Aunt Jane’s Nieces at Work by Edith Van Dyne (page 2)

“Yes, considerable. Otherwise he couldn’t have secured the nomination when he pretended to run against Hopkins–for it was only a pretense. You see, he’s a well known Republican, and when he sides for Hopkins he’s bound to carry many Republicans with him.”

But there were other important people whom Mr. Andrews thought might be influenced, and he gave Patsy a list of their names. He seemed much amused at the earnestness of this girlish champion of the Republican candidate.

“I do not think we can win,” he said, as she left him; “but we ought to make a good showing for your cousin, and I’ll do my very best to help you.”

As she rode home with Uncle John in the afternoon, after a day of really hard work, Patsy sized up the situation and declared that she was satisfied that she had made progress. She told Mr. Merrick of the mortgage held over Thompson by Mr. Hopkins, and the little man made a mental note of the fact. He also was satisfied with his day’s work, and agreed to ride over to Fairview the next day with her and carry the war into this, the largest village in Kenneth’s district.

Meantime Louise and Mr. Watson were having some interesting interviews with the farmers’ wives along the Marville road. The old lawyer knew nearly everyone in this part of the country, for he had lived here all his life. But he let Louise do the talking and was much pleased at the tact and good nature she displayed in dealing with the widely different types of character she encountered.

Her method was quite simple, and for that reason doubly effective. She sat down in Mrs. Simmons’s kitchen, where the good woman was ironing, and said:

“I’m a cousin of Mr. Forbes, up at Elmhurst, you know. He’s running for a political office, so as to do some good for his county and district, and I’ve come to see if you’ll help me get votes for him.”

“Law sakes, child!” exclaimed Mrs. Simmons, “I ain’t got nuthin’ to do with politics.”

“No; but you’ve got a lot to do with Mr. Simmons, and that’s where we need your help. You see, Mr. Forbes thinks Mr. Simmons is one of the most important men in this district, and he’s very anxious to win his vote.”

“Why don’t you see Dan, then? He’s out’n the rye field,” replied the woman.

“It’s because I’m only a girl, and he wouldn’t listen to me,” replied Louise, sweetly. “But he takes your advice about everything, I hear–“

“He don’t take it as often as he orter, don’t Dan,” interrupted Mrs. Simmons, pausing to feel whether her iron was hot.

“Perhaps not,” agreed Louise; “but in important things, such as this, he’s sure to listen to you; and we women must stick together if we want to win this election.”

“But I don’t know nothin’ about it,” protested Mrs. Simmons; “an’ I don’t believe Dan does.”

“You don’t need to know much, Mrs. Simmons,” replied the girl. “What a pretty baby that is! All you need do is to tell Dan he must vote for Mr. Forbes, and see that he agrees to do so.”

“Why?” was the pointed query.

“Well, there are several reasons. One is that Mr. Hopkins–Mr. Erastus Hopkins, you know, is the other candidate, and a person must vote for either one or the other of them.”

“Dan’s a friend o’ ‘Rastus,” said the woman, thoughtfully. “I seen ’em talkin’ together the other day.”

“But this isn’t a matter of friendship; it’s business, and Mr. Forbes is very anxious to have your husband with him. If Mr. Forbes is elected it means lighter taxes, better roads and good schools. If Mr. Hopkins is elected it does not mean anything good except for Mr. Hopkins.”

“I guess you’re right about that,” laughed the woman. “‘Rast don’t let much get away from him.”

“You’re very clever, Mrs. Simmons. You have discovered the fact without being told.”

“Oh, I know ‘Rast Hopkins, an’ so does Dan.”

“Then I can depend on you to help us?” asked the girl, patting the tousled head of a little girl who stood by staring at “the pretty lady.”

“I’ll talk to him, but I dunno what good it’ll do,” said Mrs. Simmons, thoughtfully.

“I know. He won’t refuse to do what you ask him, for a man always listens to his wife when he knows she’s right. You’ll win, Mrs. Simmons, and I want to thank you for saving the election for us. If we get Mr. Simmons on our side I believe we’ll be sure to defeat Hopkins.”

“Oh, I’ll do what I kin,” was the ready promise, and after a few more remarks about the children and the neatness of the house, Louise took her leave.

“Will she win him over?” asked the girl of Mr. Watson, when they were jogging on to the next homestead.

“I really can’t say, my dear,” replied the old lawyer, thoughtfully; “but I imagine she’ll try to, and if Dan doesn’t give in Mrs. Simmons will probably make his life miserable for a time. You flattered them both outrageously; but that will do no harm.”

And so it went on throughout the day. Sometimes the farmer himself was around the house, and then they held a sort of conference; Louise asked his advice about the best way to win votes, and said she depended a great deal upon his judgment. She never asked a man which side he favored, but took it for granted that he was anxious to support Mr. Forbes; and this subtle flattery was so acceptable that not one declared outright that he was for Hopkins, whatever his private views might have been.

When evening came and they had arrived at Elmhurst again, Louise was enthusiastic over her work of the day, and had many amusing tales to tell of her experiences.

“How many votes did you win?” asked Uncle John, smiling at her.

“I can’t say,” she replied; “but I didn’t lose any. If one sows plenty of seed, some of it is bound to sprout.”

“We can tell better after election,” said Mr. Watson. “But I’m satisfied that this is the right sort of work, Mr. Merrick, to get results.”

“So am I,” returned Uncle John heartily. “Are you willing to keep it up, Louise?”

“Of course!” she exclaimed. “We start again bright and early tomorrow morning.”

CHAPTER VIII

THE HONORABLE ERASTUS IS ASTONISHED

The Honorable Erastus Hopkins had been absent at the state capital for several days, looking after various matters of business; for he was a thrifty man, and watched his investments carefully.

Whenever his acquaintances asked about his chances for re-election, the Honorable Erastus Hopkins winked, laughed and declared, “it’s a regular walk-over.”

“Who is opposing you?” once asked a gray-haired Senator of much political experience, who had met Mr. Hopkins at luncheon.

“Young feller named Forbes–a boy, sir–with no notion about the game at all. He was pledged to an unpopular issue, so I was mighty glad to have him run against me.”

“What issue is he pledged to?” asked the Senator.

“Oh, he’s agin putting advertising signs on fences and barns, and wants to have them prohibited, like the infernal fool he is.”

“Indeed. Then he’s a progressive fellow. And you say his issue is unpopular?”

“That’s what it is. It’ll kill his chances–if he ever had any.”

“Strange,” mused the Senator. “That issue has been a winning one usually.”

“What do you mean?” asked the astonished Hopkins.

“Why, the anti-sign fight has won in several places throughout the country, and local laws have been passed prohibiting them. Didn’t you know that?”

“No!” said Hopkins.

“Well, it’s true. Of course I do not know the temper of your people, but in a country district such as yours I would think an issue of that sort very hard to combat.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed the Honorable Erastus. “Ev’ry man Jack’s agin the fool notion.”

“Then perhaps the people don’t understand it.”

“Forbes has given up already,” continued Hopkins, laughing at the recollection. “He’s gone back into his shell like a turtle, an’ won’t come out to fight. I tell you, Senator, he’s the worst licked candidate that ever ran for office.”

Nevertheless, the suggestion that the anti-sign issue had been successful in other localities made Mr. Hopkins a trifle uneasy, and he decided to return home and keep the fight going until after election, whether young Forbes came out of his shell or not.

He arrived at Hilldale on the early morning train and went to his house for breakfast. To his amazement he found two great banners strung across the village streets bearing the words: “_Vote for Forbes–the People’s Champion!_”

“Who in thunder could ‘a’ done that?” murmured Mr. Hopkins, staring open-mouthed at the great banners. Then he scratched his head with a puzzled air and went home.

Mrs. Hopkins, a tired-looking woman in a bedraggled morning wrapper, was getting the breakfast. She did not participate largely in the prosperity of her husband, and often declared she was “worked to death,” although there were no children to care for.

“When did those Forbes banners go up?” asked Mr. Hopkins, irritably.

“I dunno, ‘Rast. I don’t keep track o’ such things. But all the town was out to the girls’ meetin’ last night, an’ I went along to watch the fun.”

“What girls’ meeting?”

“The girls thet air workin’ fer to elect Mr. Forbes. It was in the town hall, an’ all three of the girls made speeches.”

“What about?”

“About Mr. Forbes, and how he orter be elected. He wants to beautify the farm places by doin’ away with signs, an’ he wants better roads, an’ three new school-houses, ’cause the ones we’ve got now ain’t big enough. An–“

“You blamed idiot! What are you talking about?” roared the exasperated Hopkins.

“Oh, you needn’t rave at me, ‘Rast Hopkins, just ’cause you’re gettin’ licked. I thought your goose was cooked the minnit these girls got to work.”

Mr. Hopkins stared at her with a dazed expression.

“Be sensible, Mary, and tell me who these girls are. I haven’t heard of ’em.”

“Why, they’re cousins o’ Kenneth Forbes, it seems, an’ come from New York to git him elected.”

“What are they like?”

“They’re swell dressers, ‘Rast, an’ nice appearin’ girls, and mighty sharp with their tongues. They had a good meetin’ last night and there’ll be another at the town hall next week.”

“Pah! Girls! Forbes oughter be ashamed of himself, to send a bunch o’ girls out electioneerin’. I never heard of such an irregular thing. What do the boys say?”

“Folks don’t say much to me, ‘Rast. They wouldn’t, you know. But I guess your game is up.”

He made no reply. Here, indeed, was information of a startling character. And it came upon him like thunder out of a clear sky. Yet the thing might not be so important as Mrs. Hopkins feared.

Very thoughtfully he unfolded the morning paper, and the next moment uttered a roar of wrath and vexation. Briggs was one of his stand-bys, and the _Herald_ heretofore had always supported him; yet here across the first page were big black letters saying: _”Vote for Forbes!”_ And the columns were full of articles and paragraphs praising Forbes and declaring that he could and would do more for the district than Hopkins.

“I must see Briggs,” muttered the Honorable Erastus. “He’s tryin’ to make me put up that hundred–an’ I guess I’ll have to do it.”

He looked over the other newspapers which were heaped upon his desk in the sitting-room, and was disgusted to find all but one of the seven papers in the district supporting Forbes. Really, the thing began to look serious. And he had only been absent a week!

He had not much appetite for breakfast when Mrs. Hopkins set it before him. But the Honorable Erastus was a born fighter, and his discovery had only dismayed him for a brief time. Already he was revolving ways of contesting this new activity in the enemy’s camp, and decided that he must talk with “the boys” at once.

So he hurried away from the breakfast table and walked down-town. Latham was first on his route and he entered the drug store.

“Hullo, Jim.”

“Good morning, Mr. Hopkins. Anything I can do for you?” asked the polite druggist.

“Yes, a lot. Tell me what these fool girls are up to, that are plugging for Forbes. I’ve been away for a week, you know.”

“Can’t say, Mr. Hopkins, I’m sure. Business is pretty lively these days, and it keeps me hustling. I’ve no time for politics.”

“But we’ve got to wake up, Jim, we Democrats, or they’ll give us a run for our money.”

“Oh, this is a Republican district, sir. We can’t hope to win it often, and especially in a case like this.”

“Why not?”

“Looks to me as if you’d bungled things, Hopkins. But I’m not interested in this campaign. Excuse me; if there’s nothing you want, I’ve got a prescription to fill.”

Mr. Hopkins walked out moodily. It was very evident that Latham had changed front. But they had never been very staunch friends; and he could find a way to even scores with the little druggist later.

Thompson was behind his desk at the general store when Hopkins walked in.

“Look here,” said the Honorable Representative, angrily, “what’s been going on in Elmwood? What’s all this plugging for Forbes mean?”

Thompson gave him a sour look over the top of his desk.

“Addressin’ them remarks to me, ‘Rast?”

“Yes–to you! You’ve been loafing on your job, old man, and it won’t do–it won’t do at all. You should have put a stop to these things. What right have these girls to interfere in a game like this?”

“Oh, shut up, ‘Rast.”

“Thompson! By crickey, I won’t stand this from you. Goin’ back on me, eh?”

“I’m a Republication, ‘Rast.”

“So you are,” said Mr. Hopkins slowly, his temper at white heat “And that mortgage is two months overdue.”

“Go over to the bank and get your money, then. It’s waiting for you, Hopkins–interest and all. Go and get it and let me alone. I’m busy.”

Perhaps the politician had never been so surprised in his life. Anger gave way to sudden fear, and he scrutinized the averted countenance of Thompson carefully.

“Where’d you raise the money, Thompson?”

“None of your business. I raised it.”

“Forbes, eh? Forbes has bought you up, I see. Grateful fellow, ain’t you–when I loaned you money to keep you from bankruptcy!”

“You did, Hopkins. You made me your slave, and threatened me every minute, unless I did all your dirty work. Grateful? You’ve led me a dog’s life. But I’m through with you now–for good and all.”

Hopkins turned and walked out without another word. In the dentist’s office Dr. Squiers was sharpening and polishing his instruments.

“Hello, Archie.”

“Hello, ‘Rast. ‘Bout time you was getting back, old man. We’re having a big fight on our hands, I can tell you.”

“Tell me more,” said Mr. Hopkins, taking a chair with a sigh of relief at finding one faithful friend. “What’s up, Archie?”

“An invasion of girls, mostly. They took us by surprise, the other day, and started a campaign worthy of old political war-horses. There’s some shrewd politician behind them, I know, or they wouldn’t have nailed us up in our coffins with such business-like celerity.”

“Talk sense, Archie. What have they done? What _can_ they do? Pah! Girls!”

“Don’t make a mistake, ‘Rast. That’s what I did, before I understood. When I heard that three girls were electioneering for Forbes I just laughed. Then I made a discovery. They’re young and rich, and evidently ladies. They’re pretty, too, and the men give in at the first attack. They don’t try to roast you. That’s their cleverness. They tell what Forbes can do, with all his money, if he’s Representative, and they swear he’ll do it.”

“Never mind,” said Hopkins, easily. “We’ll win the men back again.”

“But these girls are riding all over the country, talking to farmers’ wives, and they’re organizing a woman’s political club. The club is to meet at Elmhurst and to be fed on the fat of the land; so every woman wants to belong. They’ve got two expensive automobiles down from the city, with men to make them go, and they’re spending money right and left.”

“That’s bad,” said Hopkins, shifting uneasily, “for I haven’t much to spend, myself. But most money is fooled away in politics. When I spend a cent it counts, I can tell you.”

“You’ll have to spend some, ‘Rast, to keep your end up. I’m glad you’re back, for we Democrats have been getting demoralized. Some of the boys are out for Forbes already.”

Hopkins nodded, busy with his thoughts.

“I’ve talked with Latham. But he didn’t count. And they’ve bought up Thompson. What else they’ve done I can’t tell yet. But one thing’s certain, Doc; we’ll win out in a canter. I’m too old a rat to be caught in a trap like this. I’ve got resources they don’t suspect.”

“I believe you, ‘Rast. They’ve caught on to the outside fakes to win votes; but they don’t know the inside deals yet.”

“You’re right. But I must make a bluff to offset their daylight campaign, so as not to lose ground with the farmers. They’re the ones that count, after all; not the town people. See here, Doc, I had an idea something might happen, and so I arranged with my breakfast food company to let me paint a hundred signs in this neighborhood. A hundred, mind you! and that means a big laugh on Forbes, and the good will of the farmers who sell their spaces, and not a cent out of my pocket. How’s that for a checkmate?”

“That’s fine,” replied Dr. Squiers. “There’s been considerable talk about this sign business, and I’m told that at the meeting last night one of the girls made a speech about it, and said the farmers were being converted, and were now standing out for clean fences and barns.”

“That’s all humbug!”

“I think so, myself. These people are like a flock of sheep. Get them started a certain way and you can’t head them off,” observed the dentist.

“Then we must start them our way,” declared Hopkins. “I’ve got the order for these signs in my pocket, and I’ll have ’em painted all over the district in a week. Keep your eyes open, Doc. If we’ve got to fight we won’t shirk it; but I don’t look for much trouble from a parcel of girls.”

Mr. Hopkins was quite cheerful by this time, for he had thought out the situation and his “fighting blood was up,” as he expressed it.

He walked away whistling softly to himself and decided that he would go over to the livery stable, get a horse and buggy, drive out into the country, and spend the day talking with the farmers.

But when he turned the corner into the side street where the livery was located he was astonished to find a row of horses and wagons lining each side of the street, and in each vehicle two men in white jumpers and overalls. The men were in charge of huge cans of paints, assorted brushes, ladders, scaffolds and other paraphernalia.

There must have been twenty vehicles, altogether, and some of the rigs were already starting out and driving briskly away in different directions.

Mr. Hopkins was puzzled. He approached one of the white-overalled men who was loading cans of paint into a wagon and inquired:

“Who are you fellows?”

“Sign painters,” answered the man, with an amused look.

“Who do you work for?”

“The Carson Advertising Sign Company of Cleveland.”

“Oh, I see,” replied Hopkins. “Got a big job in this neighborhood?”

“Pretty big, sir.”

“Who’s your foreman?”

“Smith. He’s in the livery office.”

Then the man climbed into his wagon and drove away, and Hopkins turned into the livery office. A thin-faced man with sharp eyes was Talking with the proprietor.

“Is this Mr. Smith?” asked Hopkins.

“Yes.”

“Of the Carson Advertising Sign Company?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve got a big job for you. My name’s Hopkins. I want a hundred big signs painted mighty quick.”

“Sorry, sir; we’ve got all we can handle here for two or three weeks.”

“It’s got to be done quick or not at all. Can’t you send for more men?”

“We’ve got thirty-eight on this job, and can’t get any more for love or money. Had to send to Chicago for some of these.”

“Rush job?”

“Yes, sir. You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve got to get started. This is only our second day and we’re pretty busy.”

“Wait a minute,” called the bewildered Hopkins, following Smith to his buggy. “What concern is your firm doing all this painting for?”

“A man named Merrick.”

Then the foreman drove away, and Mr. Hopkins was left greatly puzzled.

“Merrick–Merrick!” he repeated. “I don’t remember any big advertiser by that name. It must be some new concern. Anyhow, it all helps in my fight against Forbes.”

He again returned to the livery office and asked for a rig.

“Everything out, Mr. Hopkins. I’ve hired everything to be had in town for this sign-painting gang.”

But Mr. Hopkins was not to be balked. As long as these sign-painters were doing missionary work for his cause among the farmers, he decided to drive over to Fairview and see the party leaders in that important town. So he went back to Dr. Squiers’s house and borrowed the Doctor’s horse and buggy.

He drove along the turnpike for a time in silence. Then it struck him that there was a peculiar air of neatness about the places he passed. The barns and fences all seemed newly painted, and he remembered that he hadn’t seen an advertising sign since he left town.

A mile farther on he came upon a gang of the sign painters, who with their huge brushes were rapidly painting the entire length of a weather-worn fence with white paint.

Mr. Hopkins reined in and watched them for a few moments.

“You sign-painters don’t seem to be getting any signs started,” he observed.

“No,” replied one of the men, laughing. “This is a peculiar job for our firm to tackle. We’ve made a contract to paint out every sign in the district.”

“Paint ’em out!”

“Yes, cover them up with new paint, and get rid of them.”

“But how about the advertisers? Don’t they own the spaces now?”

“They did; but they’ve all been bought up. John Merrick owns the spaces now, and we’re working for John Merrick.”

“Who’s he?”

“Some friend of Mr. Forbes, up at Elmhurst.”

Mr. Hopkins was not a profane man, but he said a naughty word. And then he cut his horse so fiercely with the whip that the poor beast gave a neigh of terror, and started down the road at a gallop.

CHAPTER IX

OL’ WILL ROGERS

Beth had her folding table out in the rose garden where Kenneth was working at his easel, and while the boy painted she wrote her campaign letters and “editorials.”

At first Ken had resented the management of his campaign by his three girl friends; but soon he was grateful for their assistance and proud of their talents. It was at their own request that he refrained from any active work himself, merely appearing at the meetings they planned, where he made his speeches and impressed his hearers with his earnestness. He was really an excellent speaker, and his youth and enthusiasm counted much in his favor.

He protested mildly when Louise invited the Women’s Political Club to meet at Elmhurst on Thursday afternoon, but Mr. Watson assured him that this was an important play for popularity, so he promised to meet them. Tables were to be spread upon the lawn, for the late October weather was mild and delightful, and Louise planned to feed the women in a way that they would long remember.

Patsy had charge of the towns and Louise of the country districts, but Beth often aided Louise, who had a great deal of territory to cover.

The automobiles Uncle John had ordered sent down were a great assistance to the girls, and enabled them to cover twice as much territory in a day as would have been done with horses.

But, although they worked so tirelessly and earnestly, it was not all plain sailing with the girl campaigners. Yet though they met with many rebuffs, they met very little downright impertinence. Twice Louise was asked to leave a house where she had attempted to make a proselyte, and once a dog was set upon Beth by an irate farmer, who resented her automobile as much as he did her mission. As for Patsy, she was often told in the towns that “a young girl ought to be in better business than mixing up in politics,” and she was sensitive enough once or twice to cry over these reproaches when alone in her chamber. But she maintained a cheerful front; and, in truth, all the girls enjoyed their work immensely.

While Beth and Kenneth were in the garden this sunny afternoon James came to say that a man wanted to see “one of the politics young ladies.”

“Shall we send him about his business, Beth?” asked the boy.

“Oh, no; we can’t afford to lose a single vote. Bring him here, James, please,” said the girl.

So presently a wizened little man in worn and threadbare garments, his hat in his hand, came slowly into the garden. His sunken cheeks were covered with stubby gray whiskers, his shoulders were stooped and bent from hard work, and his hands bore evidences of a life of toil. Yet the eyes he turned upon Beth, as she faced him had a wistful and pleading look that affected her strangely.

“Afternoon, miss,” he said, in a hesitating voice. “I–I’m Rogers, miss; ol’ Will Rogers. I–I s’pose you hain’t heerd o’ me before.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Rogers,” replied the girl in her pleasant voice. “Have you come to see me about the election?”

“It’s–it’s sump’n ’bout the ‘lection, an’ then agin it ain’t. But I run the chanct o’ seein’ ye, because we’re in desprit straits, an’ Nell advised that I hev a talk with ye. ‘Frank an’ outright,’ says Nell. ‘Don’t beat about the bush,’ says she. ‘Go right to th’ point an’ they’ll say yes or no.”

Beth laughed merrily, and the boy smiled as he wielded his brush with delicate strokes.

“Ye mustn’t mind me, miss,” said Will Rogers, in a deprecating tone. “I’m–I’m sommut broke up an’ discouraged, an’ ain’t th’ man I used to be. Nell knows that, an’ she orter came herself; but it jes’ made her cry to think o’ it, an’ so I says I’ll come an’ do the best I kin.”

Beth was really interested now.

“Sit down on this bench, Mr. Rogers,” she said, “and I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

He sat down willingly, bent forward as he rested upon the garden bench, and twirled his hat slowly in his hands.

“‘Taint easy, ye know, miss, to say some things, an’ this is one o’ the hardest,” he began.

“Go on,” said Beth, encouragingly, for old Will had suddenly stopped short and seemed unable to proceed.

“They say, miss, as you folks is a-spendin’ uv a lot o’ money on this election, a-gittin’ votes, an’ sich like,” he said, in an altered tone.

“It costs a little to run a political campaign,” acknowledged Beth.

“They say money’s bein’ poured out liken water–to git votes,” he persisted.

“Well, Mr. Rogers?”

“Well, thet’s how it started, ye see. We’re so agonizin’ poor, Nell thought we orter git some o’ the money while it’s goin’.”

The girl was much amused. Such frankness was both unusual and refreshing.

“Have you a vote to sell?” she asked.

He did not answer at once, but sat slowly twirling his hat.

“That’s jet’ what Nell thought ye’d ask,” he said, finally, “an’ she knew if ye did it was all up with our plan. Guess I’ll be goin’, miss.”

He rose slowly from his seat, but the girl did not intend to lose any of the fun this queer individual might yet furnish.

“Sit down, Mr. Rogers,” she said, “and tell me why you can’t answer my questions?”

“I guess I’ll hev to speak out an’ tell all,” said he, his voice trembling a little, “although I thought fer a minnit I could see my way without. I can’t sell my vote, miss, ’cause I’ve been plannin’ t’vote fer Mr. Forbes anyhow. But we wanted some uv th’ money that’s being wasted, an’ we wanted it mighty bad.”

“Why?”

“Thet’s the hard part uv it, miss; but I’m goin’ to tell you. Did ye ever hear o’ Lucy?”

“No, Mr. Rogers.”

“Lucy’s our girl–the on’y chick er child we ever had. She’s a pretty girl, is Lucy; a good deal liken her mother; wi’ the same high spirits my Nell had afore she broke down. Mostly Nell cries, nowadays.”

“Yes. Go on.”

“Lucy had a schoolin’, an’ we worked hard to give it her, fer my land ain’t much account, nohow. An’ when she grew up she had more boys comin’ to see her than any gal this side o’ Fairview, an’ one o’ ’em caught Lucy’s fancy. But she was too young to marry, an’ she wanted to be earnin’ money; so she got a job workin’ fer Doc Squiers, over to Elmwood. He’s the dentist there, an’ Lucy helped with the housework an’ kept the office slicked up, an’ earned ev’ry penny she got.”

He stopped here, and looked vacantly around.

Beth tried to help the old man.

“And then?” she asked, softly.

“Then come the trouble, miss. One day ol’ Mis’ Squiers, the Doc’s mother, missed a di’mon’ ring. She laid it on the mantel an’ it was gone, an’ she said as Lucy took it. Lucy didn’t take it, an’ after they’d tried to make my gal confess as she was a thief they give ‘er three days to hand up the ring or the money it was worth, or else they’d hev her arrested and sent t’ jail. Lucy didn’t take it, ye know. She jes’ _couldn’t_ do sech a thing, natcherly.”

“I know,” said Beth, sympathetically.

“So she comes home, heartbroken, an’ told us about it, an’ we didn’t hev th’ money nuther. It were sixty dollars they wanted, or th’ ring; an’ we didn’t hev neither of ’em.”

“Of course not.”

“Well, Tom come over thet night to see Lucy, hearin’ she was home, an’–“

“Who is Tom?”

“Thet’s Tom Gates, him thet–but I’m comin’ to thet, miss. Tom always loved Lucy, an’ wanted to marry her; but his folks is as poor as we are, so the young ‘uns had to wait. Tom worked at the mill over t’ Fairview–the big saw-mill where they make the lumber an’ things.”

“I know.”

“He was the bookkeeper, fer Tom had schoolin’, too; an’ he took private lessons in bookkeepin’ from ol’ Cheeseman. So he had got hired at the mill, an’ had a likely job, an’ was doin’ well. An’ when Tom heerd about Lucy’s trouble, an’ thet she had only two days left before goin’ to jail, he up an’ says: ‘I’ll get the money, Lucy: don’ you worry a bit.’ ‘Oh, Tom!’ says she, ‘hev you got sixty dollars saved already?’ ‘I’ve got it, Lucy,’ says he, ‘an’ I’ll go over tomorrow an’ pay Doc Squiers. Don’ you worry any more. Forget all about it.’ Well o’ course, miss, that helped a lot. Nell an’ Lucy both felt the disgrace of the thing, but it wouldn’t be a public disgrace, like goin’ to jail; so we was all mighty glad Tom had that sixty dollars.”

“It was very fortunate,” said Beth, filling in another pause.

“The nex’ day Tom were as good as his word. He paid Doc Squiers an’ got a receipt an’ giv it to Lucy. Then we thought th’ trouble was over, but it had on’y just begun. Monday mornin’ Tom was arrested over t’ the mill fer passin’ a forged check an’ gettin’ sixty dollars on it. Lucy was near frantic with grief. She walked all the way to Fairview, an’ they let her see Tom in the jail. He tol’ her it was true he forged th’ check, but he did it to save her. He was a man an’ it wouldn’t hurt fer him to go to jail so much as it would a girl. He said he was glad he did it, an’ didn’t mind servin’ a sentence in prison. I think, miss, as Tom meant thet–ev’ry word uv it. But Lucy broke down under the thing an’ raved an’ cried, an’ nuther Nell ner I could do anything with her. She said she’d ruined Tom’s life an’ all thet, an’ she didn’t want to live herself. Then she took sick, an’ Nell an’ I nursed her as careful as we could. How’n the wurld she ever got away we can’t make out, nohow.”

“Did she get away?” asked the girl, noting that the old man’s eyes were full of tears and his lips trembling.

“Yes, miss. She’s bin gone over ten days, now, an’ we don’t even know where to look fer her; our girl–our poor Lucy. She ain’t right in her head, ye know, or she’d never a done it. She’d never a left us like this in th’ world. ‘Taint like our Lucy.”

Kenneth had turned around on his stool and was regarding old Will Rogers earnestly, brush and pallet alike forgotten. Beth was trying to keep the tears out of her own eyes, for the old man’s voice was even more pathetic than his words.

“Ten days ago!” said Kenneth. “And she hasn’t been found yet?”

“We can’t trace her anywhere, an’ Nell has broke down at las’, an’ don’t do much but cry. It’s hard, sir–I can’t bear to see Nell cry. She’d sich high sperrits, onct.”

“Where’s the boy Tom?” asked Kenneth, somewhat gruffly.

“He’s in the jail yet, waitin’ to be tried. Court don’t set till next week, they say.”

“And where do you live, Rogers?”

“Five miles up the Fairview road. ‘Taint much of a place–Nell says I’ve always bin a shif’les lot, an’ I guess it’s true. Yesterday your hired men painted all the front o’ my fence–painted it white–not only where th’ signs was, but th’ whole length of it. We didn’t ask it done, but they jes’ done it. I watched ’em, an’ Nell says if we on’y had th’ money thet was wasted on thet paint an’ labor, we might find our Lucy. ‘It’s a shame,’ says Nell, ‘all thet ‘lection money bein’ thrown away on paint when it might save our poor crazy child.’ I hope it ain’t wrong, sir; but thet’s what I thought, too. So we laid plans fer me to come here today. Ef I kin get a-hold o’ any o’ thet money honest, I want to do it.”

“Have you got a horse?” asked Kenneth.

“Not now. I owned one las’ year, but he died on me an’ I can’t get another nohow.”

“Did you walk here?” asked Beth.

“Yes, miss; o’ course. I’ve walked the hull county over a-tryin’ to find Lucy. I don’ mind the walking much.”

There was another pause, while old Will Rogers looked anxiously at the boy and the girl, and they looked at each other. Then Beth took out her purse.

“I want to hire your services to help us in the election,” she said, briskly. “I’ll furnish you a horse and buggy and you can drive around and talk with people and try to find Lucy at the same time. This twenty dollars is to help you pay expenses. You needn’t account for it; just help us as much as you can.”

The old man straightened up and his eyes filled again.

“Nell said if it was a matter o’ charity I mustn’t take a cent,” he observed, in a low voice.

‘”It isn’t charity. It’s business. And now that we know your story we mean to help you find your girl. Anyone would do that, you know. Tell me, what is Lucy like?”

“She’s like Nell used to be.”

“But we don’t know your wife. Describe Lucy as well as you can. Is she tall?”

“Middlin’, miss.”

“Light or dark?”

“Heh?”

“Is her hair light or dark colored?”

“Middlin’; jes’ middlin’, miss.”

“Well, is she stout or thin?”

“I should say sorter betwixt an’ between, miss.”

“How old is Lucy?”

“Jes’ turned eighteen, miss.”

“Never mind, Beth,” interrupted the boy; “you won’t learn much from old Will’s description. But we’ll see what can be done tomorrow. Call James and have him sent home in the rig he’s going to use. It seems to me you’re disposing rather freely of my horses and carts.”

“Yes, Ken. You’ve nothing to say about your belongings just now. But if you object to this plan–“

“I don’t. The girl must be found, and her father is more likely to find her than a dozen other searchers. He shall have the rig and welcome.”

So it was that Will Rogers drove back to his heartbroken wife in a smart top-buggy, with twenty dollars in his pocket and a heart full of wonder and thanksgiving.

CHAPTER X

THE FORGED CHECK

Kenneth and Beth refrained from telling the other girls or Uncle John of old Will Rogers’s visit, but they got Mr. Watson in the library and questioned him closely about the penalty for forging a check.

It was a serious crime indeed, Mr. Watson told them, and Tom Gates bade fair to serve a lengthy term in state’s prison as a consequence of his rash act.

“But it was a generous act, too,” said Beth.

“I can’t see it in that light,” said the old lawyer. “It was a deliberate theft from his employers to protect a girl he loved. I do not doubt the girl was unjustly accused. The Squierses are a selfish, hard-fisted lot, and the old lady, especially, is a well known virago. But they could not have proven a case against Lucy, if she was innocent, and all their threats of arresting her were probably mere bluff. So this boy was doubly foolish in ruining himself to get sixty dollars to pay an unjust demand.”

“He was soft-hearted and impetuous,” said Beth; “and, being in love, he didn’t stop to count the cost.”

“That is no excuse, my dear,” declared Mr. Watson. “Indeed there is never an excuse for crime. The young man is guilty, and he must suffer the penalty.”

“Is there no way to save him?” asked Kenneth.

“If the prosecution were withdrawn and the case settled with the victim of the forged check, then the young man would be allowed his freedom. But under the circumstances I doubt if such an arrangement could be made.”

“We’re going to try it, anyhow,” was the prompt decision.

So as soon as breakfast was over the next morning Beth and Kenneth took one of the automobiles, the boy consenting unwillingly to this sort of locomotion because it would save much time. Fairview was twelve miles away, but by ten o’clock they drew up at the county jail.

They were received in the little office by a man named Markham, who was the jailer. He was a round-faced, respectable appearing fellow, but his mood was distinctly unsociable.

“Want to see Tom Gates, eh? Well! what for?” he demanded.

“We wish to talk with him,” answered Kenneth.

“Talk! what’s the good? You’re no friend of Tom Gates. I can’t be bothered this way, anyhow.”

“I am Kenneth Forbes, of Elmhurst. I’m running for Representative on the Republican ticket,” said Kenneth, quietly.

“Oh, say! that’s different,” observed Markham, altering his demeanor. “You mustn’t mind my being gruff and grumpy, Mr. Forbes. I’ve just stopped smoking a few days ago, and it’s got on my nerves something awful!”

“May we see Gates at once?” asked Kenneth.

“Sure-ly! I’ll take you to his cell, myself. It’s just shocking how such a little thing as stoppin’ smoking will rile up a fellow. Come this way, please.”

They followed the jailer along a succession of passages.

“Smoked ever sence I was a boy, you know, an’ had to stop last week because Doc said it would kill me if I didn’t,” remarked the jailer, leading the way. “Sometimes I’m that yearning for a smoke I’m nearly crazy, an’ I dunno which is worst, dyin’ one way or another. This is Gates’ cell–the best in the shop.”

He unlocked the door, and called:

“Here’s visitors, Tom.”

“Thank you, Mr. Markham,” replied a quiet voice, as a young man came forward from the dim interior of the cell. “How are you feeling, today?”

“Worse, Tom; worse ‘n ever,” replied the jailer, gloomily.

“Well, stick it out, old man; don’t give in.”

“I won’t, Tom. Smokin’ ‘ll kill me sure, an’ there’s a faint hope o’ livin’ through this struggle to give it up. This visitor is Mr. Forbes of Elmhurst, an’ the young lady is–“

“Miss DeGraf,” said Kenneth, noticing the boy’s face critically, as he stood where the light from the passage fell upon it. “Will you leave us alone, please, Mr. Markham?”

“Sure-ly, Mr. Forbes. You’ve got twenty minutes according to regulations. I’ll come and get you then. Sorry we haven’t any reception room in the jail. All visits has to be made in the cells.”

Then he deliberately locked Kenneth and Beth in with the forger, and retreated along the passage.

“Sit down, please,” said Gates, in a cheerful and pleasant voice. “There’s a bench here.”

“We’ve come to inquire about your case, Gates,” said Kenneth. “It seems you have forged a check.”

“Yes, sir, I plead guilty, although I’ve been told I ought not to confess. But the fact is that I forged the check and got the money, and I’m willing to stand the consequences.”

“Why did you do it?” asked Beth.

He was silent and turned his face away.

A fresh, wholesome looking boy, was Tom Gates, with steady gray eyes, an intelligent forehead, but a sensitive, rather weak mouth. He was of sturdy, athletic build and dressed neatly in a suit that was of coarse material but well brushed and cared for.

Beth thought his appearance pleasing and manly. Kenneth decided that he was ill at ease and in a state of dogged self-repression.

“We have heard something of your story,” said Kenneth, “and are interested in it. But there is no doubt you have acted very foolishly.”

“Do you know Lucy, sir?” asked the young man.

“No.”

“Lucy is very proud. The thing was killing her, and I couldn’t bear it. I didn’t stop to think whether it was foolish or not. I did it; and I’m glad I did.”

“You have made her still more unhappy,” said Beth, gently.

“Yes; she’ll worry about me, I know. I’m disgraced for life; but I’ve saved Lucy from any disgrace, and she’s young. She’ll forget me before I’ve served my term, and–and take up with some other young fellow.”

“Would you like that?” asked Beth.

“No, indeed,” he replied, frankly. “But it will be best that way. I had to stand by Lucy–she’s so sweet and gentle, and so sensitive. I don’t say I did right. I only say I’d do the same thing again.”

“Couldn’t her parents have helped her?” inquired Kenneth.

“No. Old Will is a fine fellow, but poor and helpless since Mrs. Rogers had her accident.”

“Oh, did she have an accident?” asked Beth.

“Yes. Didn’t you know? She’s blind.”

“Her husband didn’t tell us that,” said the girl.

“He was fairly prosperous before that, for Mrs. Rogers was an energetic and sensible woman, and kept old Will hard at work. One morning she tried to light the fire with kerosene, and lost her sight. Then Rogers wouldn’t do anything but lead her around, and wait upon her, and the place went to rack and ruin.”

“I understand now,” said Beth.

“Lucy could have looked after her mother,” said young Bates, “but old Will was stubborn and wouldn’t let her. So the girl saw something must be done and went to work. That’s how all the trouble came about.”

He spoke simply, but paced up and down the narrow cell in front of them. It was evident that his feelings were deeper than he cared to make evident.

“Whose name did you sign to the check?” asked Kenneth.

“That of John E. Marshall, the manager of the mill. He is supposed to sign all the checks of the concern. It’s a stock company, and rich. I was bookkeeper, so it was easy to get a blank check and forge the signature. As regards my robbing the company, I’ll say that I saved them a heavy loss one day. I discovered and put out a fire that would have destroyed the whole plant. But Marshall never even thanked me. He only discharged the man who was responsible for the fire.”

“How long ago were you arrested?” asked Beth.

“It’s nearly two weeks now. But I’ll have a trial in a few days, they say. My crime is so serious that the circuit judge has to sit on the case.”

“Do you know where Lucy is?”

“She’s at home, I suppose. I haven’t heard from her since the day she came here to see me–right after my arrest.”

They did not think best to enlighten him at that time. It was better for him to think the girl unfeeling than to know the truth.

“I’m going to see Mr. Marshall,” said Kenneth, “and discover what I can do to assist you.”

“Thank you, sir. It won’t be much, but I’m grateful to find a friend. I’m guilty, you know, and there’s no one to blame but myself.”

They left him then, for the jailer arrived to unlock the door, and escort them to the office.

“Tom’s a very decent lad,” remarked the jailer, on the way. “He ain’t a natural criminal, you know; just one o’ them that gives in to temptation and is foolish enough to get caught. I’ve seen lots of that kind in my day. You don’t smoke, do you, Mr. Forbes?”

“No, Mr. Markham.”

“Then don’t begin it; or, if you do, never try to quit. It’s–it’s _awful_, it is. And it ruins a man’s disposition.”

The mill was at the outskirts of the town. It was a busy place, perhaps the busiest in the whole of the Eighth District, and in it were employed a large number of men. The office was a small brick edifice, separated from the main buildings, in which the noise of machinery was so great that one speaking could scarcely be heard. The manager was in, Kenneth and Beth learned, but could not see them until he had signed the letters he had dictated for the noon mail.

So they sat on a bench until a summons came to admit them to Mr. Marshall’s private office.

He looked up rather ungraciously, but motioned them to be seated.

“Mr. Forbes, of Elmhurst?” he asked, glancing at the card Kenneth had sent in.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve been bothered already over your election campaign,” resumed the manager, arranging his papers in a bored manner. “Some girl has been here twice to interview my men and I have refused to admit her. You may as well understand, sir, that I stand for the Democratic candidate, and have no sympathy with your side.”

“That doesn’t interest me, especially, sir,” answered Kenneth, smiling. “I’m not electioneering just now. I’ve come to talk with you about young Gates.”

“Oh. Well, sir, what about him?”

“I’m interested in the boy, and want to save him from prosecution.”

“He’s a forger, Mr. Forbes; a deliberate criminal.”

“I admit that. But he’s very young, and his youth is largely responsible for his folly.”

“He stole my money.”

“It is true, Mr. Marshall.”

“And he deserves a term in state’s prison.”

“I agree to all that. Nevertheless, I should like to save him,” said Kenneth. “His trial has not yet taken place, and instead of your devoting considerable of your valuable time appearing against him it would be much simpler to settle the matter right here and now.”

“In what way, Mr. Forbes?”

“I’ll make your money loss good.”

“It has cost me twice sixty dollars in annoyance.”

“I can well believe it, sir. I’ll pay twice sixty dollars for the delivery to me of the forged check, and the withdrawal of the prosecution.”

“And the costs?”

“I’ll pay all the costs besides.”

“You’re foolish. Why should you do all this?”

“I have my own reasons, Mr. Marshall. Please look at the matter from a business standpoint. If you send the boy to prison you will still suffer the loss of the money. By compromising with me you can recover your loss and are paid for your annoyance.”

“You’re right. Give me a check for a hundred and fifty, and I’ll turn over to you the forged check and quash further proceedings.”

Kenneth hesitated a moment. He detested the grasping disposition that would endeavor to take advantage of his evident desire to help young Gates. He had hoped to find Mr. Marshall a man of sympathy; but the manager was as cold as an icicle.

Beth, uneasy at his silence, nudged him.

“Pay it, Ken,” she whispered.

“Very well, Mr. Marshall,” said he, “I accept your terms.”

The check was written and handed over, and Marshall took the forged check from his safe and delivered it, with the other papers in the case, to Mr. Forbes. He also wrote a note to his lawyer directing him to withdraw the prosecution.

Kenneth and Beth went away quite happy with their success, and the manager stood in his little window and watched them depart. There was a grim smile of amusement on his shrewd face.

“Of all the easy marks I ever encountered,” muttered Mr. Marshall, “this young Forbes is the easiest. Why, he’s a fool, that’s what he is. He might have had that forged check for the face of it, if he’d been sharp. You wouldn’t catch ‘Rast Hopkins doing such a fool stunt. Not in a thousand years!”

Meantime Beth was pressing Kenneth’s arm as she sat beside him and saying happily:

“I’m so glad, Ken–so glad! And to think we can save all that misery and despair by the payment of a hundred and fifty dollars! And now we must find the girl.”

“Yes,” replied the boy, cheerfully, “we must find Lucy.”

CHAPTER XI

A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE

A woman was sitting in a low room, engaged in knitting. Her feet were stretched out toward a small fire that smouldered in an open hearth. She wore a simple calico gown, neat and well-fitting, and her face bore traces of much beauty that time and care had been unable wholly to efface.

Suddenly she paused in her work, her head turned slightly to one side to listen.

“Come in, sir,” she called in a soft but distinct voice; “come in, miss.”

So Kenneth and Beth entered at the half-open porch door and advanced into the room.

“Is this Mrs. Rogers?” asked Beth, looking at the woman curiously. The woman’s eyes were closed, but the lashes fell in graceful dark curves over her withered cheeks. The girl wondered how she had been able to know her visitors’ sex so accurately.

“Yes, I am Mrs. Rogers,” said the sweet, sad voice. “And I think you are one of the young ladies from Elmhurst–perhaps the one Will talked to.”

“You are right, Mrs. Rogers. I am Elizabeth DeGraf.”

“And your companion–is it Mr. Forbes?” the woman asked.

“Yes, madam,” replied Kenneth, astonished to find Will’s wife speaking with so much refinement and gracious ease.

“You are very welcome. Will you please find seats? My affliction renders me helpless, as you may see.”

“We are very comfortable, I assure you, Mrs. Rogers,” said Beth. “We have come to ask if you have heard anything of your daughter.”

“Not a word as yet, Miss DeGraf, Will is out with the horse and buggy doing his best to get information. But Lucy has been gone so long now that I realize it will be difficult to find her, if, indeed, the poor girl has not–is not–“

Her voice broke.

“Oh, you don’t fear _that_, do you, Mrs. Rogers?” asked Beth, quickly.

“I fear anything–everything!” wailed the poor creature, the tears streaming from between her closed lids. “My darling was frantic with grief, and she couldn’t bear the humiliation and disgrace of her position. Will told you, didn’t he?”

“Yes, of course. But it wasn’t so bad, Mrs. Rogers; it wasn’t a desperate condition, by any means.”

“With poor Tom in prison for years–and just for trying to help her.”

“Tom isn’t in prison, you know, any more,” said Beth quietly. “He has been released.”

“Released! When?”

“Last evening. His fault has been forgiven, and he is now free.”

The woman sat silent for a time. Then she asked:

“You have done this, Mr. Forbes?”

“Why, Miss DeGraf and I assisted, perhaps. The young man is not really bad, and–“

“Tom’s a fine boy!” she cried, with eagerness. “He’s honest and true, Mr. Forbes–he is, indeed!”

“I think so,” said Kenneth.

“If he wasn’t my Lucy would never have loved him. He had a bright future before him, sir, and that’s why my child went mad when he ruined his life for her sake.”

“Was she mad, do you think?” asked Beth, softly.

“She must have been,” said the mother, sadly. “Lucy was a sensible girl, and until this thing happened she was as bright and cheerful as the day is long. But she is very sensitive–she inherited that from me, I think–and Tom’s action drove her distracted. At first she raved and rambled incoherently, and Will and I feared brain fever would set in. Then she disappeared in the night, without leaving a word or message for us, which was unlike her–and we’ve never heard a word of her since. The–the river has a strange fascination for people in that condition. At times in my life it has almost drawn _me_ into its depths–and I am not mad. I have never been mad.”

“Let us hope for the best, Mrs. Rogers,” said Beth. “Somehow, I have an idea this trouble will all turn out well in the end.”

“Have you?” asked the woman, earnestly.

“Yes. It all came about through such a little thing–merely an unjust accusation.”

“The little things are the ones that ruin lives,” she said. “Will you let me tell you something of myself? You have been so kind to us, my dear, that I feel you ought to know.”

“I shall be glad to know whatever you care to tell me,” said Beth, simply.

“I am the wife of a poor farmer,” began the woman, speaking softly and with some hesitation, but gaining strength as she proceeded. “As a girl I was considered attractive, and my father was a man of great wealth and social standing. We lived in Baltimore. Then I fell in love with a young man who, after obtaining my promise to marry him, found some one he loved better and carelessly discarded me. As I have said, I have a sensitive nature. In my girlhood I was especially susceptible to any slight, and this young man’s heartless action made it impossible for me to remain at home and face the humiliation he had thrust upon me. My father was a hard man, and demanded that I marry the man he had himself chosen; but I resented this command and ran away. My mother had passed on long before, and there was nothing to keep me at home. I came west and secured a position to teach school in this county, and for a time I was quite contented and succeeded in living down my disappointment. I heard but once from my father. He had married again and disinherited me. He forbade me to ever communicate with him again.

“At that time Will Rogers was one of the most promising and manly of the country lads around here. He was desperately in love with me, and at this period, when I seemed completely cut off from my old life and the future contained no promise, I thought it best to wear out the remainder of my existence in the seclusion of a farm-house. I put all the past behind me, and told Will Rogers I would marry him and be a faithful wife; but that my heart was dead. He accepted me on that condition, and it was not until after we were married some time that my husband realized how impossible it would ever be to arouse my affection. Then he lost courage, and became careless and reckless. When our child came–our Lucy–Will was devoted to her, and the baby wakened in me all the old passionate capacity to love. Lucy drew Will and me a little closer together, but he never recovered his youthful ambition. He was a disappointed man, and went from bad to worse. I don’t say Will hasn’t always been tender and true to me, and absolutely devoted to Lucy. But he lost all hope of being loved as he loved me, and the disappointment broke him down. He became an old man early in life, and his lack of energy kept us very poor. I used to take in sewing before the accident to my eyes, and that helped a good deal to pay expenses. But now I am helpless, and my husband devotes all his time to me, although I beg him to work the farm and try to earn some money.

“I wouldn’t have minded the poverty; I wouldn’t mind being blind, even, if Lucy had been spared to me. I have had to bear so much in my life that I could even bear my child’s death. But to have her disappear and not know what has become of her–whether she is living miserably or lying at the bottom of the river–it is this that is driving me distracted.”

Kenneth and Beth remained silent for a time after Mrs. Rogers had finished her tragic story, for their hearts were full of sympathy for the poor woman. It was hard to realize that a refined, beautiful and educated girl had made so sad a mistake of her life and suffered so many afflictions as a consequence. That old Will had never been a fitting mate for his wife could readily be understood, and yet the man was still devoted to his helpless, unresponsive spouse. The fault was not his.

The boy and the girl both perceived that there was but one way they could assist Mrs. Rogers, and that was to discover what had become of her child.

“Was Lucy like you, or did she resemble her father?” asked Beth.

“She is–she was very like me when I was young,” replied the woman. “There is a photograph of her on the wall there between the windows; but it was taken five years ago, when she was a child. Now she is–she was eighteen, and a well-developed young woman.”

“I’ve been looking at the picture,” said Kenneth.

“And you mustn’t think of her as dead, Mrs. Rogers,” said Beth, pleadingly. “I’m sure she is alive, and that we shall find her. We’re going right to work, and everything possible shall be done to trace your daughter. Don’t worry, please. Be as cheerful as you can, and leave the search to us.”

The woman sighed.

“Will believes she is alive, too,” she said. “He can’t sleep or rest till he finds her, for my husband loves her as well as I do. But sometimes I feel it’s wicked to hope she is alive. I know what she suffers, for I suffered, myself; and life isn’t worth living when despair and disappointment fills it.”

“I cannot see why Lucy shouldn’t yet be happy,” protested Beth. “Tom Gates is now free, and can begin life anew.”

“His trouble will follow him everywhere,” said Mrs. Rogers, with conviction. “Who will employ a bookkeeper, or even a clerk who has been guilty of forgery?”

“I think I shall give him employment,” replied Kenneth.

“You, Mr. Forbes!”

“Yes. I’m not afraid of a boy who became a criminal to save the girl he loved.”

“But all the world knows of his crime!” she exclaimed.

“The world forgets these things sooner than you suppose,” he answered. “I need a secretary, and in that position Tom Gates will quickly be able to live down this unfortunate affair. And if he turns out as well as I expect, he will soon be able to marry Lucy and give her a comfortable home. So now nothing remains but to find your girl, and we’ll try to do that, I assure you.”

Mrs. Rogers was crying softly by this time, but it was from joy and relief. When they left her she promised to be as cheerful as possible and to look on the bright side of life.

“I can’t thank you,” she said, “so I won’t try. You must know how grateful we are to you.”

As Beth and Kenneth drove back to Elmhurst they were both rather silent, for they had been strongly affected by the scene at the farm-house.

“It’s so good of you, Ken, to take Tom Gates into your employ,” said the girl, pressing her cousin’s arm. “And I’m sure he’ll be true and grateful.”

“I really need him, Beth,” said the boy. “There is getting to be too much correspondence for Mr. Watson to attend to, and I ought to relieve him of many other details. It’s a good arrangement, and I’m glad I thought of it.”

They had almost reached Elmhurst when they met the Honorable Erastus Hopkins driving along the road. On the seat beside him was a young girl, and as the vehicles passed each other Beth gave a start and clung to the boy’s arm.

“Oh, Ken!” she cried, “did you see? Did you see that?”

“Yes; it’s my respected adversary.”

“But the girl! It’s Lucy–I’m sure it’s Lucy! She’s the living image of Mrs. Rogers! Stop–stop–and let’s go back!”

“Nonsense, Beth,” said the boy. “It can’t be.”

“But it is. I’m sure it is!”

“I saw the girl,” he said. “She was laughing gaily and talking with the Honorable Erastus. Is that your idea of the mad, broken-hearted Lucy Rogers?”

“N-no. She _was_ laughing, Ken, I noticed it.”

“And she wasn’t unhappy a bit. You mustn’t think that every pretty girl with dark eyes you meet is Lucy Rogers, you know. And there’s another thing.”

“What, Ken?”

“Any companion of Mr. Hopkins can be easily traced.”

“That’s true,” answered the girl, thoughtfully. “I must have been mistaken,” she added, with a sigh.

CHAPTER XII

BETH MEETS A REBUFF

The campaign was now growing warm. Mr. Hopkins had come to realize that he had “the fight of his life” on his hands, and that defeat meant his political ruin. Close-fisted and miserly as he was, no one knew so well as the Honorable Erastus how valuable this position of Representative was to him in a financial way, and that by winning re-election he could find means to reimburse himself for all he had expended in the fight. So, to the surprise of the Democratic Committee and all his friends, Mr. Hopkins announced that he would oppose Forbes’s aggressive campaign with an equal aggressiveness, and spend as many dollars in doing so as might be necessary.

He did not laugh at his opponents any longer. To himself he admitted their shrewdness and activity and acknowledged that an experienced head was managing their affairs.

One of Mr. Hopkins’s first tasks after calling his faithful henchmen around him was to make a careful canvass of the voters of his district, to see what was still to be accomplished.

This canvass was quite satisfactory, for final report showed only about a hundred majority for Forbes. The district was naturally Republican by six hundred majority, and Hopkins had previously been elected by a plurality of eighty-three; so that all the electioneering of the girl politicians, and the expenditure of vast sums of money in painting fences and barns, buying newspapers and flaunting Forbes banners in the breezes, had not cut into the Hopkins following to any serious extent.

But, to offset this cheering condition, the Democratic agents who made the canvass reported that there was an air of uncertainty throughout the district, and that many of those who declared for Hopkins were lukewarm and faint-hearted, and might easily be induced to change their votes. This was what must be prevented. The “weak-kneed” contingency must be strengthened and fortified, and a couple of hundred votes in one way or another secured from the opposition.

The Democratic Committee figured out a way to do this. Monroe County, where both Forbes and Hopkins resided, was one of the Democratic strongholds of the State. The portions of Washington and Jefferson Counties included in the Eighth District were as strongly Republican, and being more populous gave to the district its natural Republican majority. On the same ticket that was to elect a Representative to the State Legislature was the candidate for Sheriff of Monroe County. A man named Cummings was the Republican and Seth Reynolds, the liveryman, the Democratic nominee. Under ordinary conditions Reynolds was sure to be elected, but the Committee proposed to sacrifice him in order to elect Hopkins. The Democrats would bargain with the Republicans to vote for the Republican Sheriff if the Republicans would vote for the Democratic Representative. This “trading votes,” which was often done, was considered by the politicians quite legitimate. The only thing necessary was to “fix” Seth Reynolds, and this Hopkins arranged personally. The office of Sheriff would pay about two thousand a year, and this sum Hopkins agreed to pay the liveryman and so relieve him of all the annoyance of earning it.

Reynolds saw the political necessity of this sacrifice, and consented readily to the arrangement. Mr. Cummings, who was to profit by the deal, was called to a private consultation and agreed to slaughter Kenneth Forbes to secure votes for himself. It was thought that this clever arrangement would easily win the fight for Hopkins.

But the Honorable Erastus had no intention of “taking chances,” or “monkeying with fate,” as he tersely expressed it. Every scheme known to politicians must be worked, and none knew the intricate game better than Hopkins. This was why he held several long conferences with his friend Marshall, the manager at the mill. And this was why Kenneth and Beth discovered him conversing with the young woman in the buggy. Mr. Hopkins had picked her up from the path leading from the rear gate of the Elmhurst grounds, and she had given him accurate information concerning the movements of the girl campaigners. The description she gave of the coming reception to the Woman’s Political League was so humorous and diverting that they were both laughing heartily over the thing when the young people passed them, and thus Mr. Hopkins failed to notice who the occupants of the other vehicle were.

He talked for an hour with the girl, gave her explicit instructions, thrust some money into her hand, and then drove her back to the bend in the path whence she quickly made her way up to the great house.

Louise was making great preparations to entertain the Woman’s Political League, an organization she had herself founded, the members of which were wives of farmers in the district. These women were flattered by the attention of the young lady and had promised to assist in electing Mr. Forbes. Louise hoped for excellent results from this organization and wished the entertainment to be so effective in winning their good-will that they would work earnestly for the cause in which they were enlisted.

Patsy and Beth supported their cousin loyally and assisted in the preparations. The Fairview band was engaged to discourse as much harmony as it could produce, and the resources of the great house were taxed to entertain the guests. Tables were spread on the lawn and a dainty but substantial repast was to be served.

The day of the entertainment was as sunny and mild as heart could desire.

By ten o’clock the farm wagons began to drive up, loaded with women and children, for all were invited except the grown men. This was the first occasion within a generation when such an entertainment had been given at Elmhurst, and the only one within the memory of man where the neighbors and country people had been invited guests. So all were eager to attend and enjoy the novel event.

The gardens and grounds were gaily decorated with Chinese and Japanese lanterns, streamers and Forbes banners. There were great tanks of lemonade, and tables covered with candies and fruits for the children, and maids and other servants distributed the things and looked after the comfort of the guests. The band played briskly, and before noon the scene was one of great animation. A speakers’ stand, profusely decorated, had been erected on the lawn, and hundreds of folding chairs provided for seats. The attendance was unexpectedly large, and the girls were delighted, foreseeing great success for their fete.

“We ought to have more attendants, Beth,” said Louise, approaching her cousin. “Won’t you run into the house and see if Martha can’t spare one or two more maids?”

Beth went at once, and found the housekeeper in her little room. Martha was old and somewhat feeble in body, but her mind was still active and her long years of experience in directing the household at Elmhurst made her a very useful and important personage. She was very fond of the young ladies, whom she had known when Aunt Jane was the mistress here, and Beth was her especial favorite.

So she greeted the girl cordially, and said:

“Maids? My dear, I haven’t another one to give you, and my legs are too tottering to be of any use. I counted on Eliza Parsons, the new girl I hired for the linen room and to do mending; but Eliza said she had a headache this morning and couldn’t stand the sun, So I let her off. But she didn’t seem very sick to me.”

“Perhaps she is better and will help us until after the luncheon is served,” said Beth. “Where is she, Martha? I’ll go and ask her.”

“I’d better show you the way, miss. She’s in her own room.”

The housekeeper led the way and Beth followed. When she rapped upon the door, a sweet, quiet voice said:

“Come in.”

The girl entered, and gave an involuntary cry of surprise. Standing before her was the young girl she had seen riding with Mr. Hopkins–the girl she had declared to be the missing daughter of Mrs. Rogers.

For a moment Beth stood staring, while the new maid regarded her with composure and a slight smile upon her beautiful face. She was dressed in the regulation costume of the maids at Elmhurst, a plain black gown with white apron and cap.

“I–I beg your pardon,” said Beth, with a slight gasp; for the likeness to Mrs. Rogers was something amazing. “Aren’t you Lucy Rogers?”

The maid raised her eyebrows with a gesture of genuine surprise. Then she gave a little laugh, and replied:

“No, Miss Beth. I’m Elizabeth Parsons.”

“But it can’t be,” protested the girl. “How do you know my name, and why haven’t I seen you here before?”

“I’m not a very important person at Elmhurst,” replied Eliza, in a pleasant, even tone. “I obtained the situation only a few days ago. I attend to the household mending, you know, and care for the linen. But one can’t be here without knowing the names of the young ladies, so I recognize you as Miss Beth, one of Mr. Forbes’s cousins.”

“You speak like an educated person,” said Beth, wonderingly. “Where is your home?”

For the first time the maid seemed a little confused, and her gaze wandered from the face of her visitor.

“Will you excuse my answering that question?” she asked.

“It is very simple and natural,” persisted Beth. “Why cannot you answer it?”

“Excuse me, please. I–I am not well today. I have a headache.”

She sat down in a rocking chair, and clasping her hands in her lap, rocked slowly back and forth.

“I’m sorry,” said Beth. “I hoped you would be able to assist me on the lawn. There are so many people that we can’t give them proper attention.”

Eliza Parsons shook her head.

“I am not able,” she declared. “I abhor crowds. They–they excite me, in some way, and I–I can’t bear them. You must excuse me.”

Beth looked at the strange girl without taking the hint to retire. Somehow, she could not rid herself of the impression that whether or not she was mistaken in supposing Eliza to be the missing Lucy, she had stumbled upon a sphinx whose riddle was well worth solving.

But Eliza bore the scrutiny with quiet unconcern. She even seemed mildly amused at the attention she attracted. Beth was a beautiful girl–the handsomest of the three cousins, by far; yet Eliza surpassed her in natural charm, and seemed well aware of the fact. Her manner was neither independent nor assertive, but rather one of well-bred composure and calm reliance. Beth felt that she was intruding and knew that she ought to go; yet some fascination held her to the spot. Her eyes wandered to the maid’s hands. However her features and form might repress any evidence of nervousness, these hands told a different story. The thin fingers clasped and unclasped in little spasmodic jerks and belied the quiet smile upon the face above them.

“I wish,” said Beth, slowly, “I knew you.”

A sudden wave of scarlet swept over Eliza’s face. She rose quickly to her feet, with an impetuous gesture that made her visitor catch her breath.

“I wish I knew myself,” she cried, fiercely. “Why do you annoy me in this manner? What am I to you? Will you leave me alone in my own room, or must I go away to escape you?”

“I will go,” said Beth, a little frightened at the passionate appeal.

Eliza closed the door behind her with a decided slam, and a key clicked in the lock. The sound made Beth indignant, and she hurried back to where her cousins were busy with the laughing, chattering throng of visitors.

CHAPTER XIII

THE BOOMERANG

The lawn fete was a tremendous success, and every farmer’s wife was proud of her satin badge bearing the monogram: “W. P. L.,” and the words: “FORBES FOR REPRESENTATIVE.”

Certain edibles, such as charlotte-russe, Spanish cream, wine jellies and mousses, to say nothing of the caviars and anchovies, were wholly unknown to them; but they ate the dainties with a wise disregard of their inexperience and enjoyed them immensely.

The old butler was a general in his way, and in view of the fact that the staff of servants at Elmhurst was insufficient to cope with such a throng, he allowed Louise to impress several farmers’ daughters into service, and was able to feed everyone without delay and in an abundant and satisfactory manner.

After luncheon began the speech-making, interspersed with music by the band.

Louise made the preliminary address, and, although her voice was not very strong, the silent attention of her hearers permitted her to be generally understood.

She called attention to the fact that this campaign was important because it promised more beautiful and attractive houses for the farmers and townsmen alike.

“We had all grown so accustomed to advertising signs,” she said, “that we failed to notice how thick they were becoming or how bold and overpowering. From a few scattered announcements on fence boards, they had crowded themselves into more prominent places until the barns and sheds and the very rocks were daubed with glaring letters asking us to buy the medicines, soaps, tobaccos, and other wares the manufacturers were anxious to sell. Every country road became an advertising avenue. Scarcely a country house was free from signs of some sort. Yet the people tamely submitted to this imposition because they knew no way to avoid it. When Mr. Forbes began his campaign to restore the homesteads to their former beauty and dignity, a cry was raised against him. But this was because the farmers did not understand how much this reform meant to them. So we gave them an object lesson. We painted out all the signs in this section at our own expense, that you might see how much more beautiful your homes are without them. We believe that none of you will ever care to allow advertising signs on your property again, and that the quiet refinement of this part of the country will induce many other places to follow our example, until advertisers are forced to confine themselves to newspapers, magazines and circulars, their only legitimate channels. This much Mr. Forbes has already done for you, and he will now tell you what else, if he is elected, he proposes to do.”

Kenneth then took the platform and was welcomed with a hearty cheer. He modestly assured them that a Representative in the State Legislature could accomplish much good for his district if he honestly desired to do so. That was what a Representative was for–to represent his people. It was folly to elect any man who would forget that duty and promote only his own interests through the position of power to which the people had appointed him. Mr. Forbes admitted that he had undertaken this campaign because he was opposed to offensive advertising signs; but now he had become interested in other issues, and was anxious to be elected so that he could carry on the work of reform. They needed more school-houses for their children, and many other things which he hoped to provide as their Representative.

During this oration Beth happened to glance up at the house, and her sharp eyes detected the maid, Eliza, standing shielded behind the half-closed blind of an upper window and listening to, as well as watching, the proceedings below. Then she remembered how the girl had been laughing and talking with Mr. Hopkins, when she first saw her, and with sudden dismay realized that Eliza was a spy in the service of the enemy.

Her first impulse was to denounce the maid at once, and have her discharged; but the time was not opportune, so she waited until the festivities were ended.

It had been a great day for the families of the neighboring farmers, and they drove homeward in the late afternoon full of enthusiasm over the royal manner in which they had been entertained and admiration for the girls who had provided the fun and feasting. Indeed, there were more kindly thoughts expressed for the inhabitants of Elmhurst than had ever before been heard in a single day in the history of the county, and the great and the humble seemed more closely drawn together.

When the last guest had departed Beth got her cousins and Kenneth together and told them of her discovery of the spy.

Kenneth was at first greatly annoyed, and proposed to call Martha and have the false maid ejected from the premises; but Patsy’s wise little head counselled caution in handling the matter.

“Now that we know her secret,” she said, “the girl cannot cause us more real harm, and there may be a way to circumvent this unscrupulous Hopkins and turn the incident to our own advantage. Let’s think it over carefully before we act.”

“There’s another thing,” said Beth, supporting her cousin. “I’m interested in the mystery surrounding the girl. I now think I was wrong in suspecting her to be the lost Lucy Rogers; but there is surely some romance connected with her, and she is not what she seems to be. I’d like to study her a little.”

“It was absurd to connect her with Lucy Rogers,” observed Kenneth, “for there is nothing in her character to remind one of the unhappy girl.”

“Except her looks,” added Beth. “She’s the living image of Mrs. Rogers.”

“That isn’t important,” replied Louise. “It is probably a mere coincidence. None of us have ever seen the real Lucy, and she may not resemble her mother at all.”

“Mrs. Rogers claims she does,” said Beth. “But anyhow, I have a wish to keep this girl at the house, where I can study her character.”

“Then keep her, my dear,” decided Kenneth. “I’ll set a couple of men to watch the gates, and if she goes out we’ll know whom she meets. The most she can do is to report our movements to Mr. Hopkins, and there’s no great harm in that.”

So the matter was left, for the time; and as if to verify Beth’s suspicions Eliza was seen to leave the grounds after dusk and meet Mr. Hopkins in the lane. They conversed together a few moments, and then the maid calmly returned and went to her room.

The next day Mr. Hopkins scattered flaring hand-bills over the district which were worded in a way designed to offset any advantage his opponent had gained from the lawn fete of the previous day. They read: “Hopkins, the Man of the Times, is the Champion of the Signs of the Times. Forbes, who never earned a dollar in his life, but inherited his money, is trying to take the dollars out of the pockets of the farmers by depriving them of the income derived by selling spaces for advertising signs. He is robbing the farmers while claiming he wants to beautify their homes. The farmers can’t eat beauty; they want money. Therefore they are going to vote for the Honorable Erastus Hopkins for Representative.” Then followed an estimate of the money paid the farmers of the district by the advertisers during the past five years, amounting to several thousands of dollars in the aggregate. The circular ended in this way: “Hopkins challenges Forbes to deny these facts. Hopkins is willing to meet Forbes before the public at any time and place he may select, to settle this argument in joint debate.”

The girls accepted the challenge at once. Within two days every farmer had received a notice that Mr. Forbes would meet Mr. Hopkins at the Fairview Opera House on Saturday afternoon to debate the question as to whether advertising signs brought good or evil to the community.

The campaign was now getting hot. Because of the activity of the opposing candidates every voter in the district had become more or less interested in the fight, and people were taking one side or the other with unusual earnestness.

Mr. Hopkins was not greatly pleased that his challenge had been accepted. He had imagined that the Forbes party would ignore it and leave him the prestige of crowing over his opponent’s timidity. But he remembered how easily he had subdued Kenneth at the school-house meeting before the nominations, and had no doubt of his ability to repeat the operation.

He was much incensed against the girls who were working for Kenneth Forbes, for he realized that they were proving an important factor in the campaign. He even attributed to them more than they deserved, for Uncle John’s telling activities were so quietly conducted that he was personally lost sight of entirely by Mr. Hopkins.

Mr. Hopkins had therefore become so enraged that, against the advice of his friends, he issued a circular sneering at “Women in Politics.” The newspapers having been subsidized by the opposition so early in the game, Mr. Hopkins had driven to employ the circular method of communicating with the voters. Scarcely a day passed now that his corps of distributors did not leave some of his literature at every dwelling in the district.

His tirade against the girls was neither convincing nor in good taste. He asked the voters if they were willing to submit to “petticoat government,” and permit a “lot of boarding-school girls, with more boldness than modesty” to dictate the policies of the community. “These frizzle-headed females,” continued the circular, “are trying to make your wives and daughters as rebellious and unreasonable as they are themselves; but no man of sense will permit a woman to influence his vote. It is a disgrace to this district that Mr. Forbes allows his girlish campaign to be run by a lot of misses who should be at home darning stockings; or, if they were not able to do that, practicing their music-lessons.”

“Good!” exclaimed shrewd Miss Patsy, when she read this circular. “If I’m not much mistaken, Mr. Hopkins has thrown a boomerang. Every woman who attended the fete is now linked with us as an ally, and every one of them will resent this foolish circular.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kenneth, “that you girls should be forced to endure this. I feared something like it when you insisted on taking a hand in the game.”

But they laughed at him and at Mr. Hopkins, and declared they were not at all offended.

“One cannot touch pitch without being defiled,” said Mr. Watson, gravely, “and politics, as Mr. Hopkins knows it, is little more than pitch.”

“I cannot see that there is anything my girls have done to forfeit respect and admiration,” asserted Uncle John, stoutly. “To accuse them of boldness or immodesty is absurd. They have merely gone to work in a business-like manner and used their wits and common-sense in educating the voters. Really, my dears, I’m more proud of you today than I’ve ever been before,” he concluded.

And Uncle John was right. There had been no loss of dignity by any one of the three, and their evident refinement, as well as their gentleness and good humor, had until now protected them from any reproach. It had remained for Mr. Hopkins to accuse them, and his circular had a wide influence in determining the issue of the campaign.

CHAPTER XIV

LUCY’S GHOST

Kenneth had sent word to Tom Gates, asking the young man to come to Elmhurst, but it was not until two days after the lawn party that Tom appeared and asked permission to see Mr. Forbes.

Beth and Louise were with Kenneth at the time, and were eager to remain during the interview, so the young man was shown into the library.

Beth could scarcely recognize in him the calm and cheerful Tom Gates they had visited in the county jail; for his face was drawn with care and anxiety, eyes were bloodshot, and his former neat appearance was changed to one careless and untidy.

Kenneth scrutinized him closely.

“What have you been up to, Tom?” he asked.

“I’ve been searching for Lucy, sir, night and day. I haven’t slept a wink since I heard the awful news of her sickness and escape. Where do you think she can be, sir?”

His question was full of agonized entreaty, and his manner pitifully appealing.

“I don’t know,” answered Kenneth. “Where have you searched?”

“Everywhere, sir, that she might be likely to go. I’ve inquired in every town, and along every road leading out of the county. She didn’t take a train, because poor Lucy hadn’t any money–and I’ve asked at all the stations. And–and–along the river they say no girl answering her description has been seen.”

“It’s strange,” remarked Kenneth, thoughtfully, while the girls regarded the youth with silent sympathy.

“If you knew Lucy, sir, you’d realize how strange it is,” went on young Gates, earnestly. “She was such a gentle, shrinking girl, as shy and retiring as a child. And she never did a thing that would cause anyone the least worry or unhappiness. But she was out of her head, sir, and didn’t know what she was about. That was the reason she went away. And from the moment she left her home all trace of her was lost.”

“One would think,” observed Kenneth, “that a poor, demented girl, wandering about the country, would be noticed by scores of people. Did she take any clothing with her?”

“Only the dress she had on, sir, and not even a hat or a shawl.”

“What was her dress like?” asked Beth, quickly.

“It was a light grey in color, and plainly made. She wore a white collar, but that is all we can be certain she had on. You see her mother is blind, and old Will doesn’t observe very closely.”

“Does Lucy resemble her mother?” inquired Beth.

“Very much, miss. She was a beautiful girl, everyone acknowledged. And it’s all my fault–all my fault. I thought to save her, and drove her mad, instead!”

“You might have known that,” declared Kenneth. “A girl of her character, sensitive to a fault, would be greatly shocked to find the man she loved a criminal.”

“It was for her sake.”