Jane Lends A Hand

initely made up his mind to be no longer pleased with anything, to deny that there was something almost pleasant in a day as soft and quiet as tha

loomy satisfaction. This general poetic decay seemed to him quite touchingly suitable to the mood which he fully believed was to color the declining years of his short and blasted life. Mr. Sheridan had convinced himself that he had received a crushing blow; a blow that no self-respecting gentleman ought to survive for very lo

gigantic mahogany bed. Peterson, his servant, was kindling a fi

terson with objectionable cheerfulnes

h to class Peterson in with the rest of the miserable human race; ne

Peterson. An owl or something woke me up at about one o'

not have known whether he was asleep or awake. But his latest fancy was that he suffered from insomnia. Insomnia was the traditional affl

ters, Pe

his fellow beings-especially the feminine ones-forever. He must remember not to ask Peterson again if there were any letters. Peterson might imagine that he was so weak as to hope that Miss Abbot had repented of her cruel and barbarous treatment, and under no circumstan

or anyhow, something to the effect that while he forgave her gladly-he wouldn't forgive her at all. But magnanimously. He would be very magnanimous. Nothing could be more crushing than a lofty

a dozen times already-that he absent-mindedly tucked away every morsel of Peterson's generously provided breakfast, com

r nice," he remarked, with a touch of

have found something as pleases you, sir,"

e hasn't been ve

agreed Peters

nce, Mr. Sheridan

id you g

y, what with the cakes and rolls and puddin's and what-not, I fairly lost me eyes, sir!

him with a little wave of his hand, that he cou

man who remembered the days, not long since, when he had connived in all sorts of pranks and waggery; when he had, many's the time, been called in as judge and counsel as to how his young master should get himself out of this and that "scrape," when in fact, Mr. Tim never dreamed of doing anything without Peterson's opinion-remembering those jolly days when he had been honored with Mr. Tim'

uch absurdities had not been entirely absent from his own youth; and he could not find it in his heart to censure Mr. Tim severely for any of his eccentricities. In his opinion this young man whom he had systematically spoiled since his childhood was not to be judged by common standards. Things that one might call faults in other young gentlemen, became merely "peculiarities" in the case of Mr. Tim. And it was not Peterson alone w

this, as the Major himself pointed out, the old man, notwithstanding many threats of disinheritance, had left every sou of his fortune to his nephew, simply because, while his commo

need hardly be said that this was the last thing in the world he would ever have admitted. It was such a refreshingly new experience. His only fear was that he was not getting out of it all that some people claimed to feel. He checked up all his symptoms to make sure that he had the real disease. Sleeplessness, loss of appetite, a longing for solitude-yes, he was quite sure that he had all these symptoms, and the satisfactory conclusion was that his heart was broken. He might really consider the matter set

s of the ivy-vine. If he turned his head he could see the whole length of Sheridan Lane. All the trees on Sheridan Lane had turned yellow, and the leaves strewing its cobblestones, looked like golden coins-the generous largess sca

as melting the early morning frost, and scattering the light mists. Two men with leggins laced up to their sturdy knees, and carrying gu

lender black-stockinged legs swinging, calmly polishing off a monstrous scarlet apple on the front of a bright green sweater, sat a perfectly strange specimen of the condemned human race; and, what was more, it was unmistakably feminine. It was, in short, a girl of about fourteen years of age, though apparently not very tall for her years, with a dense mop of curly, reddish hair, a pair of uncommonly bright, and observant eyes, and the beaming hospit

Sheridan said, with

ything I can

e core with admirable markmanship against a tree at the other side of the road, silence reigned-t

ound," she condescend

n politely. "Do you know

time I come to 'em I've already been trespassing for miles, so I might as well go on. Besides, I've often done it purposely just to see what would happen, but nothing ever does." And having said this

yourself ill,

r make myself i

?" he demanded, pointing with h

he pulled out a third apple, and tossed it to him. He caught it; but feeling that it was

d it up. Mr. Webster has millions, and he said I could take all I wanted. H

eridan, "I don't believe

e idea had just occurred to he

trespassing, do y

e, feeling a trifle flattered. Like most people he was vain enough to

recogni

d me? When

aid that you had a stick, a

ane, who never missed a change of expression, felt that she had hit upon

that he was not in the least interested in hearing a

t as you turn into Sheridan Lane. The one with iron deers on each side of the gate. She's very pretty. Mrs. Deacon is very fat, but she ce

ring the end of his cane through

ily see me? I've nev

at you were like, because she only saw you in her handmirror while

idences, she would have died of mortification. But Jane, who, in her own peculiar way, was immeasurably

d she know

was going to live in this house again, and then she saw you

f cou

aid, with the most e

might tell

ame?

e wh

u going to live

eridan

hink

you goin

ere primarily for-solitude." The melancholy tone of his voice pr

re you

e eyes considered him attentively. Perhaps he was suffering from a guilty conscience. He might h

to see anybody? I c

g tone, "there are probably several things that yo

r people to be alone. That was the text just last Sunday, and I remember thinking that that was why we are all crowded together

a moment. Then as Jane made a mo

do y

and help mother, an

adven

I take a package of bread and cheese because I get hungry very easily, or sometimes some Raisin Delights, and I pretend that I'm going out int

ou ever

makes it more exc

Raisin D

ut mother, because you see, she's the only real Winkler-except Granny, and Granny's too old to do muc

is

her family, charmed to find her listener who was fa

quired Mr. Sheridan, artfully bringing the topic around to the

ust Elise's

at does

ees with her mother-though I don't think she likes that much. And then she make

he like

-there are a whole lot of them who live alon

anything more to say just then, and after a paus

while," she said, catching hold of a low hanging br

stand why he felt just a trifle foolish

wanted to be alone,"

ridan h

at is, at present I am very little in the mood for being bothered by the curiosity of a host of frie

remendousl

r curly head with a great air of wisdom. "Well, I'll come a

ghed, and tossed

Like Adam, I'd be muc

ridan saw the curly auburn head and the green sweater moving up the hill, and with the feeling that he would very much like to be going in the

he had planned,-his idea had been to bury his sorrows in grave bookishness. Already he found himself possessed by a desire to venture out beyond the security of his garden. And if he had followed Janey up the hill, if he had seen her stop for a few moments, at the gate of th