Chapter VIII: Part 8

"I can't find my kitten anywhere!" she exclaimed, in an indignant tone, "and I don't believe but what Felix Le Bras and Jack Billings have done something with her! I believe they've carried her off! She always comes when I call her the least little bit; but I've called and called, ever so far from the house, too, and I haven't heard a single mew!"

"Perhaps she has wandered off farther than usual, and will be back pretty soon," said Mrs. Peterson soothingly. "I am sure I should have noticed if the boys had a cat about them, when they went past, down the road. They walked close by the piazza, where I was sitting and appeared perfectly innocent and unconcerned."

"I don't care! She's gone! And, if they didn't take her, who has?" returned Julia, sitting down disconsolately in a large rocker, and rocking violently back and forth, in an unabated state of excitement.

At that moment Johnny, who was sitting on the railing at the end of the piazza, holding to the corner post, exclaimed,--

"There comes Felix now! Let's ask him about it."

Julia sprang up, and ran around into the front piazza. Sue followed her closely. Ruth came and stood by Johnny's side, who said to her, "I wonder if it is possible Felix has had any thing to do with the kitten's being missing! If he has, I am afraid there will be another penalty to pay."

"What is a penalty?" asked Ruth.

"Why, if any of us do any thing wrong, my father has some punishment for us, which he calls a penalty."

Felix was a little way down the road. Julia called out,--

"Felix Le Bras, what have you done with my kitten?"

"I haven't done any thing with your kitten," replied Felix. But since he laughed as he spoke, his denial did not have the force that it might have had if he had looked sober and in earnest.

"Why, what's the matter about your kitten? Isn't she all right? The last time I saw her, she was right up here by the house," he continued.

"Didn't Jack carry her off?" asked Julia, looking perplexed.

"No, of course he didn't! We went fishing. Do you suppose we wanted a cat for bait? Look there!"

As he spoke, Felix swung forward a very respectable string of blackfish, with a long eel hanging from their midst. He then ran forward, brandishing the fish and the swinging eel, coming right up on the steps where the girls were standing. Julia and Sue screamed, ran back, and got behind Johnny, who was laughing in spite of his efforts to look dignified.

"Don't you accuse me of carrying off your kitten!" shouted Felix, swinging the eel towards Julia. "I've had enough of your sauce before now, Miss Julia Peterson."

Felix had not noticed Mrs. Peterson until now, when she came forward out of the shady western piazza, saying,--

"No more rudeness, Felix! Go away with your eel!--Do you really know nothing about Julia's kitten?"

"No, ma'am," replied Felix, trying to look more sober and gentlemanly: "what should I know about her kitten?--How do you do, Ruth?--Come along to the house, Johnny, and help me skin these things in time to have them cooked for dinner."

Johnny very willingly followed Felix, taking out and opening his jack-knife as he went. The girls brought up the rear, keeping out of the sweep of Felix's eel; for he was still swinging his arm vigorously, although with apparent carelessness. The carelessness was a pretence, however; for once, when Julia came a little nearer, the tail of the eel swung against her ankle, much to her horror.

"I tell you! but this eel is a slippery fellow! and if he didn't hold on to the hook! I had to pull it out of his mouth by main force, holding him down with my foot. Jack showed me how."

The girls shuddered; but Johnny said, "That's the reason I don't like to catch eels: it is almost impossible to get the hook out of their mouths any other way. I've caught them in the river, down by my grandfather's."

Soon after the fish were dressed, the dinner-bell rang. Mrs. Le Bras left the table after the first course of the dessert; but the children sat for some time over the nuts and candy, chatting merrily. After dinner they went out on the veranda, where the awning had been drawn to keep out the rays of the sun. There was a cool breeze from the water; and the waves curled merrily upon the beach, with a sound not unlike laughter, as they dashed here and there against the white bowlders.

Pierre, who had been writing some law-papers for Mr. Le Bras, in his room, all the morning, was reclining in the hammock when they came out. He offered to give up the hammock, but the children preferred the great comfortable piazza-chairs. Pierre had a book in his hand, but he did not appear to be reading very attentively.

"Shall we disturb your reading, Pierre?" asked Johnny.

"Oh, no! I am not reading: I am only playing at reading. In fact, I am too tired to read," replied Pierre, closing his book: "I think I had rather hear you children talk."

"I miss my laboratory very much," remarked Johnny: "I think I will never go away from home again without bringing my 'Play-Book of Science,' and some materials for making experiments. If I had some of my apparatus and chemicals here, I could amuse and interest the girls very much for a while this afternoon."

"Oh, I wish you had!" said Julia. "I love to see experiments dearly: I've been to some lectures where they had them, with my cousin Ernest, who is at the Philadelphia College of Pharmacy."

"Is that so?" said Johnny. "I should like to know your cousin very much. Is he coming to see you this summer?"

"No: he has gone up into the mountains with his folks."

"What is your 'Play-Book of Science'?" inquired Pierre.

"You wouldn't think it much of a play-book if you could see it; it is one of the deepest books I have; and the experiments are most of them so elaborate that I haven't been able to try them yet, and can't until I get a good deal older. It is a book my father had when he was a boy, and goes into philosophy and chemistry pretty thoroughly. It is very interesting, and has four hundred and seventy pictures illustrating the experiments and principles. There are over four hundred pages of pretty fine print."

"Who is the author of it?"

"Professor Pepper."

"Oh, yes! An English professor. I know. It must be an excellent work."

"And I have the 'Play-Book of Metals,' by the same author."

"Who are the publishers of the books?"

"Routledge & Sons, London."

"I should like to see your laboratory, Johnny," said Julia. "I went into a very large laboratory with Ernest, once: it was full of bottles and all sorts of queer things for performing experiments."

"Johnny's would make you laugh, then," said Felix. "It's a little room; and all his bottles are vials, and they're in a small closet."

"But he's learned a lot up in that laboratory," said Sue. "And he can perform ever so many pretty experiments. You can make fire burn under water, can't you, Johnny?"

"Yes: I learned that out of the 'Play-Book.'"

"I don't see how you can make any thing burn under water," remarked Ruth; "for water puts out fire."

"Can't you tell, Felix?" asked Johnny.

"How can I tell?"

"You remember about the gunpowder burning shut up in the holes the men drilled?"

"Yes. That was because fire is produced by the oxygen of the air uniting with the carbon and hydrogen in other substances; and although the air is shut out in the drill-hole, there is oxygen in the nitre, which unites with the sulphur and charcoal."

"Bravo, Felix!" exclaimed Pierre: "you may be a scholar yet! I didn't think Johnny had got you as far as that."

"Oh, yes! What with Johnny and you and uncle Frank, I'm getting quite learned, I guess. Can't you begin to call me professor, girls?"

"Not till you know more than that," said Sue; "for I know that."

"Felix has got the idea about the fire under water, I guess," said Johnny. "You see, I mix some nitrate of potash, powdered charcoal, sulphur, and nitrate of strontium, and put it into a long narrow paper case, tightly closed with gum. I set it on fire at the bottom, and sink it in the water by a piece of lead hung to it."

"And sometimes the fire is red," said Sue.

"Yes; but I have a different mixture for the red fire. You see, Ruth, the reason water puts out fire is because it shuts out the oxygen by shutting out the air. If you can furnish oxygen to a combustible material under water, you can burn it under water. As I put something in my mixture to furnish oxygen, I have a fire without any trouble. But I have seen a larger laboratory than the one you saw, Julia."

"Where?"

"Oh! I've seen one in everyplace I ever was in.--That's a riddle for you. See who'll guess it first."

"No, you haven't seen one in every place you were ever in; for you haven't seen one here at the beach?" replied Julia.

"Yes, I have."

"It's some nonsense," said Felix. "We'll give it up. There's no fun in trying to guess riddles that have a catch in them: you never can guess them."

"I can see a part of a great laboratory from where I am sitting," returned Johnny, who was sitting on the doorstep. "Or, at least, I can see a part of one of its distilleries."

Pierre began to smile.

"I can't see any of its great retorts," continued Johnny, "nor the furnaces under them, nor the gas burned as it comes out. But I can see a good many of the contrivances for storing up heat so that it can be kept cool in a very useful, beautiful form until the heat is needed, when it can very easily be brought out again in flames. And I can see some more of the stored heat that has gone through a second process, by which it serves the purpose of slow combustion, which gives heat and force without any light."

Pierre began to laugh. "Can't you guess the riddle now?" he said.

But the children still looked puzzled.

"Oh! I haven't been trying to guess," said Felix: "I think riddles are more trouble than they are worth."

"There is a good deal of the slow combustion going on in this veranda," continued Johnny, "and some of the stored-up force; though the machines might be made a good deal more active, if it were not just after dinner-time, when the fuel that's been put in is in a pretty compact form, and hasn't begun to be distributed much. In an hour or two the machines may get quite antic."

"He means us, by the machines, don't he?" said Julia.

"But what do you mean by the great retorts?" asked Felix.

"And the heat stored up in a cool form?" added Ruth.

"And the big distillery?" queried Sue.

"I should think you would know about the big distilleries, yourself, Sue. Come and sit here by me, and you can see quite a piece of one of them."

Sue came and sat down by Johnny.

"Now look right ahead."

"I don't see any thing but the water, and a blue strip of land beyond."

"And which would the distillery have in it? land or water?"

"Why, water.--He means the sea."

"I mean the Atlantic Ocean for one of the distilleries, a part of which I see from here."

"What do you call that a distillery for?" asked Felix.

"Why, distilling is obtaining a liquor in a pure form, by vaporizing it, and then cooling the vapor back into liquid form. Vapor is pure liquid: no mineral substances can be taken up in it. I have a little apparatus at home for distilling water. I can take well-water, which has mineral substances in it, and obtain the water quite free from any thing else. That is what is going on from the oceans, and, in a smaller way, from the rivers, lakes, and ponds. The heat of the sun causes the water, which, you know, here at the ocean is very salt, and full of other impurities, to rise in pure vapor, and form clouds overhead. The winds carry the clouds over the land: they become condensed by cooling, and fall in rain. The rain, which is pure water, except for the little particles of various things floating in the air which it brings down with it, soaks into the ground, forming springs, and helps to swell the ponds and lakes and rivers, and so it gets mineral and other substances in it again, especially salt, which is found in small quantities in all spring-water, and this impure water is carried to the ocean again to be purified; that is, it is carried back to the great distillery, to be made into pure rain-water. What I can't make out is, what is to keep the ocean from getting too salt by and by, since considerable salt is always coming into it from the rivers. What do you think about it, Pierre?"

"There are various ways by which the ocean gets rid of some of its salt, the most important of which is the making of salt, by men, out of salt water; and the natural manufacture, by the salt water lodging in the rocks, and then evaporating, and leaving the salt, which is collected in large quantities. There may be some way of its escaping, too, that has not been found out. I am pretty sure there is some natural provision by which the ocean can never become too salt, as long as the earth is intended for the home of man."

"I thought the reason why the ocean is salt, is because there is a great deal of salt in the bottom, which washes up into the water," remarked Ruth.

"That may be one reason," replied Johnny; "though the books don't say so. Don't you think, Pierre, that a good deal of the salt may have come from salt deposits under the oceans?"

"I don't see why not. There is a great amount of surface under the oceans, and it would be a wonder if there were not great deposits of salt there, as well as on the land; although they must be pretty well covered up by this time, by ocean deposits."

"But how about those retorts?" asked Felix, who had seen Johnny's experiment of making a little retort out of a clay pipe.

"I don't know what a retort is," remarked Julia.

"Nor I," said Ruth.

"A retort is a place where you heat any combustible very hot, without letting the air get to it. Of course, if there is no oxygen at hand, it can't burn; and so the heat merely causes the hydrogen to separate from the carbon, in the form of gas. They have large retorts at the gas-works, in which they heat soft coal excluded from the air; and, you know, the gas that is driven out is carried through pipes into the houses and stores, and then, when the gas is allowed to escape from one of the jets, they light it, and, because there is oxygen around, it burns steadily until you shut it off; that is, until you exclude the air."

"But how about your retorts in your big laboratory?" asked Felix.

"The largest that I have heard of," continued Johnny, "is around Pittsburg. That is in the soft-coal region. The heat in the earth has driven off the gas, or hydrogen, from the coal in the mines. Once, when they were boring a well, some of this pent-up gas, which was where they happened to be boring, burst out in a kind of explosion, tearing their boring apparatus all to pieces, and frightening the workmen pretty thoroughly. Afterwards the gas at this hole got on fire, and burned in a great big jet. But it was some time before the Pittsburg folks got it through their heads that nature had some monstrous big gas-works under them, so that they had only to pipe the gas, and bring it into their houses and manufactories, to get rid of using the coal that made Pittsburg such a black, smoky city. But they found it out after a while; and now they have not only natural-gas lights, but gas-fires in their manufactories, so that the atmosphere is as pure in Pittsburg as in any other manufacturing city."

"Then, the coal from which the gas came must be coke," said Felix, "something like that folks buy at the gas-works, after they have got the gas out?"

"Yes: it is the carbon of coal without the hydrogen, and so it does not burn with a flame; the flame of a fire is the burning of the hydrogen which escapes from the coal or wood when it is heated, and its burning, as it rises, makes the flames that leap up and curve about so in a fire. The anthracite coal is coal which has had most of the hydrogen driven out by heat."

"I wish you would tell us now," said Ruth, "about the stored-up heat in a cool form. I've been wondering about that most of all."

"You know plants can't grow without sunlight, Ruth?"

"Yes; that is, I know that if they don't have sunlight, they will grow very white, as they do when they are in a cellar."

"If the cellar were perfectly cold and dark, they would not grow at all; but they grow, as you have seen them, because there is some sunlight and sunheat, even in a cellar. The heat of the sun causes the plants to grow by taking in carbon from the air, and hydrogen from the water in the earth, and in rain and dew, and so the carbon and hydrogen are gradually stored up in the plants and trees; of course, there is the largest quantity in trees, because they grow large and solid. And it has been proved that you can get just as much heat by burning these things afterwards, that is, making the carbon and hydrogen unite with the oxygen from which they had been taken away, as there was heat of the sun expended in the process of their growing, or gathering up carbon and hydrogen."

"I remember about your telling that before, at the doctor's when I hurt my head; but I don't see how they ever proved it," said Felix.

"You could understand by studying it up. I have books that tell how it was proved. So, you see, it amounts to this,--that the heat from the sun is stored up some way, in the things that have grown out of the earth; and the very amount of heat stored, without a particle of waste, can be got out of the combustible a thousand or more years after it was bottled up in that way."

"Not a thousand years!" exclaimed Julia. "Trees don't live to be a thousand years old."

"Yes,--the big trees of California," said Ruth.

"That's so," said Johnny; "but I was thinking of the coal mines which are old, buried forests packed hard under ground, where the stored heat has been preserved so long, and will be preserved for no one knows how many hundreds and thousands of years to come."

"But it will get used up sometime, and all the forests get cut off: I've heard my father say so," said Felix.

"I suppose so; but by that time we shall have found out how to burn water."

"To burn water!" exclaimed all but Pierre.

"Yes. They can burn water now, only the process is too expensive; but by that time they will have found some very cheap way. That is what the scientific men are pretty certain of. Water is composed of hydrogen and oxygen; and, you see, hydrogen is very inflammable, being what we burn for gas, and that which burns in a fire to make the flame, while oxygen is the very gas it must have in order to burn."

"Then, I don't see why water isn't very inflammable indeed," said Felix wonderingly. "I wonder the oceans and rivers and lakes haven't burned up and set all the rest of the world on fire."

"Why, you see, the hydrogen in water won't unite with the oxygen in the air, because it has all the oxygen it wants already. It has got to be separated from the oxygen it has, before it will be ready to take in oxygen, and so cause fire."

"Oh!" said Felix. "But I shouldn't think it would be so hard to get it away from its oxygen."

"It is, though," said Johnny; "for hydrogen and oxygen have a very great liking, or affinity, for each other."

"I should think, then," said Felix musingly, "if water is composed of hydrogen and oxygen, that, when hydrogen combines with oxygen in the burning of gas or a common fire, they would form water."

"So they do," said Johnny.

"Oh, no, they don't!" exclaimed Julia.

"Yes; although you do not notice it, because the water is in the form of a fine vapor which passes off through the air. But I could prove to you, if you were in my laboratory, that the flame of even a little taper produces water. I have performed that experiment a good many times."

"Yes, he has," said Sue; "I've seen him: the water settles on the glass, just as if you had breathed on it."

"And it can be done so that the drops will trickle down the sides of the receiver," said Johnny.

"But how about the slow combustion going on in this veranda, Johnny?" asked Sue.

"Slow combustion goes on in animals. They eat the plants in which the sun has stored up heat, or other animals whose bodies have been formed out of the stored heat in plants, and the carbon and hydrogen go into their blood, and are carried by the blood to the lungs, where they come in contact with the oxygen of the air, under a moderate heat, to make more heat, by uniting with the oxygen to form carbonic-acid gas, which is breathed out into the air to help furnish carbon for the plants."

"But there are no animals in this veranda, except a few flies," said Julia.

"Oh, yes!" said Sue. "There's you and I, and Johnny and Felix, and Ruth and Pierre!"

"I am not an animal!" exclaimed Julia indignantly. "Am I, Johnny?"

"The part of us that dies is animal," replied Johnny, "just as much as Clyde or these flies are animals."

"No," persisted Julia: "we are folks."

"Our bodies are the highest kind of animals," said Johnny, smiling. "You and Ruth are very good-looking animals."

"That's a pretty compliment!" exclaimed Julia. "Now I have been called an animal, I have a mind to go right home. At any rate, I am going home to see if I can find my kitten. If she is coming back at all, I am sure she has come by this time."

"Let me go with you," said Felix mischievously.

"No, you don't! But Sue can go."

"You come, too, Ruth," said Sue.

"No, thank you," replied Ruth. "I think I ought to be going down to the cottages by this time: I will ask your mother to excuse me a little while, while I go to inquire if any one wants to hire a children's maid."

"I think I'll go up with Ruth to see mamma, then," said Sue, "for I am to go down to the cottages with Ruth."

"Why, they'll think you want to hire out, too, Sue," replied Julia.

"I don't care if they do. Come, Ruth."

Sue took Ruth's hand, and they went upstairs, while Julia ran home to find the kitten. By this time, Pierre had fallen asleep in the hammock.

"I guess, while the girls are gone, I'll go out and pick some huckleberries for supper, father is so fond of them," said Johnny; "and Katie says we haven't more than half enough. She wanted us all to pick some; but it was too warm after dinner, and I don't believe the girls will be back in time. It is getting cool now, because there is such a breeze."

"I'll bet there'll be a storm before long," replied Felix, looking at the sky. "But it's too stupid picking berries! Can't we do something else?"

"Perhaps you can, but I promised Katie," replied Johnny, going to the kitchen for a tin pail. As Felix did not want to be left alone, and could not think of any thing better to do, he followed Johnny to the huckleberry pasture behind the house, with a tin cup in his hand. "It is easier to pick in a cup than in a pail," he said.

"Why?" asked Johnny.

"Because it fills up sooner, and that is encouraging."

Pretty soon the boys saw Oliver harnessing the dog-cart; and, a little after, Julia came out into the pasture with a pail, saying she could not find the kitten, and she fully believed Jack had carried it off, whether Felix knew about it or not.

"He hasn't done any such thing!" returned Felix: "he couldn't have taken it without my seeing it, and I am positively certain he had no kitten with him when we went down the road."

The dog-cart was brought around to the door, and Sue and Ruth drove down to the row of cottages. When they reached the first cottage, Ruth got out, and inquired at the door if they would like to hire a nurse-girl. Sue drove to the pavilion, and then, having hitched the pony, joined Ruth in the tour of inquiry. In the whole row of cottages, they found only one where a girl was wanted: this was a neat yellow cottage with red blinds, which was set quite a way back from the beach. There were a number of children playing about the piazzas. They seemed fretful and quarrelsome; and when Ruth asked one of the little girls what her name was, she replied, "None of your business!" The lady of the house was a short, fleshy woman, with a good many rings on her fingers. She looked at Ruth coolly from head to foot, asking her a good many questions, especially in regard to her references.

"My uncle keeps the lighthouse, ma'am, and he'll come down and tell you about me."

"But I don't know any thing about the lighthouse keeper. And if he is your uncle, of course he will recommend you."

"My mother will tell you what a nice girl she is," said Sue.

"And who is your mother?"

"She's Mrs. Le Bras."

"That lives in Mr. Louis Le Bras' cottage this season?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Very well, that will do: I will try to come up and see Mrs. Le Bras, to-morrow or next day."

After the cottages had all been visited, and they were walking back to the dog-cart, Sue said,--

"I did not like that woman with the rings at all."

"I didn't think the children were well behaved, either," replied Ruth soberly; "but then, I don't suppose there could be a place just right, perhaps, and they are the only family that want a girl: and if I change my mind about wanting to hire out, I am afraid my aunt won't like it at all; though my uncle will be glad."

"I wouldn't go there, anyhow," said Sue; "folks are moving out and in these cottages almost every week, Oliver says, and there may be some nice family who will want a girl before long. But I think it will be nicer to stay with your uncle, and then we can visit back and forth, and have good times. If you get hired, they won't let you visit, or any one come to see you."

"I'm afraid my aunt won't let me visit, or have any one come to see me, either," replied Ruth, wiping a tear from her eye: "she wouldn't have let me come over here to-day, if she hadn't thought that maybe it would help me get a place to work."

"I don't think she is nice at all!" exclaimed Sue.

Ruth made no reply.

"Why! how awful dark and windy it's getting!" said Sue: "I guess we'll have to hurry home, or we'll get caught in the rain."

Ruth had been so taken up with sober thoughts, that she had not noticed the change in the weather; but she and Sue now hastened their steps, and were soon driving home as fast as the pony seemed willing to take them, which was at a rather moderate trot.

They had gone but a little distance, before there was a rumbling of thunder, and some large drops flew in their faces.

"I'm awful 'fraid we can't get home before it comes right down; and I'm kind of 'fraid of thunder, aren't you?" said Sue. "I do wish I'd brought that whip!"

"I am not afraid of thunder or lightning," replied Ruth encouragingly. "My uncle and I sometimes go up into the lighthouse to see the lightning: it is better than fireworks."

There was a team driving very fast behind them. Sue turned to one side to give it plenty of room.

"Hallo, youngsters!" said a familiar voice.

"Why, papa!" exclaimed Sue.

The carriage with the two gentlemen stopped.

"Hold on, Sue!" said Mr. Le Bras.

Sue stopped.

"They must get in with us, and let the pony shift for himself; since he will never get there before the shower," said a hearty voice that Sue did not recognize. She looked up just as the light buggy stopped at the side of the dog-cart, and saw a large, fine-looking gentleman in the buggy with her father. He was holding the reins. He and Mr. Le Bras quite filled up the narrow seat of the light vehicle. "Hand 'em over," continued the gentleman, as Mr. Le Bras alighted.

Mr. Le Bras helped Ruth out first, and put her in the buggy. The stout gentleman took her on his knees, and gave her a hug.

"Well, my dear!" said he, "we'll save you from a wetting, if possible." Mr. Le Bras put Sue in, and, after tying the reins over the pony's back, slapped him, and told him to hurry up. The pony jogged on at a very little faster pace; while Mr. Le Bras got into the buggy, and took Sue in his lap. Mr. Frothingham started the fast horse. They left the pony behind them. The drops came thicker and faster, a flash of lightning half blinded them; but they reached the house just as the storm came on in its fury, with thunder and lightning, and pelting rain. The pony was far behind, coolly making his way at his ordinary jog-trot, like a sedate philosopher. Oliver took Mr. Frothingham's team to the barn, and gave the horse some oats. Mr. Le Bras ushered his guest into the parlor. Mr. Frothingham followed him, leading Ruth and Sue by the hand.

"So you are the lighthouse keeper's niece?" he said to Ruth, as he seated himself in the great arm-chair, which Mr. Le Bras drew forward for him, and took a girl on each knee: "why, I've played with him many a time, when we were barefooted boys together."

"You!" exclaimed Ruth.

"You don't mean that you were ever a bare-footed boy, and lived about here?" exclaimed Sue, equally astonished.

"Why not, now?" replied Mr. Frothingham laughing; while Mr. Le Bras went up-stairs to ask his wife to come down and see their guest.

"Because," said Sue, "you're all dressed up, and wear a diamond pin. And aren't you the man that lives up in the big cottage, and that Felix says is a millionnaire, with more money than he knows what to do with?"

"That may all be true, my dear: but you know we live in America, where a barefooted boy may have as good a chance as any man, and perhaps better; because, you see, if I hadn't been a barefooted boy, who knew how to work and how to save, as very few do know how except poor men's children, I might never have been able to wear a diamond pin,--though that isn't of much consequence,--or build a cottage by the grand old sea, and have time to come and spend a summer in enjoying nature, when I am getting to be too old and heavy to want to work as hard as a young man can."

When Mrs. Le Bras came down, she, too, was surprised to learn that Mr. Frothingham had been born in that neighborhood, and had lived there until he was almost a young man.

"Certainly," said Mr. Frothingham. "I was born in a little brown farmhouse over towards the quarry: my father was the minister of the church over on the hill. He had a very small salary, and the farm helped support us."

"The white meeting-house with green blinds?" asked Felix; for he and Johnny had come in to see Mr. Frothingham.

"The very same, my boy: only it has been repainted and repaired inside, since my day. This little girl's grandfather was a near neighbor of ours, and one of my father's best parishioners. He was a very honest, kind-hearted, straightforward man; and his wife was a very dear friend of my mother's. Ethan was the oldest of the family, and worked hard, from the time he was big enough to handle a hoe; he had the hardest time of any of the children, and didn't get the schooling the others did; but that was partly because he was so ambitious about working, that he would not stop to go to school. It was a mistake, but he meant it all right; and he's helped his folks, and been an industrious, saving man. As for this little girl's mother,--and she looks just like her,--how well I remember Lucy! she was always one of the best scholars in school: we were in the same class. I saw her nearly every day of my life, and never too often, until I went to the city. When I came back, and found she was married to a nice young farmer here, I was a good deal taken back, for a while.--You see, it was my love for the old scenes that made me build a cottage here. When a man gets along in life, he likes to come back to the place where he was born: no other place can be quite so dear. I hoped once to have my children spend half of every year where I passed my childhood; but they are both gone. Mary, a girl of about Ruth's size, died over a year ago, and my wife hasn't been like herself since. Our boy died before the cottage was finished, and Mary only spent one season here."

"I am so sorry for you and your wife," said Mrs. Le Bras: "I don't know what I should do without my children."

"I have been telling Mr. Frothingham what I should do," remarked Mr. Le Bras.

"Yes," said Mr. Frothingham; "but, as I said in reply, there are some objections."

At that moment, the tea-bell rang; and, as it was still raining, Mr. Frothingham was persuaded to go out to tea with them.

"How came you home so early, father?" asked Johnny. "Mother thought you wouldn't be back until in the evening."

"We saw the squall coming up," replied Mr. Le Bras; "and I told Mr. Frothingham, as your mother was so timid, I thought, as we were not far out, we had better put in before the storm."

"I am so thankful you did," said Mrs. Le Bras: "I should have been worried; I have heard of so many accidents to yachts lately."

"Mine is not one of that kind, and I have a very expert man to sail it," replied Mr. Frothingham; "but I never like to have a lady unhappy if I can help it, and so I made for land as soon as your husband told me how easily you are frightened."

It stopped raining about the time tea was over, but still looked dark and lowering. Mrs. Le Bras said she must take Ruth home, according to her promise; or, if the gentlemen thought it would rain again, she would send her with Oliver, and call on her uncle and aunt some pleasant day herself.

"Why, I can take the child home, with my fast horse, without danger of getting caught in the next shower," replied Mr. Frothingham. "I would like to see Ethan too: I haven't been over to the lighthouse yet this season, for a wonder, or I should have known of his good luck in getting possession of Lucy's girl."

So it was concluded that Ruth should go with Mr. Frothingham. Oliver brought the team around; and after the children had said good-by, and that Ruth must come again soon, Mr. Frothingham put her in the buggy, got in himself, and drove off, taking the road across to the shore, to be ahead of the rain that seemed threatening. He talked sociably and kindly and interestingly all the way; and Ruth almost forgot it was a great man by her side instead of a boy of about her own age, he laughed so heartily, and took a child's view of things so easily. The fact was, Mr. Frothingham was one of those men who never wholly outgrow their childhood: he could feel like a boy after he was a middle-aged man.

When they reached the lighthouse, Mr. Shepard, who had seen them coming, was standing on the doorstep to welcome them.

"How do you do, Ethan?" said Mr. Frothingham, grasping Mr. Shepard's hand warmly.

"How d'y' do, Henry?" replied Mr. Shepard as heartily; "so it's you that have brought home that gal of mine! Glad enough to see you."

Mr. Shepard led the way into the parlor, and threw open all the window-blinds in a hurry.

"I can't see what wimmin want to keep out all the daylight for," he said; "but that's Martha's way.--You go tell yer aunt there's a friend of mine here, Ruth, an' I'd like to introduce her."

Ruth went to tell her aunt, and Mr. Shepard continued,--

"I b'lieve you ha'n't seen my new wife yet?"

"No. I hope you've drawn a prize in the lottery, Ethan."

"Wall, I don't know what I've drawn; somethin', that's sure." Here Mr. Shepard looked ominously sober. "The wust thing I've found out yet is that she's plaguey jealous."

"Jealous!" exclaimed Mr. Frothingham, in astonishment. "Why, it can't be possible, Ethan. You are not the kind of a man to give a woman the slightest excuse for jealousy."

"Wall, you see how't is, Henry: she's jealous of that pretty little niece of mine."

"Jealous of that dear little girl!" exclaimed Mr. Frothingham, in astonishment.

"Well, yes. I s'pose it's kind o' nat'ral, perhaps, bein' as she's jest married, or not onto a year yet, that she might want to be the only person of consequence 'round: that's what they tell me. But as my fust wife wasn't like that, I wasn't a-lookin' for it in another woman."

"I see!" replied Mr. Frothingham gravely: "she don't treat Ruth badly, does she?"

"Well, no; she don't do that exactly; she knows 'twouldn't be safe; but there's ways of making a child mighty on comfortable, I find, without out and out abusin' her."

"Exactly."

"You see, it's plain enough to Ruth that she don't want her here, and she isn't pleasant with her like; and so the gal is lonely and homesick. There was a lot of children at home,--and Lucy was mighty pleasant, you know."

"Yes, yes! Lucy was a gem!"

"Well, losing her mother and all, and it bein' sech a change here with Martha, it's putty hard on her; and she's took it inter her head, and my wife she's pressed the matter, that she'd ruther go and take care of children in some pleasant family than live here at the lighthouse. I thought as how you'd find out pretty soon, an' I might as well tell you fust as last what it means. You know well enough that it an't like me to let my own sister's child, and sech a sister as Lucy was, go out to work if I could help it; but I ha'n't no home but this to give her, and if she'd ruther go somewheres else,--and I can't blame her none,--why, I don't want to stand in her way; and so I haven't said she couldn't go, if she can find a good place; though I do feel mighty bad about it, all 'round."

"This is very serious, Ethan. I'm sorry enough for you. We must see what can be done. There's always more than one way out of a difficulty, if we set to work to find it."

"I thought, the minute I saw you coming a-bringing Ruth, that you were the very man to go to for advice. If she must go out to work, perhaps you'd know of some good family where she'd be kind o' treated like one of the family, and not put upon. She's a mighty smart gal to work, neat and orderly, jest like her mother, for all the world, and she's got her nice pretty ways about her; she's handy with a needle too; and sech a hand for books and papers! She's a mighty smart scholar, so they say, those that knew her in town."

Just then Mrs. Shepard came in, with her best dress on, to see the great millionnaire, whom her husband had the honor to be acquainted with. She appeared at her very best, seeming quite amiable, and did not even remind her husband that he had let all the flies into the room, and it would take her half a day to get them out again. Mr. Frothingham was very polite to her. She thought him a very charming gentleman indeed. As he rose to go, he said,--

"I must say good-by to Ruth, of course: we are old friends now."

"Oh! she's got on her common dress, and won't want to come in," replied Mrs. Shepard. "I'll tell her you left a good-by."

"I never leave my good-bys, with children of her age, anywhere but on their lips, if I can help it," replied Mr. Frothingham. "I've had children of my own, Mrs. Shepard, and I'm very fond of all children for their sakes, if for no other reason; though I think I'm naturally fond of young folks."

Mr. Shepard had left the room as soon as Mr. Frothingham asked for Ruth; and he now entered, leading her by the hard.

"Here she is, Henry," he said. "Isn't she lots like Lucy now?"

"That she is," replied Mr. Frothingham, kissing her. "Good-by, my little friend. I sha'n't let you forget me, though; for I shall be over to the lighthouse pretty often, and I'm going to bring my wife with me next time. She is very fond of little girls."

Before Mrs. Shepard could recover from her astonishment at this demonstration regarding Ruth, Mr. Frothingham was in his buggy, and driving homewards very fast, over the road by which Felix and Johnny had come to the lighthouse that evening, which was the nearest way to the great cottage. The sky was very dark, and there were more mutterings of thunder.

*CHAPTER XIII.*

*GOING TO THE HARBOR.*

Mr. Le Bras told Pierre that a friend of Mr. Frothingham, who was a guest at the large hotel at the Harbor, had gone out with them in the yacht, and had stated, incidentally, that he was anxious to find some good teacher of German to instruct his son in that language; since the young man was to travel in Germany in the fall, and it would be an advantage to know something about the language to begin with. He said he had spoken of Pierre, and recommended him; and the gentleman was anxious that he should come down to the hotel the next day, and hold an interview with himself and his son. Pierre was much pleased: he understood the German language as well as he understood English, and this would give him an opportunity to earn something during vacation. Mr. Le Bras said they would go down to the Harbor, then, in the morning, and Mrs. Le Bras and the children could go too, if they wished. Mrs. Le Bras replied that she had other plans for the next morning, and the children could ask Julia in her place, if they liked. The invitation was, accordingly, given to Julia, much to her delight. She said she liked to go to the hotel, it was such a gay place, and her mother always let her wear her best clothes when she went there.

They started the next morning about ten. Mr. Le Bras said they would not be home to dinner, but would dine at the hotel, so as to spend the afternoon, and give the children a good chance to see all the sights at the Harbor. He should go into town on business in the afternoon, and if the children and Pierre preferred to go with him rather than remain at the Harbor, they could do so.

Julia was dressed very handsomely, and wore a diamond ring, which shone brightly through her delicate, colored mitts.

"I wish Ruth was with us too," said Sue, as the horses pranced off down the shell road.

"What! in that blue calico?" replied Julia, laughing.

Sue, thus reminded, thought, herself, the blue calico would look rather odd in the fine carriage, by the side of their best clothes; and yet, somehow, it didn't seem as though it ought to, since the blue calico was the best dress Ruth had, and it was not her fault that she could not dress as well as they did.

"She's a real nice girl, anyhow," said Sue, "and just as good as we are,--if not better."

"It don't make any difference about her being good," returned Felix: "rich folks are rich folks, and poor folks are poor folks, and they can't go together."

"Yes, they can," returned Sue: "we went together yesterday, and had a real good time."

"I mean they can't go together and take dinner at a big hotel: they can't go together where folks have to be dressed up and look smart."

"I think it's too bad, anyhow," said Sue emphatically.

"So do I!" said Johnny. "I guess that's the reason folks don't like to be poor: they can't have as good times as rich folks, and they have to be looked down upon. I shouldn't like to be poor."

"I am poor, and yet I have a pretty good time, Johnny," remarked Pierre.

"And you and I are not rich, my son, and yet we manage to be pretty cheerful," added Mr. Le Bras.

"But we're not so very poor," replied Johnny: "Pierre dresses well, and so do we, and no one would think of calling us poor."

"Then, it is about as good as if we were rich," said Mr. Le Bras; "and perhaps it is better, though we are not apt to think so. It is my opinion that Pierre enjoys that new suit of his far more for having had to work hard in my office to earn it; and I don't enjoy seeing you and Sue in your best clothes any the less, because I have had to do some writing and talking in my office, or some speech-making in court, to purchase them. I cannot have just the kind of enjoyment Mr. Frothingham has in his fine yacht; but perhaps I manage to have just as good a time some other way, even when I do not have the advantage of your uncle's cottage by the sea. You and I have had pretty good times, before this summer, Johnny."

"Oh, yes!" said Johnny. "I think we have grand times at home."

"And often with nothing more costly than a book out of a free library. Don't go to having the dreary thought that persons who are not rich cannot enjoy themselves; for if that were so, the great portion of the people in the world would be miserable, and that would be a sad thing to think of. I shouldn't wonder if Ruth were enjoying herself in some way over at the lighthouse, as much as we are here in the carriage."

"I don't believe she is," said Sue; "because her mother is dead, and her aunt don't like to have her stay there."

"But that isn't because she is poor. If her own mother were there, she might be happy."

"Oh, yes! I could be real happy there, myself, seeing the waves, and hearing them clash, if you and mamma and Johnny were there; and it wouldn't make any difference if I had on my very worst dress."

"Wouldn't you be just a little happier if you had on a diamond ring like Julia's?" asked Felix quizzically.

"Perhaps I should for a little while; but I would rather papa should have a diamond pin like Mr. Frothingham's. Didn't it shine beautifully?"

"A diamond is nothing but carbon," remarked Johnny; "and charcoal is carbon too. I will give papa a piece of charcoal to wear."

"Ho, ho!" laughed Felix: "that's a yarn! A diamond is just as different from charcoal as possible!"

"How?" asked Johnny.

"Why, it's white, and charcoal is black; it's transparent, and charcoal isn't; it won't rub off, and charcoal will; it won't burn up like charcoal, and it's worth no end of times more."

"But they are both carbon just the same; and those lozenges you are eating are principally carbon, too, although they are a good deal whiter than charcoal. You haven't any idea how much charcoal you are eating, when you eat sugar or candy. There isn't any particular difference between the whitest of sugar and charcoal, except that the particles are so arranged as to reflect or absorb light differently. I can take a handful of white sugar, and, by putting in something to change the arrangement of the particles, make it look as much like charcoal as it is, just as black as your boot, and spread out into a great deal larger space than it occupied before."

"Yes, he can," said Sue: "I've seen him do it."

"Well, I'd like to see him do it, before I believe it."

"I'll do it when we get home, to-night, if you will give me five cents, and papa will get me some acid to do it with, when he goes into town. The kind of acid I want will cost five cents."

"All right! here's your five cents," replied Felix, taking the amount from his pocket-book.

"After you have seen it proved that sugar is like charcoal, perhaps you can believe more easily that a diamond is. The particles of carbon in a diamond are packed very closely together, and in such a way as to reflect the rays of light beautifully, and separate them like a prism, when it is cut right. It is so hard, that it is not easy to burn it,--that is, to separate the particles by heat, and make them combine with the oxygen in the air,--but it will burn up if subjected to very strong heat indeed. There's no danger of your diamond burning up, though, Julia, even though you should drop it into the fire by accident; for a fire in a stove wouldn't be hot enough."

"I'm glad of that," replied Julia.

"I don't see as chemistry does so very much good," remarked Felix: "it only tells you about things; it don't make any thing."

"O Felix!" exclaimed Johnny: "there are hardly any of the arts that can be carried on without chemicals, or things chemists have learned how to make; and some of the most useful discoveries in the world have been made by chemists."

"Tell him about the way they learned how to make Bessemer steel out of common iron, as an example, Johnny," said Pierre.

"Well. You see, Felix, they can't make Bessemer steel out of iron that has much phosphorus in it; and most of the iron in the world has a good deal of phosphorus in it; and about all in our country and England has. So the English had to buy the pure iron in Spain, or some other country, and bring it over at a great cost, to make Bessemer steel of."

"Why didn't they take the phosphorus out of the iron?"