright man, and so he was, as the world reads. He knew tüat nothing pays a nian so well, in money valuo, as sound credit and a good reputation. So he was honest in nis dealings, within th6 liinits of the statute of frauds, and his word as good as his bond, provided you took it in the strictest possible sense, and stripped it of all nieaning which, though generally understood as attaching to the phrase, eould not in strictness be proved to be expressed. The clerk caine in presently with the mortgage duly filled out. Grale took it and commenced to read. But he soon became conf used and thoroughly befogged in the copious verbiage and endiess replication of the form. "I suppose it's all square, Mr. Wyekel," he said, looking up. ruefully; libut I can'tmake head nor tail on't. But ain't it a little stift, sir - just a little stiff ?" And when he carne toread the accompanying bond for a thousaud, ho was fairly trightened, and could hardly bo reconciled to it, though Wyekel explained to him that the whole amouut could not be collected, but only the actual debt ; and that the bond was only used to make the lender more secure. "Well, well," he said, sbaking his head doubtfully, ''I suppose you know best. But I don't see it clear for that. Mebbe ye might 'a been a little easier on us, for the sake o' old friends. But I can't go back on it now. I give niy word to Kit, and I'll go through with it, fair or foul. But it looks a'mighty squally to wind'ard, an' Mr. Wyckel, like 't 'ould come on a blow 'fore we're through." "Well, John," ihe lawyer answered, "if you don't want the money, we can put this blank in the flre, you know. But business must be done on business principies. If you say the word, I'll send and have the title searched. Then I'll drop you a note, and you can have the papers signed properly by your daughter, bring them down and get the money." He rose then, bowed Gralo out politely, and went back to his writing and his cigar. A week or two later Grale received a note from the lawyer, went down with the papers duly signed and attested, and received the money. He was not a little astonisked when Wyckel deduoted more than a tenth for expense of search, drawing up the forms and postage. But there was nothing for it but to submit. [To be continued.]