"Nonsense, nonsense," said I, my eyes earnestly fixed upon my open
medical case.

"I suppose a mustard-plaster on the back of her neck--"

"Wouldn't do at all," I interrupted.  "Wait a minute, now--yes--I know
what I will do: I will give her sodium bromide--ten grains."

"`Which will hit if it's a deer and miss if it's a calf' as the hunter
said?" inquired Uncle Beamish.

"It will certainly not injure her," said I, "and I am quite sure it
will be a positive advantage.  If there has been cerebral disturbance,
which has subsided temporarily, it will assist her to tide over the
interim before its recurrence."

"All right," said Uncle Beamish, "give it to me, and I'll be off.  It's
time I showed up ag'in."

He did not stay up-stairs very long this time.

"No symptoms yit, but the patient looked at me as if she wanted to say
somethin'; but she didn't git no chance, for the old lady set herself
down as if she was planted in a garden-bed and intended to stay there.
But the patient took the medicine as mild as a lamb."

"That is very good," said I.  "It may be that she appreciates the
seriousness of her ewe better than we do."

"I should say she wants to git well," he replied.  "She looks like that
sort of a person to me.  The old woman said she thought we would have
to stay awhile till the storm slackened, and I said, yes, indeed, and
there wasn't any chance of its slackenin' to-night; besides, I wanted
to see the patient before bedtime."

At this moment the door opened and the servant-woman came in.

"She says you are to have supper, and it will be ready in about half an
hour.  One of you had better go out and attend to your horse, for the
man is not coming back to-night."

"I will go to the barn," said I, rising.  Uncle Beamish also rose and
said he would go with me.

"I guess you can find some hay and oats," said the woman, as we were
putting on our coats and overshoes in the kitchen, "and here's a
lantern.  We don't keep no horse now, but there's feed left."

As we pushed through the deep snow into the barn, Uncle Beamish said:

"I've been tryin' my best to think where we are without askin' any
questions, and I'm dead beat.  I don't remember no such house as this
on the road."

"Perhaps we got off the road," said I.

"That may be," said he, as we entered the barn.  "It's a straight road
from Warburton to the pike near my sister's house, but there's two
other roads that branch off to the right and strike the pike further
off to the east.  Perhaps we got on one of them in all that darkness
and perplexin' whiteness, when it wasn't easy to see whether we were
keepin' a straight road or not."

The horse neighed as we approached with a light.

"I would not be at all surprised," said I, "if this horse had once
belonged here and that was the reason why, as soon as he got a chance,
he turned and made straight for his old home."

"That isn't unlikely," said Uncle Beamish, "and that's the reason we
did not pass Crocker's.  But here we are, wherever it is, and here
we've got to stay till mornin'."

We found hay and oats and a pump in the corner of the wagon-house, and
having put the horse in the stall and made him as comfortable as
possible with some old blankets, we returned to the house, bringing our
valises with us.

Our supper was served in the sitting-room because there was a good fire
there, and the servant told us we would have to eat by ourselves, as
"she" was not coming down.

"We'll excuse her," said Uncle Beamish, with an alacrity of expression
that might have caused suspicion.

We had a good supper, and were then shown a room on the first floor on
the other side of the hall, where the servant said we were to sleep.

We sat by the stove awhile, waiting for developments, but as Uncle
Beamish's bedtime was rapidly approaching, he sent word to the
sick-chamber that he was coming up for his final visit.

This time he stayed up-stairs but a few minutes.

"She's fast asleep," said he, "and the old woman says she'll call me if
I'm needed in the night, and you'll have to jump up sharp and overhaul
that medicine-case if that happens."

The next morning, and very early in the morning, I was awaked by Uncle
Beamish, who stood at my side.

"Look here," said he, "I've been outside.  It's stopped snowin' and
it's clearin' off.  I've been to the barn and I've fed the horse, and I
tell you what I'm in favor of doin'.  There's nobody up yit, and I
don't want to stay here and make no explanations to that old woman.  I
don't fancy gittin' into rows on Christmas mornin'.  We've done all the
good we can here, and the best thing we can do now is to git away
before anybody is up, and leave a note sayin' that we've got to go on
without losin' time, and that we will send another doctor as soon as
possible.  My sister's doctor don't live fur away from her, and I know
she will be willin' to send for him.  Then our duty will be done, and
what the old woman thinks of us won't make no, difference to nobody."

"That plan suits me," said I, rising.  "I don't want to stay here, and
as I am not to be allowed to see the patient, there is no reason why I
should stay.  What we have done will more than pay for our supper and
lodgings, so that our consciences are clear."

"But you must write a note," said Uncle Beamish.  "Got any paper?"

I tore a leaf from my note-book, and went to the window, where it was
barely light enough for me to see how to write.

"Make it short," said the old man.  "I'm awful fidgety to git off."

I made it very short, and then, valises in hand, we quietly took our
way to the kitchen.

"How this floor does creak!" said Uncle Beamish.  "Git on your overcoat
and shoes as quick as you can, and we'll leave the note on this table."

I had just shaken myself into my overcoat when Uncle Beamish gave a
subdued exclamation, and quickly turning, I saw entering the kitchen a
female figure in winter wraps and carrying a hand-bag.

"By George!" whispered the old man, "it's the patient!"

The figure advanced directly toward me.

"Oh, Dr. Glover!" she whispered, "I am so glad to get down before you
went away!"

I stared in amazement at the speaker, but even in the dim light I
recognized her.  This was the human being whose expected presence at
the Collingwood mansion was taking me there to spend Christmas.

"Kitty!" I exclaimed--"Miss Burroughs, I mean,--what is the meaning of
this?"

"Don't ask me for any meanings now," she said.  "I want you and your
uncle to take me to the Collingwoods'.  I suppose you are on your way
there, for they wrote you were coming.  And oh!  let us be quick, for
I'm afraid Jane will come down, and she will be sure to wake up aunty.
I saw one of you go out to the barn, and knew you intended to leave, so
I got ready just as fast as I could.  But I must leave some word for
aunty."

"I have written a note,"  said I. "But are you well enough to travel?"

"Just let me add a line to it," said she.  "I am as well as I ever was."

I gave her a pencil, and she hurriedly wrote something on the paper
which I had left on the kitchen table.  Then, quickly glancing around,
she picked up a large carving-fork, and sticking it through the paper
into the soft wood of the table, she left it standing there.

"Now it won't blow away when we open the door," she whispered.  "Come
on."

"You cannot go out to the barn," I said; "we will bring up the sleigh."

"Oh, no, no, no," she answered, "I must not wait here.  If I once get
out of the house I shall feel safe.  Of course I shall go anyway, but I
don't want any quarrelling on this Christmas morning."

"I'm with you there," said Uncle Beamish, approvingly.  "Doctor, we can
take her to the barn without her touching the snow.  Let her sit in
this arm-chair, and we can carry her between us.  She's no weight."

In half a minute the kitchen door was softly closed behind us, and we
were carrying Miss Burroughs to the barn.  My soul was in a wild
tumult.  Dozens of questions were on my tongue, but I had no chance to
ask any of them.

Uncle Beamish and I returned to the porch for the valises, and then,
closing the back door, we rapidly began to make preparations for
leaving.

"I suppose," said Uncle Beamish, as we went into the stable, leaving
Miss Burroughs in the wagon-house, "that this business is all right?
You seem to know the young woman, and she is of age to act for herself."

 "Whatever she wants to do," I answered, "is perfectly right.
You may trust to that.  I do not understand the matter any more than
you do, but I know she is expected at the Collingwoods', and wants to
go there."

"Very good," said Uncle Beamish.  "We'll git away fust and ask
explanations afterwards."

"Dr. Glover," said Miss Burroughs, as we led the horse into the
wagon-house, "don't put the bells on him.  Stuff them gently under the
seat--as softly as you can.  But how are we all to go away?  I have
been looking at that sleigh, and it is intended only for two."

"It's rather late to think of that, miss," said Uncle Beamish, "but
there's one thing that's certain.  We're both very polite to ladies,
but neither of us is willin' to be left behind on this trip.  But it's
a good-sized sleigh, and we'll all pack in, well enough.  You and me
can sit on the seat, and the doctor can stand up in front of us and
drive.  In old times it was considered the right thing for the driver
of the sleigh to stand up and do his drivin'."

The baggage was carefully stowed away, and, after a look around the
dimly lighted wagon-house, Miss Burroughs and Uncle Beamish got into
the sleigh, and I tucked the big fur robe around them.

"I hate to make a journey before breakfast," said Uncle Beamish, as I
was doing this, "especially on Christmas mornin', but somehow or other
there seems to be somethin' jolly about this business, and we won't
have to wait so long for breakfast, nuther.  It can't be far from my
sister's, and we'll all stop there and have breakfast.  Then you two
can leave me and go on.  She'll be as glad to see any friends of mine
as if they were her own.  And she'll be pretty sure, on a mornin' like
this, to have buckwheat cakes and sausages."

Miss Burroughs looked at the old man with a puzzled air, but she asked
him no questions.

"How are you going to keep yourself warm, Dr. Glover?" she said.

"Oh, this long ulster will be enough for me," I replied, "and as I
shall stand up, I could not use a robe, if we had another."

In fact, the thought of being with Miss Burroughs and the anticipation
of a sleigh-ride alone with her after we had left Uncle Beamish with
his sister, had put me into such a glow that I scarcely knew it was
cold weather.

"You'd better be keerful, doctor," said Uncle Beamish.  "You don't want
to git rheumatism in your j'ints on this Christmas mornin'.  Here's
this horse-blanket that we are settin' on.  We don't need it, and you'd
better wrap it round you, after you git in, to keep your legs warm."

"Oh, do!" said Miss Burroughs.  "It may look funny, but we will not
meet anybody so early as this."

"All right!" said I, "and now we are ready to start."

I slid back the barn door and then led the horse outside.  Closing the
door, and making as little noise as possible in doing it, I got into
the sleigh, finding plenty of room to stand up in front of my
companions.  Now I wrapped the horse-blanket about the lower part of my
body, and as I had no belt with which to secure it, Miss Burroughs
kindly offered to fasten it round my waist by means of a long pin which
she took from her hat.  It is impossible to describe the exhilaration
that pervaded me as she performed this kindly office.  After thanking
her warmly, I took the reins and we started.

"It is so lucky," whispered Miss Burroughs, "that I happened to think
about the bells.  We don't make any noise at all."

This was true.  The slowly uplifted hoofs of the horse descended
quietly into the soft snow, and the sleigh-runners slipped along
without a sound.

"Drive straight for the gate, doctor," whispered Uncle Beamish.  "It
don't matter nothin' about goin' over flower-beds and grass-plats in
such weather."

I followed his advice, for no roadway could be seen.  But we had gone
but a short distance when the horse suddenly stopped.

"What's the matter?" asked Miss Burroughs, in a low voice.  "Is it too
deep for him?"

"We're in a drift," said Uncle Beamish.  "But it's not too deep.  Make
him go ahead, doctor."

I clicked gently and tapped the horse with the whip, but he did not
move.

"What a dreadful thing," whispered Miss Burroughs, leaning forward,
"for him to stop so near the house!  Dr. Glover, what does this mean?"
And, as she spoke, she half rose behind me.  "Where did Sir Rohan come
from?"

"Who's he?" asked Uncle Beamish, quickly.

"That horse," she answered.  "That's my aunt's horse.  She sold him a
few days ago."

"By George!" ejaculated Uncle Beamish, unconsciously raising his voice
a little.  "Wilson bought him, and his bringin' us here is as plain as
A B C.  And now he don't want to leave home."

"But he has got to do it," said I, jerking the horse's head to one side
and giving him a cut with the whip.

"Don't whip him," whispered Miss Burroughs; "it always makes him more
stubborn.  How glad I am I thought of the bells!  The only way to get
him to go is to mollify him."

"But how is that to be done?" I asked anxiously.

"You must give him sugar and pat his neck.  If I had some sugar and
could get out--"

"But you haven't it, and you can't git out," said Uncle Beamish.  "Try
him again doctor!"

I jerked the reins impatiently.  "Go along!" said I.  But he did not go
along.

"Haven't you got somethin' in your medicine-case you could mollify him
with?" said Uncle Beamish.  "Somethin' sweet that he might like?"

For an instant I caught at this absurd suggestion, and my mind ran over
the contents of my little bottles.  If I had known his character, some
sodium bromide in his morning feed might, by this time, have mollified
his obstinacy.

"If I could be free of this blanket," said I, fumbling at the pin
behind me, "I would get out and lead him into the road."

"You could not do it," said Miss Burroughs.  "You might pull his head
off, but he wouldn't move.  I have seen him tried."

At this moment a window-sash in the second story of the house was
raised, and there, not thirty feet from us, stood an elderly female,
wrapped in a gray shawl, with piercing eyes shining through great
spectacles.

"You seem to be stuck," said she, sarcastically.  "You are worse stuck
than the fork was in my kitchen table."

We made no answer.  I do not know how Miss Burroughs looked or felt, or
what was the appearance of Uncle Beamish, but I know I must have been
very red in the face.  I gave the horse a powerful crack and shouted to
him to go on.  There was no need for low speaking now.

"You needn't be cruel to dumb animals," said the old lady, "and you
can't budge him.  He never did like snow, especially in going away from
home.  You cut a powerful queer figure, young man, with that
horse-blanket around you.  You don't look much like a practising
physician."

"Miss Burroughs," I exclaimed, "please take that pin out of this
blanket.  If I can get at his head I know I can pull him around and
make him go."

But she did not seem to hear me.  "Aunty," she cried, "it's a shame to
stand there and make fun of us.  We have got a perfect right to go away
if we want to, and we ought not to be laughed at."

The old lady paid no attention to this remark.

"And there's that false doctor," she said.  "I wonder how he feels just
now."

"False doctor!" exclaimed Miss Burroughs.  "I don't understand."

"Young lady," said Uncle Beamish, "I'm no false doctor.  I intended to
tell you all about it as soon as I got a chance, but I haven't had one.
And, old lady, I'd like you to know that I don't say I'm a doctor, but
I do say I'm a nuss, and a good nuss, and you can't deny it."

To this challenge the figure at the window made no answer.

"Catherine," said she, "I can't stand here and take cold, but I just
want to know one thing:  Have you positively made up your mind to marry
that young doctor in the horse-blanket?"

This question fell like a bomb-shell into the middle of the stationary
sleigh.

I had never asked Kitty to marry me.  I loved her with all my heart and
soul, and I hoped, almost believed, that she loved me.  It had been my
intention, when we should be left together in the sleigh this morning,
after dropping Uncle Beamish at his sister's house, to ask her to marry
me.

The old woman's question pierced me as if it had been a flash of
lightning coming through the frosty air of a winter morning.  I dropped
the useless reins and turned.  Kitty's face was ablaze.  She made a
movement as if she was about to jump out of the sleigh and flee.

"Oh, Kitty!" said I, bending down toward her, "tell her yes!  I beg I
entreat, I implore you to tell her yes!  Oh, Kitty! if you don't say
yes I shall never know another happy day."

For one moment Kitty looked up into my face, and then said she:

"It is my positive intention to marry him!"

With the agility of a youth, Uncle Beamish threw the robe from him and
sprang out into the deep snow.  Then, turning toward us, he took off
his hat.

"By George!" said he, "you're a pair of trumps.  I never did see any
human bein's step up to the mark more prompt.  Madam," he cried,
addressing the old lady, "you ought to be the proudest woman in this
county at seein' such a thing as this happen under your window of a
Christmas mornin'.  And now the best thing that you can do is to invite
us all in to have breakfast."

"You'll have to come in," said she, "or else stay out there and freeze
to death, for that horse isn't going to take you away.  And if my niece
really intends to marry the young man, and has gone so far as to start
to run away with him,--and with a false doctor,--of course I've got no
more to say about it, and you can come in and have breakfast."  And
with that she shut down the window.

"That's talkin'," said Uncle Beamish.  "Sit still, doctor, and I'll
lead him around to the back door.  I guess he'll move quick enough when
you want him to turn back."

Without the slightest objection Sir Rohan permitted himself to be
turned back and led up to the kitchen porch.

"Now you two sparklin' angels get out," said Uncle Beamish, "and go in.
I'll attend to the horse."

Jane, with a broad grin on her face, opened the kitchen door.

"Merry Christmas to you both!" said she.

"Merry Christmas!" we cried, and each of us shook her by the hand.

"Go in the sitting-room and get warm," said Jane.  "She'll be down
pretty soon."

I do not know how long we were together in that sitting-room.  We had
thousands of things to say, and we said most of them.  Among other
things, we managed to get in some explanations of the occurrences of
the previous night.  Kitty told her tale briefly.  She and her aunt, to
whom she was making a visit, and who wanted her to make her house her
home, had had a quarrel two days before.  Kitty was wild to go to the
Collingwoods', and the old lady, who, for some reason, hated the
family, was determined she should not go.  But Kitty was immovable, and
never gave up until she found that her aunt had gone so far as to
dispose of her horse, thus making it impossible to travel in such
weather, there being no public conveyances passing the house.  Kitty
was an orphan, and had a guardian who would have come to her aid, but
she could not write to him in time, and, in utter despair, she went to
bed.  She would not eat or drink, she would not speak, and she covered
up her head.

"After a day and a night," said Kitty, "aunty got dreadfully frightened
and thought something was the matter with my brain.  Her family are
awfully anxious about their brains.  I knew she had sent for the doctor
and I was glad of it, for I thought he would help me.  I must say I was
surprised when I first saw that Mr. Beamish, for I thought he was Dr.
Morris.  Now tell me about your coming here."

"And so," she said, when I had finished, "you had no idea that you were
prescribing for me!  Please do tell me what were those medicines you
sent up to me and which I took like a truly good girl."

"I didn't know it at the time," said I, "but I sent you sixty drops of
the deepest, strongest love in a glass of water, and ten grains of
perfect adoration."

"Nonsense!" said Kitty, with a blush, and at that moment Uncle Beamish
knocked at the door.

"I thought I'd just step in and tell you," said he, "that breakfast
will be comin' along in a minute.  I found they were goin' to have
buckwheat cakes, anyway, and I prevailed on Jane to put sausages in the
bill of fare.  Merry Christmas to you both!  I would like to say more,
but here comes the old lady and Jane."

The breakfast was a strange meal, but a very happy one.  The old lady
was very dignified.  She made no allusion to Christmas or to what had
happened, but talked to Uncle Beamish about people in Warburton.

I have a practical mind, and, in spite of the present joy, I could not
help feeling a little anxiety about what was to be done when breakfast
was over.  But just as we were about to rise from the table we were all
startled by a great jingle of sleigh-bells outside.  The old lady arose
and stopped to the window.

"There!" said she, turning toward us.  "Here's a pretty kettle of fish!
There's a two-horse sleigh outside, with a man driving, and a gentleman
in the back seat who I am sure is Dr. Morris, and he has come all the
way on this bitter cold morning to see the patient I sent for him to
come to.  Now, who is going to tell him he has come on a fool's errand?"

"Fool's errand!" I cried.  "Every one of you wait in here and I'll go
out and tell him."

When I dashed out of doors and stood by the side of my uncle's sleigh,
he was truly an amazed man.

"I will get in, uncle," said I, "and if you will let John drive the
horses slowly around the yard, I will tell you how I happen to be here."

The story was a much longer one than I expected it to be, and John must
have driven those horses backward and forward for half an hour.

"Well," said my uncle, at last, "I never saw your Kitty, but I knew her
father and her mother, and I will go in and take a look at her.  If I
like her, I will take you all on to the Collingwoods', and drop Uncle
Beamish at his sister's house."

"I'll tell you what it is, young doctor," said Uncle Beamish, at
parting, "you ought to buy that big roan horse.  He has been a regular
guardian angel to us this Christmas."

"Oh, that would never do at all," cried Kitty.  "His patients would all
die before he got there."

"That is, if they had anything the matter with them," added my uncle.




A PIECE OF RED CALICO

Before beginning the relation of the following incidents, I wish to
state that I am a young married man, doing business in a large city, in
the suburbs of which I live.

I was going into town the other morning, when my wife handed me a
little piece of red calico, and asked me if I would have time, during
the day, to buy her two yards and a half of calico like it.  I assured
her that it would be no trouble at all, and putting the piece of calico
in my pocket, I took the train for the city.

At lunch-time I stopped in at a large dry-goods store to attend to my
wife's commission.  I saw a well-dressed man walking the floor between
the counters, where long lines of girls were waiting on much longer
lines of customers, and asked him where I could see some red calico.

"This way, sir," and he led me up the store.  "Miss Stone," said he to
a young lady, "show this gentleman some red calico."

"What shade do you want!" asked Miss Stone.

I showed her the little piece of calico that my wife had given me.  She
looked at it and handed it back to me.  Then she took down a great roll
of red calico and spread it out on the counter.

"Why, that isn't the shade!" said I.

"No, not exactly," said she.  "But it is prettier than your sample."

"That may be," said I.  "But, you see, I want to match this piece.
There is something already in my house, made of this kind of calico,
which needs to be made larger, or mended, or something.  I want some
calico of the same shade."

The girl made no answer, but took down another roll.

"That's the shade," said she.

"Yes," I replied, "but it's striped."

"Stripes are more worn than anything else in calicoes," said she.

 "Yes.  But this isn't to be worn.  It's for furniture, I
think.  At any rate, I want perfectly plain stuff, to match something
already in use."

"Well, I don't think you can find it perfectly plain, unless you get
Turkey red."

"What is Turkey red?" I asked.

"Turkey red is perfectly plain in calicoes," she answered.

"Well, let me see some."

"We haven't any Turkey red calico left," she said, "but we have some
very nice plain calicoes in other colors."

"I don't want any other color.  I want stuff to match this."

"It's hard to match cheap calico like that," she said, and so I left
her.

I next went into a store a few doors farther up Broadway.  When I
entered I approached the "floorwalker," and handing him my sample, said:

"Have you any calico like this?"

"Yes, sir," said he.  "Third counter to the right."  I went to the
third counter to the right, and showed my sample to the salesman in
attendance there.  He looked at it on both sides.  Then he said:

"We haven't any of this."

"The floorwalker said you had," said I.

"We had it, but we're out of it now.  You'll get that goods at an
upholsterers."

I went across the street to an upholsterer's.

"Have you any stuff like this?" I asked.

"No," said the salesman, "we haven't.  Is it for furniture?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Then Turkey red is what you want."

"Is Turkey red just like this?" I asked.

"No," said he, "but it's much better."

"That makes no difference to me," I replied.  "I want something just
like this."

"But they don't use that for furniture," he said.

"I should think people could use anything they wanted for furniture," I
remarked, somewhat sharply.

"They can, but they don't," he said quite calmly.  "They don't use red
like that.  They use Turkey red."

I said no more, but left.  The next place I visited was a very large
dry-goods store.  Of the first salesman I saw I inquired if they kept
red calico like my sample.

"You'll find that on the second story," said he.

I went up-stairs.  There I asked a man:

"Where shall I find red calico?"

"In the far room to the left," and he pointed to a distant corner.

I walked through the crowds of purchasers and salespeople, around the
counters and tables filled with goods, to the far room to the left.
When I got there I asked for red calico.

"The second counter down this side," said the man.  I went there and
produced my sample.  "Calicoes down-stairs," said the man.

"They told me they were up here," I said.

"Not these plain goods.  You'll find them downstairs at the back of the
store, over on that side."

I went down-stairs to the back of the store.

"Where can I find red calico like this?" I asked.

"Next counter but one," said the man addressed, walking with me in the
direction pointed out.  "Dunn, show red calicoes."

Mr. Dunn took my sample and looked at it.  "We haven't this shade in
that quality of goods," he said.

"Well, have you it in any quality of goods?" I asked.

"Yes.  We've got it finer."  He took down a piece of calico, and
unrolled a yard or two of it.

"That's not this shade," I said.

"No," said he.  "The goods is finer and the color's better."

"I want it to match this," I said.

"I thought you weren't particular about the match," said the salesman.
"You said you didn't care for the quality of the goods, and you know
you can't match without you take into consideration quality and color
both.  If you want that quality of goods in red, you ought to get
Turkey red."

I did not think it necessary to answer this remark, but said:

"Then you've got nothing to match this?"

"No, sir.  But perhaps they may have it in the upholstery department,
in the sixth story."

I got into the elevator and went up to the top of the house.

"Have you any red stuff like this?" I said to a young man.

"Red stuff?  Upholstery department--other end of this floor."

I went to the other end of the floor.

"I want some red calico," I said to a man.

"Furniture goods?" he asked.

"Yes," said I.

"Fourth counter to the left."

I went to the fourth counter to the left, and showed my sample to a
salesman.  He looked at it, and said:  "You'll get this down on the
first floor--calico department."

I turned on my heel, descended in the elevator, and went out on
Broadway.  I was thoroughly sick of red calico.  But I determined to
make one more trial.  My wife had bought her red calico not long
before, and there must be some to be had somewhere.  I ought to have
asked her where she bought it, but I thought a simple little thing like
that could be procured anywhere.

I went into another large dry-goods store.  As I entered the door a
sudden tremor seized me.  I could not bear to take out that piece of
red calico.  If I had had any other kind of a rag about me--a pen-wiper
or anything of the sort--I think I would have asked them if they could
match that.

But I stepped up to a young woman and presented my sample, with the
usual question.

"Back room, counter on the left," she said.

I went there.

"Have you any red calico like this?" I asked of the lady behind the
counter.

"No, sir," she said, "but we have it in Turkey red."

Turkey red again!  I surrendered.

"All right," I said.  "Give me Turkey red."

"How much, sir?" she asked.

"I don't know--say five yards."

The lady looked at me rather strangely, but measured off five yards of
Turkey red calico.  Then she rapped on the counter and called out,
"Cash!"  A little girl, with yellow hair in two long plaits, came
slowly up.  The lady wrote the number of yards; the name of the goods;
her own number; the price; the amount of the bank-note I handed her;
and some other matters--probably the color of my eyes and the direction
and velocity of the wind--on a slip of paper.  She then copied all this
in a little book which she kept by her.  Then she handed the slip of
paper, the money, and the Turkey red to the yellow-haired girl.  This
young girl copied the slip in a little book she carried, and then she
went away with the calico, the paper slip, and the money.

After a very long time--during which the little girl probably took the
goods, the money, and the slip to some central desk, where the note was
received, its amount and number entered in a book; change given to the
girl; a copy of the slip made and entered; girl's entry examined and
approved; goods wrapped up; girl registered; plaits counted and entered
on a slip of paper and copied by the girl in her book; girl taken to a
hydrant and washed; number of towel entered on a paper slip and copied
by the girl in her book; value of my note and amount of change branded
somewhere on the child, and said process noted on a slip of paper and
copied in her book--the girl came to me, bringing my change and the
package of Turkey red calico.

I had time for but very little work at the office that afternoon, and
when I reached home I handed the package of calico to my wife.  She
unrolled it and exclaimed:

"Why, this doesn't match the piece I gave you!"

"Match it!" I cried.  "Oh no! it doesn't match it.  You didn't want
that matched.  You were mistaken.  What you wanted was Turkey
red--third counter to the left.  I mean, Turkey red is what they use!"

My wife looked at me in amazement, and then I detailed to her my
troubles.

"Well," said she, "this Turkey red is a great deal prettier than what I
had, and you've bought so much of it that I needn't use the other at
all.  I wish I had thought of Turkey red before."

"I wish from my heart you had!" said I.




THE CHRISTMAS WRECK

"Well, sir," said old Silas, as he gave a preliminary puff to the pipe
he had just lighted, and so satisfied himself that the draught was all
right, "the wind's a-comin', an' so's Christmas.  But it's no use bein'
in a hurry fur either of 'em, fur sometimes they come afore you want
'em, anyway."

Silas was sitting in the stern of a small sailing-boat which he owned,
and in which he sometimes took the Sandport visitors out for a sail,
and at other times applied to its more legitimate but less profitable
use, that of fishing.  That afternoon he had taken young Mr. Nugent for
a brief excursion on that portion of the Atlantic Ocean which sends its
breakers up on the beach of Sandport.  But he had found it difficult,
nay, impossible, just now, to bring him back, for the wind had
gradually died away until there was not a breath of it left.  Mr.
Nugent, to whom nautical experiences were as new as the very nautical
suit of blue flannel which he wore, rather liked the calm.  It was such
a relief to the monotony of rolling waves.  He took out a cigar and
lighted it, and then he remarked:

"I can easily imagine how a wind might come before you sailors might
want it, but I don't see how Christmas could come too soon."

"It come wunst on me when things couldn't `a' looked more onready fur
it," said Silas.

"How was that?" asked Mr. Nugent, settling himself a little more
comfortably on the hard thwart.  "If it's a story, let's have it.  This
is a good time to spin a yarn."

"Very well," said old Silas.  "I'll spin her."

The bare-legged boy whose duty it was to stay forward and mind the jib
came aft as soon as he smelt a story, and took a nautical position,
which was duly studied by Mr. Nugent, on a bag of ballast in the bottom
of the boat.

"It's nigh on to fifteen year ago," said Silas, "that I was on the bark
Mary Auguster, bound for Sydney, New South Wales, with a cargo of
canned goods.  We was somewhere about longitood a hundred an' seventy,
latitood nothin', an' it was the twenty-second o' December, when we was
ketched by a reg'lar typhoon which blew straight along, end on, fur a
day an' a half.  It blew away the storm-sails.  It blew away every
yard, spar, shroud, an' every strand o' riggin', an' snapped the masts
off close to the deck.  It blew away all the boats.  It blew away the
cook's caboose, an' everythin' else on deck.  It blew off the hatches,
an' sent 'em spinnin' in the air about a mile to leeward.  An' afore it
got through, it washed away the cap'n an' all the crew 'cept me an' two
others.  These was Tom Simmons, the second mate, an' Andy Boyle, a chap
from the Adirondack Mount'ins, who'd never been to sea afore.  As he
was a landsman, he ought, by rights, to 'a' been swep' off by the wind
an' water, consid'rin' that the cap'n an' sixteen good seamen had gone
a'ready.  But he had hands eleven inches long, an' that give him a grip
which no typhoon could git the better of.  Andy had let out that his
father was a miller up there in York State, an' a story had got round
among the crew that his granfather an' great-gran'father was millers,
too; an' the way the fam'ly got such big hands come from their habit of
scoopin' up a extry quart or two of meal or flour fur themselves when
they was levellin' off their customers' measures.  He was a
good-natered feller, though, an' never got riled when I'd tell him to
clap his flour-scoops onter a halyard.

"We was all soaked, an' washed, an' beat, an' battered.  We held on
some way or other till the wind blowed itself out, an' then we got on
our legs an' began to look about us to see how things stood.  The sea
had washed into the open hatches till the vessel was more'n half full
of water, an' that had sunk her, so deep that she must 'a' looked like
a canal-boat loaded with gravel.  We hadn't had a thing to eat or drink
durin' that whole blow, an' we was pretty ravenous.  We found a keg of
water which was all right, and a box of biscuit which was what you
might call softtack, fur they was soaked through an' through with
sea-water.  We eat a lot of them so, fur we couldn't wait, an' the rest
we spread on the deck to dry, fur the sun was now shinin' hot enough to
bake bread.  We couldn't go below much, fur there was a pretty good
swell on the sea, an' things was floatin' about so's to make it
dangerous.  But we fished out a piece of canvas, which we rigged up
ag'in' the stump of the mainmast so that we could have somethin' that
we could sit down an' grumble under.  What struck us all the hardest
was that the bark was loaded with a whole cargo of jolly things to eat,
which was just as good as ever they was, fur the water couldn't git
through the tin cans in which they was all put up, an' here we was with
nothin' to live on but them salted biscuit.  There wasn't no way of
gittin' at any of the ship's stores, or any of the fancy prog, fur
everythin' was stowed away tight under six or seven feet of water, an'
pretty nigh all the room that was left between decks was filled up with
extry spars, lumber, boxes, an' other floatin' stuff.  All was
shiftin', an' bumpin', an' bangin' every time the vessel rolled.

"As I said afore, Tom was second mate, an' I was bo's'n.  Says I to
Tom, `The thing we've got to do is to put up some kind of a spar with a
rag on it fur a distress flag, so that we'll lose no time bein' took
off.'  `There's no use a-slavin' at anythin' like that,' says Tom, `fur
we've been blowed off the track of traders, an' the more we work the
hungrier we'll git, an' the sooner will them biscuit be gone.'

"Now when I heared Tom say this I sot still an' began to consider.
Bein' second mate, Tom was, by rights, in command of this craft.  But
it was easy enough to see that if he commanded there'd never be nothin'
fur Andy an' me to do.  All the grit he had in him he'd used up in
holdin' on durin' that typhoon.  What he wanted to do now was to make
himself comfortable till the time come for him to go to Davy Jones's
locker--an' thinkin',  most likely, that Davy couldn't make it any
hotter fur him than it was on that deck, still in latitood nothin' at
all, fur we'd been blowed along the line pretty nigh due west.  So I
calls to Andy, who was busy turnin' over the biscuits on the deck.
`Andy,' says I, when he had got under the canvas, `we's goin' to have a
'lection fur skipper.  Tom, here, is about played out.  He's one
candydate, an' I'm another.  Now, who do you vote fur?  An' mind yer
eye, youngster, that you don't make no mistake.'  `I vote fur you' says
Andy.  `Carried unanermous!' says I.  `An' I want you to take notice
that I'm cap'n of what's left of the Mary Auguster, an' you two has got
to keep your minds on that, an' obey orders.'  If Davy Jones was to do
all that Tom Simmons said when he heared this, the old chap would be
kept busier than he ever was yit.  But I let him growl his growl out,
knowin' he'd come round all right, fur there wasn't no help fur it,
consid'rin' Andy an' me was two to his one.  Pretty soon we all went to
work, an' got up a spar from below, which we rigged to the stump of the
foremast, with Andy's shirt atop of it.

"Them sea-soaked, sun-dried biscuit was pretty mean prog, as you might
think, but we eat so many of 'em that afternoon, an' 'cordingly drank
so much water, that I was obliged to put us all on short rations the
next day.  `This is the day afore Christmas,' says Andy Boyle, `an'
to-night will be Christmas eve, an' it's pretty tough fur us to be
sittin' here with not even so much hardtack as we want, an' all the
time thinkin' that the hold of this ship is packed full of the gayest
kind of good things to eat.'  `Shut up about Christmas!' says Tom
Simmons.  `Them two youngsters of mine, up in Bangor, is havin' their
toes and noses pretty nigh froze, I 'spect, but they'll hang up their
stockin's all the same to-night, never thinkin' that their dad's bein'
cooked alive on a empty stomach.'  `Of course they wouldn't hang 'em
up,' says I, if they knowed what a fix you was in, but they don't know
it, an' what's the use of grumblin' at 'em fur bein' a little jolly?'
`Well,' says Andy `they couldn't be more jollier than I'd be if I could
git at some of them fancy fixin's down in the hold.  I worked well on
to a week at 'Frisco puttin' in them boxes, an' the names of the things
was on the outside of most of 'em; an' I tell you what it is, mates, it
made my mouth water, even then, to read 'em, an' I wasn't hungry,
nuther, havin' plenty to eat three times a day.  There was roast beef,
an' roast mutton, an' duck, an' chicken, an' soup, an' peas, an' beans,
an' termaters, an' plum-puddin', an' mince-pie--'  `Shut up with your
mince-pie!' sung out Tom Simmons.  `Isn't it enough to have to gnaw on
these salt chips, without hearin' about mince-pie?'  `An' more'n that'
says Andy, `there was canned peaches, an' pears, an' plums, an'
cherries.'

"Now these things did sound so cool an' good to me on that br'ilin'
deck that I couldn't stand it, an' I leans over to Andy, an' I says:
`Now look-a here; if you don't shut up talkin' about them things what's
stowed below, an' what we can't git at nohow, overboard you go!'  `That
would make you short-handed,' says Andy, with a grin.  `Which is more'n
you could say,' says I, `if you'd chuck Tom an' me over'--alludin' to
his eleven-inch grip.  Andy didn't say no more then, but after a while
he comes to me, as I was lookin' round to see if anything was in sight,
an' says he, `I spose you ain't got nothin' to say ag'in' my divin'
into the hold just aft of the foremast, where there seems to be a bit
of pretty clear water, an' see if I can't git up somethin'?' `You kin
do it, if you like,' says I, `but it's at your own risk.  You can't
take out no insurance at this office.'  `All right, then,' says Andy;
`an' if I git stove in by floatin' boxes, you an' Tom'll have to eat
the rest of them salt crackers.'  `Now, boy,' says I,--an' he wasn't
much more, bein' only nineteen year old,--`you'd better keep out o'
that hold.  You'll just git yourself smashed.  An' as to movin' any of
them there heavy boxes, which must be swelled up as tight as if they
was part of the ship, you might as well try to pull out one of the Mary
Auguster's ribs.'  `I'll try it,' says Andy, `fur to-morrer is
Christmas, an' if I kin help it I ain't goin' to be floatin' atop of a
Christmas dinner without eatin' any on it.'  I let him go, fur he was a
good swimmer an' diver, an' I did hope he might root out somethin' or
other, fur Christmas is about the worst day in the year fur men to be
starvin' on, an' that's what we was a-comin' to.

"Well, fur about two hours Andy swum, an' dove, an' come up blubberin',
an' dodged all sorts of floatin' an' pitchin' stuff, fur the swell was
still on.  But he couldn't even be so much as sartin that he'd found
the canned vittles.  To dive down through hatchways, an' among broken
bulkheads, to hunt fur any partiklar kind o' boxes under seven foot of
sea-water, ain't no easy job.  An' though Andy said he got hold of the
end of a box that felt to him like the big uns he'd noticed as havin'
the meat-pies in, he couldn't move it no more'n if it had been the
stump of the foremast.  If we could have pumped the water out of the
hold we could have got at any part of the cargo we wanted, but as it
was, we couldn't even reach the ship's stores, which, of course, must
have been mostly sp'iled anyway, whereas the canned vittles was just as
good as new.  The pumps was all smashed or stopped up, for we tried
'em, but if they hadn't 'a' been we three couldn't never have pumped
out that ship on three biscuit a day, an' only about two days' rations
at that.

"So Andy he come up, so fagged out that it was as much as he could do
to get his clothes on, though they wasn't much, an' then he stretched
himself out under the canvas an' went to sleep, an' it wasn't long
afore he was talkin' about roast turkey an' cranberry sass, an'
punkin-pie, an' sech stuff, most of which we knowed was under our feet
that present minnit.  Tom Simmons he just b'iled over, an' sung out:
`Roll him out in the sun an' let him cook!  I can't stand no more of
this!'  But I wasn't goin' to have Andy treated no sech way as that,
fur if it hadn't been fur Tom Simmons' wife an' young uns, Andy'd been
worth two of him to anybody who was consid'rin' savin' life.  But I
give the boy a good punch in the ribs to stop his dreamin', fur I was
as hungry as Tom was, an' couldn't stand no nonsense about Christmas
dinners.

"It was a little arter noon when Andy woke up, an' he went outside to
stretch himself.  In about a minute he give a yell that made Tom an' me
jump.  `A sail!' he hollered. `A sail!'  An' you may bet your life,
young man, that 'twasn't more'n half a second afore us two had scuffled
out from under that canvas, an' was standin' by Andy.  `There she is!'
he shouted, `not a mile to win'ard.'  I give one look, an' then I sings
out:  `'Tain't a sail!  It's a flag of distress!  Can't you see, you
land-lubber, that that's the Stars and Stripes upside down?'  `Why, so
it is,' says Andy, with a couple of reefs in the joyfulness of his
voice. An' Tom he began to growl as if somebody had cheated him out of
half a year's wages.

"The flag that we saw was on the hull of a steamer that had been
driftin' down on us while we was sittin' under our canvas.  It was
plain to see she'd been caught in the typhoon, too, fur there wasn't a
mast or a smoke-stack on her.  But her hull was high enough out of the
water to catch what wind there was, while we was so low sunk that we
didn't make no way at all.  There was people aboard, and they saw us,
an' waved their hats an' arms, an' Andy an' me waved ours; but all we
could do was to wait till they drifted nearer, fur we hadn't no boats
to go to 'em if we'd wanted to.

"`I'd like to know what good that old hulk is to us,' says Tom Simmons.
`She can't take us off.'  It did look to me somethin' like the blind
leadin' the blind.  But Andy he sings out:  `We'd be better off aboard
of her, fur she ain't water-logged, an', more'n that, I don't s'pose
her stores are all soaked up in salt water.'  There was some sense in
that, an' when the steamer had got to within half a mile of us, we was
glad to see a boat put out from her with three men in it.  It was a
queer boat, very low an' flat, an' not like any ship's boat I ever see.
But the two fellers at the oars pulled stiddy, an' pretty soon the boat
was 'longside of us, an' the three men on our deck.  One of 'em was the
first mate of the other wreck, an' when he found out what was the
matter with us, he spun his yarn, which was a longer one than ours.
His vessel was the Water Crescent, nine hundred tons, from 'Frisco to
Melbourne, an' they had sailed about six weeks afore we did.  They was
about two weeks out when some of their machinery broke down, an' when
they got it patched up it broke ag'in, worse than afore, so that they
couldn't do nothin' with it.  They kep' along under sail for about a
month, makin' mighty poor headway till the typhoon struck 'em, an' that
cleaned their decks off about as slick as it did ours, but their
hatches wasn't blowed off, an' they didn't ship no water wuth
mentionin', an' the crew havin' kep' below, none of 'em was lost.  But
now they was clean out of provisions an' water, havin' been short when
the breakdown happened, fur they had sold all the stores they could
spare to a French brig in distress that they overhauled when about a
week out.  When they sighted us they felt pretty sure they'd git some
provisions out of us.  But when I told the mate what a fix we was in
his jaw dropped till his face was as long as one of Andy's hands.
Howsomdever, he said he'd send the boat back fur as many men as it
could bring over, an' see if they couldn't git up some of our stores.
Even if they was soaked with salt water, they'd be better than nothin'.
Part of the cargo of the Water Crescent was tools an' things fur some
railway contractors out in Australier, an' the mate told the men to
bring over some of them irons that might be used to fish out the
stores.  All their ship's boats had been blowed away, an' the one they
had was a kind of shore boat for fresh water, that had been shipped as
part of the cargo, an' stowed below.  It couldn't stand no kind of a
sea, but there wasn't nothin' but a swell on, an' when it come back it
had the cap'n in it, an' five men, besides a lot of chains an' tools.

"Them fellers an' us worked pretty nigh the rest of the day, an' we got
out a couple of bar'ls of water, which was all right, havin' been tight
bunged, an' a lot of sea-biscuit, all soaked an sloppy, but we only got
a half-bar'l of meat, though three or four of the men stripped an' dove
fur more'n an hour.  We cut up some of the meat an' eat it raw, an' the
cap'n sent some over to the other wreck, which had drifted past us to
leeward, an' would have gone clean away from us if the cap'n hadn't had
a line got out an' made us fast to it while we was a-workin' at the
stores.

"That night the cap'n took us three, as well as the provisions we'd got
out, on board his hull, where the 'commodations was consid'able better
than they was on the half-sunk Mary Auguster.  An' afore we turned in
he took me aft an' had a talk with me as commandin' off'cer of my
vessel.  `That wreck o' yourn,' says he, `has got a vallyble cargo in
it, which isn't sp'iled by bein' under water.  Now, if you could get
that cargo into port it would put a lot of money in your pocket, fur
the owners couldn't git out of payin' you fur takin' charge of it an'
havin' it brung in.  Now I'll tell you what I'll do.  I'll lie by you,
an' I've got carpenters aboard that'll put your pumps in order, an'
I'll set my men to work to pump out your vessel.  An' then, when she's
afloat all right, I'll go to work ag'in at my vessel--which I didn't
s'pose there was any use o' doin', but whilst I was huntin' round
amongst our cargo to-day I found that some of the machinery we carried
might be worked up so's to take the place of what is broke in our
engine.  We've got a forge aboard, an' I believe we can make these
pieces of machinery fit, an' git goin' ag'in.  Then I'll tow you into
Sydney, an' we'll divide the salvage money.  I won't git nothin' fur
savin' my vessel, coz that's my business, but you wasn't cap'n o'
yourn, an' took charge of her a-purpose to save her, which is another
thing.'