Kit Grale

f k [Copyright.] L Hilbury harbor - a little old house by Ai water ride. Sunset, the lst of June. He sat in the open door, looking out. B f ore him lay the reach of quiet Water, wind ing away to the right, between shaded grassj elopes, patches of rank salt grass and pebblj beach, to the bay and the sound beyond. Across the wooded ridge on the other shore, the golden light of the setting sun cama flooding over his gray streaked head and f ever worn old face. There carne a weary, wandering look into his eyes, which sent no message to his brain of the pleasant summer Bcene. Kit saw the traage expression in his face, through the door of tha inner room where she was busy getting tea. That vague, unmeaning look was not strange to her, bui only too familiar. Yet it pained her none the less for that. She saw that something most be done now ; that he must be roused and set to work with a purpose, if this settled despondency was to be hindered from drifting into something worse. He was alaiost strong again. It was time to act. She carne through and leaned over his chair; laughed and chatted to him with ! loving art; smoothed back his grizzled locks with a caressing touch. When he grew brighter slie 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 with fata in which he had been beaten already. She knew there was no use trying to move him by his own interest He had no heart to trj gain, no desire for what he might gain. Only one motive was lef t by which she might move him- his love for her. To that she did appeal, earnestly, prevailingly. She argued hei' cause with skill and fervor, persuaded reasoned, pleaded. "Promise me, father," she flnlshed, har face flushed with eagerness; "promise me you'll try. For my sake, father, lor my sake!" He got up and leaned against the door post. He looked away across th western hills to the matchless glory of the sunset clouds. The rich, deep glow feil f uil upon his face, and the face was firmer and more manful than it had been for montbs, more like the face of the happy old time that was gone f orever. He turned toward Kit then. and said, slowly and solemnly, 'God help me, Kit, I willl" That night they discussed their plans and prospects, and resolved what had best be done first. Kit saw her father brighter and more hopeful than for many a day, and knew that to keep him so he must be kept in action . So it cam e about that they made the little necessa-y preparation for Grale to go to the city in the morning. It was rara pleasure to Kit to sea 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 lay down to rest that night, not indeed without anxiety, but with a thankful, happy heart Grale took the morning boat, Kit watching him off and wishing him safe back. He missed her cheery voice and smile when he wat gone; he was feeble yet, in mind and body. The old weary, stolid feeling Btole npon 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 the wharves. It was a sight very familiar to i his eyes. Many and many a time he had ' walked there and watched the same strange, j bostling scène, when his step was quick and Btrong, and his blue eye bright with the light of hope and the pride of life. But times were sadly changed since then, and he was another man. Street and shipping and busy life were pretty much what they had been years before. There was the very pier before him where he had moored the Flying Pish a hundred times. But a strange : schoener lay in her old berth now, and John Grale stood there a broken man- broken in spirit. He stopped and looked about him awhile at the familiar surroundings, and the memories of the old time camo thronging ipon him very sadly. He stood irresoluto- had no heart to go on. "It ain't no use," he rnuttered. "They're all gone now- all gone. There was George went first on that cursed reef, an' that wal hard enough, God knows. I wish I'd 'a drowned along of him that night Then there waspoor Emily went af ter her brother, an' now the Fish is gone, too, with the rest It's late in the day to begin it all over again - it ain't worth the while a-tryin'." He leaned against a wall a while in gloomy abstraction. But after a little he started up with a changed expression, put his hand Taguely to his head, then mutWed again, at one who suddonly recovers a broken thréad cf memory: "Yes, yes, I forgot I remember now. No - not all gone, not alL That's what I said to Kit An' Kit, she said, wouldnt I try for her sake. Ay, Kit, I've you left, tnyway; an' you're worth any man's worklng for, late or early. Yes, yes, 1 promised an' I will- for your sake, Kit, for your ake!" He started on then mor briskly than before, with an evident purpose in his gait- down Ship street, up Buliion lane. It wat tammer time, and the sun glowed hot and ultry on the bricks and stones. The human tide rolled onward up the street, went swirllng and eddying round and round him. He f ound the number he wanted, 209, and went up to the second floor where the office was. Was Mr. Wyckel ini He was; would the gentleman walk into his private office? Grale went in, The lawyer sat at his desk, writing rapidly, his head screwed round to one side to clear his eyes of the smoke of the cigar which was alway between his teeth. As Grale entered, he looked up keenly from under his brows, without lifting his head, his hand stiil driving the pen. His eye dropped again. He scratched nd puffed en to the end of bis sen tence, his $md all the whil senwed awry. He iat uf then, tooit the eigar from hls mouth, and faid: "Ah, John! it's yon, il it How do you dof He got up, put the pen between bis teeth, and offered his hand. "What's the news?" he asked, behind the penholder. "How's all the folks in Hilburyl You ain't just looking like Samson yourself, John." "Pretty well, sir ; pretty well, thank'e. Not much news, I reckon. Hilb'ry's pretty muoh what lt was when your father had the Pin Hill plac But what 1 oome in today, Mr. ïVycitel, was to see if you couldu't help me ia a little matter o' business." He took the pen trom his teeth, replaced lt wifh the c'gar, and gat down, relapsed at once from bis cordial appearance of interest In au old acquaintance and his early country home. 'You want legal adrice, I juppose," h atd. "Ta ka a ooair. Let ma hear your case.1 "No," Orale auiwered. "I don't want ne advice, I want monay." "Oh, mouey. hl WU, let' hear," said WyckeL "I'll teil ye how 1i" Grale went on. "Y know I been a many year now a rtranin' packet 'tween Hilb'ry an' town. I Btarted in a little sloop, the Lapwing, forty-seven ton, In "89. We got along pretty well, au' laid by enough in flve year to sell out an' buy the Fish. You know the Fish, Mr. Wyckelf You come down in her with rae once for a lark, 1 recollec', when you was a young feller In old Joe Grapple's omce." "Yes, yes, I know the Fish well enough, ■aid the lawyer impatiently. "Get to tb point, John. Come to the business." "Well, I will, sir, fast as I can. But y might gim me a little time, Mr. Wyckel, for ld times' sake. Well, as I was a-sayin', we kep' the Fish a-goin' pretty tight througb the Beason, year an' year, an' never heerd but we give good tatUfactioa - tried to, anyway. We was misfortinate some years - bought on a venture sometimes and lost, or the Fish Kould carry away somethin' in a blow. But iklrf one year with another we couldnt nplain, an' managed to lay by somethin' inJsome, case of anything should happen, ut the t ido turned in '49, an' the ebVs left me in pretty shoal water. My wife Emfly died in 'K. an' that was a hard blow, though Kit aii'i me bore up the best we could. But tince thea, seems as lf everything went wrong. I oought hay of the farmers on a jpec' one winter, an' it went down a third on my haDds. Then a lubberly Breiam schooner went an' run into us in the Qate, an' cost ma more'n I could well spare to repair, lettin' alone losing the freights of four reg'lar trip 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 flgrht 'em ofï. But it wasn't no use, as I might 'a known. ÍSheet an' sail ain't no sort o' a match for steam and screw. But I had got feckless like; didn't care; didn't stop to hink or count. I fought 'em desperate; carried for half what it cost me to run th chooner; carried for anythin' or for nothin' rather than let the stuff go to the Dreadhoueht. Week after week the bank book dwindled more and more. Kit tañed on1 fcried to git me to hold on to what we had, an' try soma other place. But I was mad tn' a fooi, an' kep' on, losin' regular every rip. "Well, ye see, that couldn't last ! evfer. One week I come home an' there tvasn't no more money at the bank. But I I wouldn't stop even then. We had paseed thejf Dreadnought on our way up, an' Delevan ani his crew chaffed us as they went by and giva three cheers Lor the Dyin' Fish. I couldnt stan' that, no how. I swore I'd take freights freetbe next day she loaded, in' I did. I borryed what I could from the farmers an took a full load that day anyway. Delev'an laughed on the other side of his mouth that night - ha, hal "But that was my last trip. I couJdnt borry no more money - couldn't pay what I had borryed. They come down on me ; got a tachment on to the Pish, an' sold me up. She went for a song, poor thingl to Ben Egerley, of Ncirthfcaven, and after sheriff, constable and lawyers - no offense, Mr. Wyckel- had got all they could lay their hands on, there was just enough to pay tho loan, an' ten dollars aa' a quarter to me. Well, I don't exactly remember just what happened sinco: I been a little wild, I think, for eome time - a little wrong, you know. I wouldn't 'a cared 60 if 't badn't been for the Fish. I'd got so osed to her ways, ye see, sir ; I come to feel to her like she was alive - like Bhe was human. I ain't so young as I was once, Mr. Wyckel an' it's hard work rowin' up stream when you've got so far down. If it wasn't for Kit, sir, I think Vd ' gone an' drowned myself when they sold the Pish. Te see, I wasn't just right in my head. But my Kit's the best girl, sir, an' the handsomest She never give me one hard word for all my crazy folly. 'Father,' she says, ' we've been misfortinate, but we mustn't give in. You've had hard times, father,' she Bays, 'but you must keep a good heart. We must bear up an' try again. You'll try, fatber, won't you,' says Kit, 'for my sakeP An' I promised her I would, sir, an' God help me, 1 willl "An' that's what Pvecome about today, sir. I don't know how 'tis, but somehow I an't bear to think of goin' on the water ander another man, after bein' master so long in the Fish. Howsever there's a bit of land on Kensel Point that a cousin of ours left to Kit some 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 sell it as long as she lived. So Tve come to ask you, sir, to lend us five hundred to start with. We'll give you a mortgage on the place, an' I think we can pay you the interest regular, an' clear it all off in three years. Kit au' me mude some calculations 'long of the crops, an' I'm pretty sure we can promise that safe enoush. I've brought the deeds of the place so you can see it's all clear." The lawyer took the papers, exanvined them carefully, and said: "This is all straight, I believe, John. I know the farm, 1 think - the old Halibprton place, isn't it, on the harbor side of the neckr "Yes; that's it," Grale answered. "Youil be easy on us in the terras, Mr. Wyckel, for the sake of oM timesf' 'Til malie it right," said WyckeL "Yon know these things must be done according to rule and custom." He stopped into the outer office and spok to one of tbe clerks: "Mr. Marshal, will you take a mortgage and fill it out uccording to this deed? take a blank witb interest, assessment and msurance clauses. And make it twenty days' default, at T per cent.- for five hundred at three years." Abraham Wyckel knew perfectly well that rule and custom made a mortgage from thirty tosixty days' dofault; but his rule 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. Now he wa a hard man, and none the less for the inask of nrbanity which he commonly wore. Througb years and yeara of perpetua] referenco to the letter of tb law- years of famüiarity with, and contintial useof, it inevitable eiTOra and omissious, whereby it may be, and daily 1, warped from the support of iimplest Justice -the habit tiad grown upon him Of measurbtg il quet oi of right and wroaf hr ad ContimM on nut page. and statute, and, in business transactions, of using the same, either by an extreme construction or teehnical evasion, and always In the most strictly legal f orm, in such a marnier as to give him Ibe best of the bargain. Yet the world called him an upright man, and so he was, as the world reads. He knew that nothing pays a man so well, in money Talue, as sound credit and a good reputation. So he was honest in hia dealings, within the limits of the atatute of frauds, and his word as good as his bond, proTided you took it in the strictest possible sense, and stripped it of all eaning which, though generally undertood as attoehing to the phrase, could not in itrictness be proved to be expressed. The clerk came in presently with the mort gage duly fllled out. Orale took it and commenced to read. But he soon became conf used and thoroughly bef ogged in the copious verbiage and endles3 replication of the form. "I suppose it's all square, Mr. Wyekel," he eaid, looking up, ruefully; "but I can'tmake head nor tail on't. But ain't it a little stiff, air - just a little stiff?" And when he came toread the accompanying bond for a thousand, he was fairly irightened, and could hardly be 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 rnalce the lender more secure. "Well, well," he said, shaking bis heaa doubtfully, "I suppose you know best. But I don't see it clear for that. Mebbe ye might 'a beei a little easier on us, for the sake cf old friends. But I can't go back on it now. I give my word to Kit, and I'll go throug. with it, fair or fouL But it looks a'mighty squally to wind'ard, an' Mr. Wyekel, like t 'ould comé on a blow 'f ore we're throagh." "Well, John," the 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 yon say the word, I'll send and have the title searched. Then Til drop you anote, and you can have the papers signed properly by your daughter, bring them down and get the money." He rose then, bowed Grale out politely, and went back to his writing and his cigar. A week or two later Grale reeeived a note trom the lawyer, went down? with the papers duly signed and attested, and reeeived the money. He was not a little astonished when Wyekel deducted more than a tenth for expense of seareh, drawing up the forms and postage. But there was nothing for it but to üubmit. Kensel Point is a long neck of land lying parallel to the main shore, and almost severed f rom it by a land locked harbor, opening eastward through a narrow inlet into the broad Hilbury bay. The neck is connected at the western end with the main land by a long sweep of sand beach, generally some fif ty yards or more in width, but in high tide3 or easterly storms often quite covered In some parts. A carriage road winds round over this beach to Willowtree doek, where the steamboat touches morning and evening, on her way to and f rom the city. From the doek the ground rises abruptly to the high table land above, which constitutes the major portion of the point. Half a mile from the doek, along the harbor shore, back from and above the road, stood theold Haliburton homestead, a square, two story building, painted a dull, washy red, and looking rather shabby and weathef beaten without, but comf ortable and pleasant within. Here Kit Grale and her father carne to live now, and to take a new start in life. The ground slopes away into the road in front, to which a rain gullied path leads straight from the door. The broad space on either hand was covered by a rank growth of long wild grass, and shaded by the spreading branches of venerable horse chestnuts. A private lane leads np the steep ascent back of the house, between the locust thicket and the apple orchard, and then runs away back through level farm lands, woods, and salt meadows, to the sound. Below the slope in front of the old house and beyond the road, a rowof great old poplars stands, and from their gnarled roots the white sands slope away, over which the lapping tides eternally rise and fall, in their ceaseless ebb and flow, The road skirts the harbor shore the whole length of the neck, from the steamboat landing to the light on the bar at the inlet And along this road, at varying intervals, stand the four or five houses, where are the homes of all the dwellerson Kensel Point. Back of the neck, on the lonely sound shore, is the dangerous ledge called Gull reef, where the crew of the Gallowshields went so bravely to their death, that wild night between October and November, twenty-one years before. "Kit, girl," said Grale, thoughtfully and sadly (they eat together on the front porch, In the pleasant summer twUight, watching the rising tide rippling brightly through the foliago of the green trees, lapping and tinkling on the pebbly sands with a bubbling music indescribably sweet), "Kit, girl," he said, "I was thinkin' o' George just now- your unele, Kit, that you never seen. Poor George I The sound o' the water ripplin' on the shore there makes me 'mournful like, though there's no music to my thinkin' like the sound o' the winds an' waves. He were a true heart, Kit, if ever were one. Au' I was a-thinkin' how uncommon strange that I should go knockin' about salt water an' fresh f or twenty year, an' then come back af ter all an' turn landsman on this same point, where the tide an' wind drove us ashore that night," Kit Grale had lived through her chüdhood In their little old house at the head of Hilbury harbor, a bright, careless, hearty child, forever in mischief, and giving her mother no little disquietude by perpetually getting afloat in any craffc that offered, from a six ioot scow to old Tommy Crockel's long boat, with mast and sail. Bhe took to the water as naturally as a duck, and seemed utterly reckless of danger. So it carne about that she early became expert in water eraf t, and by constant exercise and exposure to air and sun acquired insensibly a hardy constitution and a self reliant feeling of strength that has stood her in good stead, and will to the end of her life. At the age of 14 Kit was suddenly and roughly awakened from the thoughtless dream of youth by the death of her mother. Her grief at this time had something almost awful in its strength, its ntter abandonment, its wild despair, its angry, even fierce, rejection of sympathy and consolation. And when the intolerable bitterness of the pain wore off with time, as it ever does and must, 6he came out of the Cery trial with a new found consciousness of duty to be done and character to be formed. The wildness was gone out of her iaugb, and was replaced by a settled cheerfulness and buoyancy of spirits that kept her cheery of heart and face, and sustained her nobly in time of need. The craving for perpetual aetion and adventure, the hasty reeklessness of her child life, Bettled into a steady unfaltering devotion to a fixed purpose and athoughtful habit of arranging all the little incidents that make up Ufe, with reference to the direct or uftimate furtherance of that object. This purpose of ber life to which she now made everything sabservient, was to fill, as nearly as might be, her mother's place, and make up to her father the loss of nis wif e. Andaü through the tronbles whieh followed so thickly, Bhe never faüod him, eren In bis mad f olly ; but was ever tha same, Ing him of her strength in his weakneis, cheering him with her happy smile, that never failed his return home, though often the heart behind it was faint for fear. So now, coming with him to Kensel Point, she set herself steadily to the same purpose. And now she had a lookout ahead, a definite prospect to hope for and work for. She thought iL they couid hold their own these three years that the mortgage had to run, laying by something each year, and paying the interest as it caime due, they could then, ha ving the farm clear, live comfortably and easüy, and give herfather the rest which his broken state required: " Calmly and resolutely, she set to work to bring about this resnlt. Grale had come insensibly, in these troublous times, to think of Kit more as a stronger friend than as a daughter to be guided and protected. He consulted her constantly, and would folio w her adrice, though some of the neighbors shook their heads sagely sometimos. And he seldom suffered by his faith in Kit, for she had strong sense and keen mother wit; and, though she knew notkin g of farming at flrst, she made friends with the best farmers on both sides of the harbor, and found thera very willing to irapart the results of their long experience. And though their opinions differed on many points she had at once the calm judgment which is necessary to prefer a slow but safe method to a plausible but unsound one, and the daring which is required to take upa new theory which, though apparently rash and hazardous, is in reality an improvement on tha universal practica Grale bought a team of cheap horses, a couple of cows and such other stock and implements as were actually necessary. A neighbor had put in the spring crops on shares - spring wheat, vegetables, potatoes and corn. But there were more weeds now than corn or potatoes; so Grale went to work with his plow, awkwardly enough at flrst, and his man Stubbs, an uncouth, slow spoken, tobáceo chewing Yankee, with his hoe. Stubbs lived with his wife and numerous proeeny in a very small and tumbledown cottage on the other side of the orchard. In the harvest months a greenhorn was imported f rom Castle Garden to the assistance of the venerable íátubbs, and astonished Kit by his unlimited powers of consumption. A rough, loud voiced, quick tempered, but honest and faithful Irish girl completed the household. And, with Bridget's assistance, Kit put into execution numberless little plans for saving and increasing the proflts of the place. As soon as money enough could be scraped together more cows were bought and poultry. And she was forever busy, keeping the house neat and cheerful, kneading, baking, skimming cream, churning, hunting eggs, setting hens and ducks, tending the broods when they hatched, besides sewing, knitting, and the hundred and one things which are always doing and waiting to be done on a farm. They kept a small sail boat, which Kit named the Foam, and in whiehshe often went round to Hilbury, when any provisions were needed, through the two inlets and the two long winding harbors. Grale went about his work steadily and qnietly. It was hard work for the old salt at first, and often, when things went wrong and worried him, he carne home feeling that he could not go back to the unwonted and distasteful employment But Kit's bright face, that always had its brightest smile for him, invariably cheered him, and helped him on again. He saw her always busy, never showing signs of wearines, always cheery, and thoughtful of numberless little things that could add to hjs comfort or take any strain off him upon nerself. And, seeing her so, he was constantly encouraged to hold on. The neighbors thought him a rather strange, melancholy man, but liked him withal, for his quiet, peaceable ways, never taking offense, always ready to oblige. He would constantly fall into fits of moody thought when not employed, and in these moods he had a trick of unconsciously muttering to himself, as one talks in his sleep. Often and often, Kit came to his side where he sat on the porch, in the pleasant evenings of those summer months, and heard him murmuring: "But I promised her I'd try, and, God helping me, I wilir' Then she would speak to break his gloomy revery. "What were you saying, father? Did you speak to me?" And he would always answer, with a start and a dreamy smile, putting his hand vaguely to his head: "I was thinkin' o' George, Kit girl- thinking o' George." Then she would chatto him, with simple but artful speech, and laugh too, very merrily, often with a heart that was anything but glad, and eyes downcast to hide drops that would glisten when she glanced at the broken face, so lined with the marks of life's battle and defeat Sometimes he would say: "Come, Kit, put away that work- you're workin' too much, an' neit thing you'll be gettin' palé and thin. Come out an' let's go an' get a breath of air. I'ra choked for a f ree blow, Kit, on the blue water." Then they would take the Foam and put her away for the light, if the wind was fair, or beat out slowly, down the long, narrow harbor. Through the inlet, then round the low light house on the bar, on to the north, through the broad bay, and so to the f resh breezes and tumbling waves of the open sound beyond. Somehow the Foam would always take Gull reef in her course, sooner or later, and, standing off shore if it blew, Grale would show her where theship went down; or If the water was smooth, would run in close to the reef and show her the rock on which he and his mate were thrown that night, and from which his flrst and best friend, George Gladwin, dropped to his grave. So the months passed, as months yriXL Grale came gradually, as he grew more ao. customed, to be less moody, and to feel less repugnance to his new calling; grew flnally to take a pleasure that surprised him, in watching the wonderful processes by which the crops grow through the infinite stages of tender shoot, green blade and ripened fruit. Kit was always the same, cheerful, active - doing everything in a quiet, clever way, that it would do you good to see. Things prospered with them, and the prospect seemed every day more pomising. The interest on the mortgage was regularly paid, the stock of the farm increased, and something was laid by toward the payment of the debt. For two years and more they slowly prospered. Then the tide turned, as Grale said once before. The flood was past and ths ebb was swift and sure. The third winter the troubles began. The sheep took to blind Btaggers, got weak in the knees, feil down and got up again many times, then lay still and died by twos and torees. Potatoes, saved for a higher price in the spring, rotted in the cellars. Old BUI, the big bay, went well into the stable one night,, and the next morning lay stark in bis stall, with a noose of his halter drawn tight around his throat A rascally sloop captain took their hay to market when the harbor opened, and cheated them of half the money. A terrible tnow storm came in March, when the young lambs wanted eun and southwest wind, and the poor puling things lay dead by flTW aad tens in a night jtt rained trouble- poprwL Bwiftly tba felOCd came back tgJbUtfim1 face-setUsd there, heavy and lowerlng. It fretted E3t ceaielessly, wearingly. She had troubles of hT own t-m. A thunder storm killed her gosliogs in the shelL Bet, the old sow, mode a breakfast two or three times off a brood of chickens. The milk of the new oow turned out to be ropy, and the churn would go for hours together - half a day sometimos - and may be no butter then for their pains. But she never flinched or faltered. Af brave heart beat in that slight girl's breast as ever of soldier chief who keeps flag flylng over leaguered fortress and flaunts deflance f rom the parapet, though f omine and pestilence stalk gaunt within the walls, and the warder on the tower descries no help or hope! God knows how she fared through it, against tuch odds, hiding a sore, sick heart behind a bright, brave facel ♦ m. It was summer time now, of the same year. The months had worn through, as months will. We may weep or laugh, win. or fail, save or sin- still tides rise and fall, winds come and go, stars shine, birds sing and trees leaf and bloom, wheat and weed grow lusty side by side, days pass and nights succeed. The sun goes down on the bloody battle; the moon swings up in the eastern sky, and the peaeeful light lies calm and white on bomb plowed earth and ghastly, uptnrned face. The same brook prattles sweet thoughts of love to gentle maidens' ears that, in the tangle half a mile nbove, washes the bloody ooze from miirder's tnatted hairl Daily Orale grew more gloomy and absent. He had no heart for work - no lookout now but blank, staring ruin. He did strange things sometimes - little things that frighfc ened Kit, brave as she was. But she made do sign, went about her duty steadily, ever cheerful, active, thoughtful; though a wearinganiiety and dread foreboding were always with her. With her at her work, with her in long, long hours of weary, wakeful nights, with her when she woke with a frightened start from troubled sleep, where it had still been with her, vaguely. horribly. "Oh, night, what prayers you hear, what tears you hidel" The wonted flush faded dowly out of her cheek; she couldnot keep this harrying care from thinning her cheek, but what she could she did. She cheered her father on; tried to give him hope when she saw none herself ; to make him f orget what was ever present to her. They bought another horse of a neighbor to take old BiD'g place, and this, when added to the sum necessary to pay the debts which feil due, took very nearly the whole of the little fund laid up against the mortgage coming due. So they struggled on; the storm cloud, forever shadowing them, grew daüy blacker and nearer, until it should burst in its fury and whelm them in utter ruin. The suramer drew on. The harvest was near. There was no money to pay a man from Castle Garden. Grale got in the oats and hay the best he could, with Stubbs' help, though poor enough help it was. The mortgage feil due on the 2d of June; the twenty days passed by. Promptly carne a note from the lawyer demanding payment within twenty days, on pain of an action of foreelosure. There was no use in begging off, the letter said; the money was waDted; the loan would not be renewed. The words were underlined. Grale grew moodier, more absent, day by day. He went about his work in a dumb, nnseeing way that was pitiful. He forget himself constantly; would teil Stubbs he had ffed the horses of a night, and Kit, hearing 'them paw, would go to the barn and flnd the poor brutes supperless. He would start to take the team to mow, and find himself standing by the mowing machine in the field, staring blankly, with a hoe in his hand. He feit that his mind was going from him, and strove, weakly, blindly, against the terrible ohantom that crept upon him surely. The winter grain ripened and must be cut. Then Stubbs struck. He must have higher wages. He had grown very insolent and ill tempered of late. When Kit remonstrated with him the brute told her he wouldn't work for a madman any more without higher pay. It was too much. Surely sbe had enough before. All the blood in her veins thronged to hercheeks; all the fire of her nature leaped to her tongne at that foul blow. With a wrath in her face that mada the coward quail she ordered him off the place. But he did not know Kit Grale; he would not have tempted her if he had. He laughed a hoarse, brutal laugh, and stood his ground stubbornly. It was too much. Fretted on all hands, her self command weakened by ceaseless anxiety; the fellow'a insolenee maddened her- she hardly knew what she did. They stood out by the barn, bid from the house. Some old hay lugs lay about tbeir feet. She Btooued and picked one up. " WiJl yon go, you bruter' she said. Her face was white now. Almost in despair before, the fellow's insulta drove her wild. She raised the lug menacingly, a strango gleam in her eyes. He backed a step, but faced her stubbornly. 'You needn't to be so high an' mighty,"he eaid, with a coarse laugh and an oath, "with rach a crazy old fooi for a daddy." The club flashed through the air; the man dropped like a log and lay there. Ét tnrned away. She knew she hadn't killed him; thai he'd come back to life soon enough. She had bad a blow at fate in this base fellow's shape, and feit the better for it. She knew she bad done only justice. Then she ran over to the house, where her father had gone when Stubbs bod refused to work. Bridget came out to meet her. She had been faithful to them through all, rough in her ways, but honest, and strongly attached now to Kit and her father. She took her apron from her eyes as she came out. They were red and swollen, and her rough cheeks were wet. "Oh, miss," she said; "do ye go in to yer pa. Sure I think he be goin' quare." Kit went in, fouud him sitting, crouched down, with his head in his hands. She ronsed him, told him she had discharged Stubbs, tried to excite his anger against the wretch- anything to make him shake off this minous lethargy. "It aíu't no use, Kit," he said. "I caa't reap ihe wbeat alone, and it wouldn't be no good if I could. They'd sell us out in a week ort" anyway." No, hey woa't, father; they can't,nsb Mtf. "I got BeU Clearj to sk har brother, and ha says it'll be some time beforetheycansellusout, and we can pay it off at any time bef ore. We must hope f or the best, father. You know you promised me you'd try; for my sake, father, for my sakel" Sbe saw Stubbs, through the windrw, sneaking away across the orchard, witb bis band to his head. Poor Kitl true, tried heartl What should ehe do? What could she dol She had almost cried aloud in her extremity. She turned to hide the tremor in her lips, the blinding tears, the bitter sob that would rise. Prate of true love - manly devotlon - love of knight for ladyl G-ive that slight gírl a risible f oe - steel capped warrior in shirt oT ■mil- give her cbarger and lance in rest- for nis stolid old man's sake, she would ride yon a tilt with the best, charge with all the firo of Bayard in her heart and ctieek, and glory in the mad career, though the knight were Amedis himselfl But this imseen enemy, this horrible phantom that crept upon her father, stpp by step- how could she battlo that? She did not care for poverty - only for him. If she could have sa ved him, she would have bidden them sell, and laughed them to scorn. The world was wide, hers were deft hands and a stout heart. But how to save him - how to save him? She could seeno hope for the future; she shuddered when she looked ahead. But she saw that the present duty was to keep him in action. For her to see was to do. "Come, father," she said. Her voice was clear and cheery- noble hypocrisy I ' 'Come, father, we mustn't let that fellow get the best of us. "We'll show him we can do without him. We'll cut the wheat in spite of him. Pil drive and you'll pull off." "It ain't no use, Kit, girl," he said, gloomüy. But he got up and went with her, as he always did now. They barnessed the horses and drove them np the hill and over to the wheat field beyond. It was the 19th of July, raw and eloudy, strangely eold for the searon. The field had been partly cut, and the reaper stood in the swath. Everything went wrong. The oil was so thick in the can that it would not run; the new horse, Robeii,a young black, was unused to the clatter of the machine, and it was all Kit could do to make him and old brown pull together. Grale sat behind to throw off the sheavea, The grain was dripping wet. It clogged on the platform, would not go off straight, fie tried a little while, but his heart was not ia it. He saw behind him a line of tumbled bundies that no one could bind. Hegave it up. "Hold on, Kit," he caUed. "I can't do it." She saw he could not; then she despaired, She sat still in the driver's seat, her face turned away. She knew not where to look or what to tbinlc Her lips trembled, her heart cried to heaven. What should she do? what should she do! But she would not let him see. She would not give up yet. "Father," she said, "this is my debt, not yonrs. I'll go and see Mr. Wyckel myself. Don't fear, father, I'll get the loan renewed - we'll come out all right yet. Come, father, let's go home. I'll go over to Hilbury in the Foam, take the 3 o'clock train, stop over night with Cousin 'Mar 'a, and come up on the boat to-morrow nigat. " "Don't leave me, Kit," he pleaded. "It aJnt no nse. He's a hard man - a hard man." But she saw no other resource. So she reasoned with him, and he yielded to her, as he always did finally. He helped her launeh the Foam, and watched it glide away down the harbor toward tlielight. To be eontinued.