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FALVEY MEMORIAL LIBRARY
FALVEY MEMORIAL LIBRARY
Dime Novel and Popular Literature
The Youth's companion
Volume 37 (1863)
The Youth's companion, v. XXXVI [sic XXXVII], no. 45, Thursday, November 5, 1863.
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The Youth's companion, v. XXXVI [sic XXXVII], no. 45, Thursday, November 5, 1863.
11 February 2020
Boston : Olmstead & Co.
Dime Novel and Popular Literature
A Dead man's revenge : how it worked and how it ended.
Children's periodicals, American.
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f this or any other score. . . , Were old friends. je - NUMBER 45, ; OLMSTEAD & CO., PUBLISHERS. A DEAD MAN’S REVENGE. -.True to his promise, Richard Malet never inter- fered, by word or deed, with the arrangements his child’s guardians had made for her education. A few years went by, and the laboring stone- mason had risen to be first workman in his master’s employ. With bettered means and good wages, Richard Mallet was able to quit the neighborhood of Peck’s Court, and rent a small house in the sub- urbs. Mrs. Mallet still washed and ironed, and cooked her husband’s dinner, but her labors were aided by a little servant; and the boys were sent to a good school. People said Richard Mallet was not the man he used to be. - He had grown churlish with his friends, haughty with his fellows, lost his old spirits and his pleasant smile, aad only seemed intent upon making his way up in the world. But his wife and children could find no fault in him.’ In her heart of hearts Hannah, perhaps, knew that her husband was not the same; butshe would have died sooner than breathed an accusation against hin. And where was Jessie all this time? In these few years Jessie Mallet, the whilom ie crippled child, has grown intoa straight, well-formed girl, whose presence would disgrace no drawing- room: Of a slight figure and delicate features, she still recalls the pale-faced little child who used to hobble about her father’s house upon a crutch; but there is a bloom upon her cheek, and health and en- ergy in her movements now-a-days. Under skilful . e treatment, and the healthy influences that have sur- we? rounded her of late, her infirmity has gradually distppeared. It is an important day at the Canterbury school, when next we see her. It is Jessie’s seventeenth birth-day, and her school days are at anend. She has been writing a letter to her parents—those let- ters are the only link between the old life and the new one; Richard has them all, from the first childish scrawl to the last well-penned epistle safely locked up in an old desk—and Jessie sits thinking of her futher and mother with tears in her eyes. Whyare they not there to-day? Around the room are spread all the little gifts her companions have given her—mefe trifles, for the most part, but pleasant tokens of the good-will she has awakened there and the good name she. leaves’ behind. “Everybody here remembers me and is kind,” thinks Jessie. ‘It is only my own family who for- get me!” , Well, Jessie has plenty of new friends now, and, for aught we know, may have learned to do without her parents’ love, since last we met her. : There.are many affections we count strong, that a six years’ atsence would try; and letter-writing, as most of us know, is but a poor bond after all. So perhaps Jessie’s love is of a less ardent nature than it used to be. She has not much time, however, for reflection, on There is a sound of wheels on the gravel-path, and a carriage rolls up to the door. It is Mr.’ Hale, one of Jessie’s guardians, who is come to take her away from school, and es- cort her to his own houst at Hale Fields, where an archery meeting is to celebrate the day. !. Jessie bids farewell to her companions of six years, and, driving away in Mr. Hale’s carriage, looks up at the school-room windows with dimmed eyes, and sees the old cathedral, all. blurred by her ‘tears for the last time. But her eyes brighten ere Jong. There is a cheering influence in sunshine, green fields, and fresh air, hard to resist, and it was next to impossible to be dull, seated by Mr. Hale’s ‘side. The wealthy hop- grower's genial face always did Jessie good. Such asmile as his would have been a small annuity to a young physician, as a cheap and ‘efficacious remedy for _Jow-spirited patients. «Here we are,” cried he, as the carriage ‘turned into his gates at Male Fields; ‘there we are all ready, you see.” _ Jessie beheld the tents and targets on the lawn, ‘the servants hurrying to and fro, and the gardeners giving the last touches to their decorations. + Don’t fancy, Miss Jessie, this is all got up on “your especial account. Other people can have “birthdays besides you. Dick is nineteen to day, “and he means to share in the honors too. Here he “comes. He'll take you in to -*peak to Mrs. Hale and the girls. + «: Mr. Richard | Hale raised his wide-awake, and shook hands with Jessie. He had taught her to ‘ride one holiday, and ‘play chess another, to » they <p WHERE Doxs Mrs. Ilale was a stately woman, who kissed Jes- sie on her cheek, and bade her welcome with an air of polite patronage. Pride of birth was Mrs. Hale’s failing. She had the misfortune to be the grand- aughter of a baronet, and had a weakness for good blood; hence she never took so kindly to Jessie as the rest of her family. Ter husband, with a deli- cacy of feeling peculiar to him, had never divulged to any one the real facts of Jessie’s parentage; but Mrs. Hale had furmed a- shrewd guess, on: the subject. To day there was even a more than usual amount of dignity in the good lady's demeanor; her head was carried more erect, and her dress rustled more imposingly, as she swept by. A young lord was to be her guest to-day, and, to meet him, some of the first families in the neighborhood had been invited to Hale Fields; consequently, Mrs. Iale’s reception of Jessie was quite a solemn and impressive sight. The daughters were rather more humble-minded, and being old school-fellows of Jessie, welcomed her right gladly.. They were soon out in the garden together—all three glad to escape from the drawing- roow, and have a few minutes’ chat before the bustle of the day commenced. “Jessie almost trembled when she heard of the grand doings that were to take place and the grand people who were expected. , But before her friends had half finished their confidence, the confab was broken up by Mr. Dick Hale rushing down to the arbor where they sat, and summoning his sisters to their mother’s presence. “Make haste, girls. There's mother becoming rigil with horror.’ His lordship has arrived, and nobo ly to receive him. Do, pray, go to her aid, or she'll be speechless in five minutes.” : The two girls flew away to the house, and left Jessie to their brother. Ie stood and watched them with a laughing face. . “Well, Miss Mallet, this is doing us honor, isn't it?. You and I are lucky folks to have such a birth- day-keeping as this.” “Tam lucky in having such friends, and sucha home to-day.” I little thought, though, when Mr, Hale brought me over, that I should find such a Bry assembly, or, perhaps”"—Jessie hesitated. “Or, perhaps you wouldn't have come. Well, |: that’s very polite. I think I had better tell: my father that you'd like to have the horse out again, |i york iT LEAD 10? and go back to Canterbury. you.” Mr, Dick turned very red. “No; don’t talk nonsense. I didn’t. mean, Rich- ard, to—to”—Jessie stammered, and stopped again. “To insult your guardian, eh?” said Dick, recov- He's sure to oblige distressed. . "You bad better. not let my mother hear you insinuate that you don't care to meet her friends, Jessie. 'O, if you only knew what she’s gone through to get them together, and the manage- ment it has taken to avoid giving offence. Just imagine her position this morning, when the Rom- leys sent word they’d be able to come, after all, and we (unhappy wretches,) on receiving their first note to decline, had invited their mortal enemies, the Cheesemans. The fawilies are at daggers drawn, because young Romley, I suppose, wants to marry one of the Miss Cheesemans, and old Romley spurns the alliance, A pretty thing for an anxious hostess! I wieh the Cheesemans were all at Jericho, I'm sure. I never wanted them to be invited here at all.”* Richard Hale looked really half annoyed. ° “Why not?” asked Jessie. «Q, because nobody knows who they are, or what they are. . It’s said he was a tallow-chandler, and had a large fortune left him. They have just that cut. He has taken a large house near us.* I don't know them, you know, “By the “ays you don't, I hope. t Jessie had grown suddenly crimson, and Dick feared he had said something indisercet. _*No, I don't know them.” “0, that’s right. That sort of origin wiease makes one suspicious.” Quietly as Jessie had “disclaimed acquaintance with the Cheesemans, there was such a sudden tue mult in her heart, and such a ringing in her ears, that for the next five minutes she heard not a word her companion said. “There goes my father!” suddenly cried Richard. “Te is looking for you, I know. \ Let's follow him; you have to be introduced to such a lot of people. I must be off, too, or we shall have the Romleys falling foul of the Cheesemans, and there'll be blood spilt.’ Come along.” :- ‘They hastened away to the lawn. , ~ -Everything wore a gala air there. The visitors were arriving fast; a splendid collation was laid out in ore of the tents, and aband of music was Playing | the guests. ering his’ good humor, when he saw Jessie looked | . 522 scHooL, STREET, , BOSTON, under the mulberry trees. The forthcoming ar- chery fete at Hale Fields had been the talk of the neighborhood for days past. Jessie was an object of considerable interest. to She was said to be a sort of ward of Mr. IIale’s, and very tich; also there was some mystery about her fortune. Had they known that it wasa half-sovereign lent, years ago, by Mr. Hale's father to Zebedee Peck, the bop-picker boy, that had laid the foundation of this same fortune, they would perhaps have manifested less enthusiasm ; but, beiag ignorant of this prosaic fact, several per- sons were very eager for an introduction. And now the festivities commenced. “Jessie was no archer, but she stood by and watched the sports, ’| well pleased when her old friend Mary [ale carried off the frst prize of the day. Then followed the luncheon in the tent, and Mr. Hale’s funny speech when he presented the oak-leaf crown to his daughter. After that came a dance on the lawn, when Jessio was his lordship’s partner, and when the band from Canterbury played such exhilarating quadrilles that it was enough to set the very cows in the neighbor- ing fields doing L’efe and La Poule. Blithe, however, as the music. sounded to the merry-makers, there was one ear, not far off, to whon it brought no mirth, In the lane leading to Hale Fieldsa solitary man was standing, with a stern, downcast face. Richard Mallet, who for the last hour had paced backwards and forwards jn the lane. ‘Six years had passed since he had seen his daughter. | During all this time he had kept to his resolution of never in- terfering with her education, and had never pre- sented himself before her-eyes. He had a purpose ever in view from which he had never swerved. He bad come down to Canterbury by coach over night, and finding, as he expected, that bis daughter had that day quitted school, and gone over to Iale Fields with her guardian, he had followed them in order to carry out the purpose he had so long med- itated. It was only within the last hour that his heart had failed bim. Though Richard Mallet looked older aud sterner, he was much the same man at heart. ° Time, how- ever, had wrought some changes in him. Though. still in the prime of life, his hair was tinged with gray, and his face had @ harder look than of old. He wore a better coat now, and had a black silk “| neckerchief fastened loosely round his throat. The horns and bugles of -the Canterbury band awelled over the. gardens, and the wind carried the hum and laughter of the guests to his ears. . For ‘the twentieth time he stopped before the gates, and for the twentieth time he turned away again. At last, with an angry exclamation at hie own ir resolution, he opened the gates and entered the rounds. “Mr. Hale won't be able to see you to-day, my man—he’s engaged, and can’t attend to business,” called out the lodge. keeper as he went through the ates, » “My business aint with Mr. Tale,” eaid Richard, looking at the man, whose red face showed he had taken good care of himself in the general festivity. “<Q, it’s the back door you want, is it? Take that first path, then, to the right.” . The man spoke with an insolent air. But Richard kept in the broad walk, and went on as before. Suddenly he came to a stop. He had heard his own name pronounced by some oné be- hind the high laurel-hedge at his side. “Mallet? Ah, that’s her name, is it? © Well, she is certainly good-looking. But they say, poor thing, her family is not recognizable, Is it true ? “Quite true. Mrs. Hale has hinted as much to me herself. They do say her father is a common. mason, and carries a hod on his shoulder to: this day. - But, however that may ne they are vulgar people—that's certain.” Richard's lips became white as death. ~ “What a mercy the child was removed from her friends in time!” cgntinued the first speaker— *Really, no one would now suppose her to be of low origin, | With her money, you know, she may ex- pect to make a good match one day, and so get free of her former ties. What a good thing she fell into the hands of the Hales—quite providential. Ah, here comes our host!” The ladies moved away 3. and: Richard, with ‘hia teeth set, and his foot crushing the gravel under his heel, strode on to the house. One or two persons turned: to look at him as he * It was ~ a ret “ Lae