Blue Egyptians
A PAPER-MILL STORY"I wouldn't, Lena!""Well, I guess I shall!""Don't, Lena! please don't! you will be sorry, I am sure, if you doit. It cannot bring good, I know it cannot!""The idea! Mary Denison, you are too old-fashioned for anything. I'dlike to know what harm it can do."The rag-room was nearly deserted. The whistle had blown, and most ofthe girls had hurried away to their dinner. Two only lingered behind,deep in conversation; Mary Denison and Lena Laxen.Mary was sitting by her sorting-table, busily sorting rags as shetalked. She was a fair, slender girl, and looked wonderfully freshand trim in her gray print gown, with a cap of the same materialfitting close to her head, and hiding her pretty hair. The othergirl was dark and vivacious, with laughing black eyes and a carelessmouth. She was picturesque enough in her blue dress, with thescarlet handkerchief tied loosely over her hair; but both kerchiefand dress showed the dust plainly, and the dark locks that escapedhere and there were dusty too, showing little of the care that maykeep one neat even in a rag-room."It's just as pretty as it can be!" Lena went on, half-coaxing,half-defiant. "You ought to see it, Mame! A silk waist, every bit asgood as new, only of course it's mussed up, lying in the bag; and askirt, and lots of other things, all as nice as nice! I can't thinkwhat the folks that had them meant, putting such things into the rags:why, that waist hadn't much more than come out of the shop, youmight say. And do you think I'm going to let it go through the duster,and then be thrown out, and somebody else get it? No, sir! and it'sno good for rags, you know it isn't, Mary Denison.""I know that it is not yours, Lena, nor mine!" said Mary, steadily."But I'll tell you what you might do; go straight to Mr. Gordon, andtell him about the pretty waist,--very likely it got in by mistake,--tell him it is no good for rags, and ask if you may have it. Likeas not he'll let you have it; and if not, you will find out what hisreason is. I think we ought to suppose he has some reason for whathe does."Lena laughed spitefully."Like as not he's going to take it home to his own girl!" she said."I saw her in the street the other day, and I wouldn't have beenseen dead with the hat she had on; not a flower, nor even a scrap ofa feather; just a plain band and a goose-quill stuck in it. Realpoorhouse, I thought it looked, and he as rich as a Jew. I guess Isha'n't go to Mr. Gordon; he's just as hateful as he can be. He gaveout word that no one was to touch that bag, nor so much as go near it;and he had it set off in a corner of the outer shed, close by thechloride barrels, so that everything in it will smell like poison.If that isn't mean, I don't know what is."Well, I can't stay here all day, Mame. Aren't you coming?""Pretty soon!" said Mary. "Don't wait for me, Lena! I want to finishthis stint, so as to have the afternoon off. Mother's poorly to-day,and I want to cook something nice for her supper."Lena nodded and went out, shutting the door with a defiant swing.Mary looked after her doubtfully, as if hesitating whether she oughtnot to follow and make some stronger plea; but the next moment shebent over her work again."I must hurry!" she said. "I'll see Lena after dinner, and try tomake her promise not to touch that bag. I don't see what has gotinto her."Mary worked away steadily. The rags were piled in an iron sievebefore her; they were mostly the kind called "Blue Egyptians,"cotton cloth dyed with indigo, which had come far across the sea fromEgypt. Musty and fusty enough they were, and Mary often turned herhead aside as she sorted them carefully, putting the good rags intoa huge basket that stood beside her on the floor, while the bits ofwoollen cloth, of paper and string and other refuse, went intodifferent compartments of the sorting-table, which was somethinglike an old-fashioned box-desk.Mary was a quick worker, and her basket was already nearly full ofrags. Fastened upright beside her seat was a great knife, not unlikea scythe-blade, with which she cut off the buttons and hooks and eyes,running the garment along the keen edge with a quick and practisedhand. Usually she amused herself by imagining stories about thebuttons and their former owners, for she was a fanciful girl, andher child-life, without brothers or sisters, had bred in her thehabit of solitary play and "make-believe," which clung to her nowthat she was a tall girl of sixteen. But to-day she was not thinkingof the Blue Egyptians. Her thoughts were following Lena on herhomeward way, and she was hoping devoutly that her own words mighthave had some effect, and that Lena might pass by the forbidden bagwithout lingering to be further tempted. It was strange that thisone special bundle of rags, coming from a village at some distance,should have been kept apart when the day's allowance was put intothe dusters. But--"Mother always says we ought to suppose there is areason for things!" she said to herself. And she shook her headresolutely, and tried to make a "button-play."She pulled from the heap before her a dark blue garment, and turnedit over, examining it carefully. It seemed to be a woman's jacket.It was of finer material than most of the "Egyptians," and thefashion was quaint and graceful. There were remnants of embroideryhere and there, and the heavy glass buttons were like nothing Maryhad ever seen before."I'll keep these," she said, "for little Jessie Brown; she will bedelighted with them. That child does make so much out of so little,I'm fairly ashamed sometimes. These will be a fortune to Jessie.I'll tell her that I think most likely they belonged to a princesswhen they were new; they were up and down the front of a dress ofgold cloth trimmed with pearls, and she looked perfectly beautifulwhen she had it on, and the Prince of the Fortunate Islands fell inlove with her."Buttons were a regular perquisite of the rag-girls in the CumquotMill; indeed, any trifle, coin, or seal, or medal, was consideredthe property of the finder, this being an unwritten law of therag-room.Mary cut the buttons off, and slipped them into her pocket; then sheran her fingers round the edge of the jacket, in case there were anyhooks or other hard substance that had escaped her notice, and thatmight blunt the knives of the cutter, into which it would next go.In a corner of the lining, her fingers met something hard. Here wassome object that had slipped down between the stuff and the lining,and must be cut out. Mary ran the jacket along the cutting-knife,and something rolled into her lap. Not a button this time! she heldit up to the light, and examined it curiously. It was a brooch, ofglass, or clear stones, in a tarnished silver setting. Dim and dusty,it still seemed full of light, and glanced in the sun as Mary heldit up."What a pretty thing!" she said. "I wonder if it is glass. I musttake this to Mr. Gordon, for I never found anything like it before.Jessie cannot have this."She laid it carefully aside, and went on with her sorting, workingso quickly that in a few moments the sieve was empty, and the basketpiled with good cotton rags, ready for the cutting-machine.Taking her hat and shawl, Mary passed out, holding the broochcarefully in her hand. There were few people in the mill, only themachine-tenders, walking leisurely up and down beside their machines,which whirred and droned on, regardless of dinnertime. The greatrollers went round and round, the broad white streams flowed on andon over the screens, till the mysterious moment came when theyceased to be wet pulp and became paper.Mary hardly glanced at the wonderful machines; they were an oldstory to her, though in every throb they were telling over and overthe marvellous works of man. The machine-tenders nodded kindly inreturn to her modest greeting, and looked after her with approval,and said, "Nice gal!" to each other; but Mary hurried on until shecame to the finishing-room. Here she hoped to find a friend whom shecould consult about her discovery; and, sure enough, old JamesGregory was sitting on his accustomed stool, tying bundles of paperwith the perfection that no one else could equal. His back wasturned to the door, and he was crooning a fragment of an oldpaper-mill song, which might have been composed by the beatingengine itself, so rhythmic and monotonous it was."'Gene, 'Gene,Made a machine;Joe, Joe,Made it go;Frank, Frank,Turned the crank,His mother came out,And gave him a spank,And knocked him overThe garden bank."At Mary's cheerful "Good morning, Mr. Gregory!" the old man turnedslowly, and looked at the young girl with friendly eyes."Good day, Mary! glad to see ye! goin' along home?""In just a minute! I want to show you something, Mr. Gregory, and toask your advice, please."The old finisher turned completely round this time, and looked hisinterest. Mary opened her hand, and displayed the brooch she hadfound.James Gregory drew his lips into the form of a whistle, but made nosound. He looked from the brooch to Mary, and back again."Well?" he said."I found it in the rags; blue Egyptians, you know, Mr. Gregory. Itwas inside the lining of a jacket. Do you think--what do you thinkabout it? is it glass, or--something else?"Gregory took the ornament from her, and held it up to the light,screwing his eyes to little points of light; then he polished it onhis sleeve, and held it up again."Something else!" he said, briefly."Is it--do you think it might be worth something, Mr. Gregory?"asked Mary, rather timidly."Yes!" roared Gregory, with a sudden explosion. "I do! I b'lievethem's di'monds, sure as here I sit. Mary Denison, you've struck itthis time, or I'm a Dutchman."He got off his stool in great excitement, and walked up and down theroom, still holding the brooch in his hand. Mary looked after him,and her face was very pale. She said one word softly, "Mother!" thatwas all.Mary Denison and her mother were poor. Mrs. Denison was far fromstrong, and they had no easy time of it, for there was little saveMary's wages to feed and clothe the two women and pay their rent.James Gregory knew all this; his pale old face was lighted withemotion, and he stumped up and down the room at a rapid pace.Suddenly he stopped, and faced the anxious girl, who was followinghim with bewildered eyes."Findin's havin'!" he said, abruptly. "That's paper-mill law. Somefolks would tell ye to keep this to yourself, and sell it for whatyou could get."Mary's face flushed."But you do not tell me that!" she said, quietly."No!" roared the old man, with another explosion, stamping violentlyon the floor. "No, I don't. You're poor as spring snakes, and yourmother's sickly, and you've hard work to get enough to keep theflesh on your bones; but I don't tell ye to do that. I tell ye totake it straight to the Old Man, and tell him where ye found it, andall about it. I've knowed him ever since his mustash growed, andbefore. You go straight to him! He's in the office now.""I was going!" said Mary, simply. "I thought I'd come and see youfirst, Mr. Gregory, you've always been so good to mother and me.You--you couldn't manage to come with me, could you? I am afraid ofMr. Gordon; I can't help it, though he is always pleasant to me.""I'll go!" said old James, with alacrity. "You come right along withme!"In his eagerness he seized Mary by the arm, and kept his hold on heras they passed out through the mill. The few "hands" who were atwork here and there gazed after them in amazement; for the old manwas dragging the girl along as if he had caught her in some offence,and was going to deliver her up to justice.The same impression was made in the office, when the pair appearedthere. The two clerks stared open-mouthed, and judged after theirnature; for one of them said, instantly, to himself, "It's a mistake!"while the other said, "I always knew that Denison girl was too piousto last!"A tall man who sat at a desk in the corner looked up quietly."Ah, Gregory!" he said. "What is it? Mary Denison? Good morning, Mary!Anything wrong in the rag-room?"Gregory waved his hat excitedly."If you'd look here, sir!" he said. "If you would just cast your eyeover that article, and tell this gal what you think of it! BlueEgyptians, sir! luckiest rags that ever come into this mill, I'vealways said. Well, sir?"Mr. Gordon was not easily stirred to excitement. It seemed an age tothe anxious girl and the impetuous old man, as he turned the broochover and over, holding it up in every light, polishing it, breathingon it, then polishing it again. Gregory's hands twitched witheagerness, and Mary felt almost faint with suspense."You found this in the rags?" he asked at length, turning to Mary.He spoke in his ordinary even tone, and Mary's heart sank, she couldnot have told why."Yes, sir!" she faltered. "I found it in a blue jacket. It was inbetween the stuff and the lining. There were glass buttons on thejacket."She drew them from her pocket and held them out; but Mr. Gordon,after a glance, waved them back."Those are of no value!" he said. "About this brooch, I am not sosure. The stones may be real stones--I incline to think they are;but it is possible that they may be paste. The imitations aresometimes very perfect; no one but a jeweller can tell positively. Iwill take it to Boston with me to-morrow, and have it examined."He dropped the brooch into a drawer at his side, turned the key andput it in his pocket, all in his quiet, methodical way, as if hewere in the habit of examining diamond brooches every day; then henodded kindly to the pair, and bent over his papers again.Mary went out silently, and Gregory followed her with a dazed lookon his strong features. He looked back at the door two or three times,but said nothing till they were back in the finishing-room.Then--"It's one of his days!" he said. "I've knowed him ever sincehis mustash growed, and there's days when he's struck with a dumbsperit, just like Scriptur'. Don't you fret, Mary! He'll see yourighted, or I'll give you my head."Mary might have thought that Mr. Gregory's head would be of littleuse to her without the rest of him. She felt sadly dashed anddisappointed. She hardly knew what she had expected, but it wassomething very different from this calm, every-day reception, thistotal disregard of her own and her companion's excitement."I guess he thinks they're nothing great!" she said, wearily."What was that he said about paste, Mr. Gregory? You never saw anypaste like that, did you?"No!" said Gregory, "I've heered of Di'mond Glue, but 'twan'tnothin' like stones--nor glass neither. You may run me through thecalenders if I know what he's drivin' at. But I'll trust him!" headded, vehemently. "I done right to tell you to go to him. He's inone of his moods to-day, but you'll hear from him, if there'sanything to hear, now mark my words! And now I'd go home, if I wasyou, and see your ma'am, and get your dinner. And--Mary--I dono asI'd say anything about this, if I was you. Things get round so in amill, ye know."Mary nodded assurance, and went home, trying to feel that nothing ofimportance had happened. Do what she would, however, the goldenvisions would come dancing before her eyes. Suppose--suppose thestones should be real, after all! and suppose Mr. Gordon should giveher a part, at least, of the money they might bring in Boston. Itmight--she knew diamonds were valuable--it might be thirty or fortydollars. Oh! how rich she would be! The rent could be paid some timein advance, and her mother could have the new shawl she needed sobadly: or would a cloak be better? cloaks were more in fashion, butMother said a good shawl was always good style.Turning the corner by her mother's house, she met one of the clerkswho had been in the office when she went in there. He looked at herwith the smile she always disliked, she hardly knew why."You did the wrong thing that time, Miss Denison!" he said."What do you mean, Mr. Hitchcock?" asked Mary."You'll never see your diamonds again, nor the money for them!"replied the man. "That's easy guessing. He'll come back and tell youthey're glass or paste, and that's the last you'll hear of them. Andthe diamonds--for they are diamonds, right enough--will go into hispocket, or on to his wife's neck. I know what's what! I wasn't borndown in these parts.""You don't know Mr. Gordon!" said Mary, warmly. "That isn't the wayhe is thought of by those who do know him."The clerk was a newcomer from another State, and was not liked bythe mill-workers."I know his kind!" he said, with a sneer; "and they're no good toyour kind, Mary Denison, nor to mine. Mark my words, you'll hear nomore of that breastpin."Mary turned away so decidedly that he said no more, but his eyesfollowed her with a sinister look.Next moment he was greeting Lena Laxen cordially, and she wasdimpling and smiling all over at his compliments. Lena thoughtMr. Hitchcock "just elegant!" and believed that Mary was jealous whenshe said she did not like him. Something now prompted her to tellhim about the silk waist in the forbidden sack; he took her view atonce and zealously. The boss (for he did not use the kindly title of"Old Man," by which the other mill-hands designated Mr. Gordon,though he was barely forty) had his eye on the things, most likely,as he had on the pin Mary Denison found. Hadn't Lena heard about that?Well, it was a burning shame, he could tell her; he would see thatshe, Lena, wasn't fooled that way. And Lena, listening eagerly,heard a story very different from that which had been told toMr. Gordon.In an hour the whole mill knew that Mary Denison had found a diamondpin in the rags, and that Mr. Gordon had told her it was nothing buthard glue, and had sold it himself in Boston for a thousand dollars,and spent the money on a new horse.Nor was this all! Late that evening Lena Laxen stole from her homewith a shawl over her head, and met the clerk by the corner of theouter shed. A few minutes of whispering and giggling, and she stoleback, with a bundle under her shawl; while Hitchcock tied a brightsilk handkerchief round his neck, and strutted off with the air of aconqueror.Next morning, as Mary Denison was going to her work, Lena rapped onthe window, and called her attention by signs to the bodice she hadon. It was a gay striped silk, little worn, but still showing, inspite of pressing, the marks of crumpling and tossing. The brightcolors suited Lena's dark skin well, and as she stood there withflushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, Mary thought she had never seenher look prettier. At first she nodded and smiled in approval; butthe next moment a thought darted into her mind that made her claspher hands, and cry anxiously:"Oh! Lena, you didn't do it! you never did it! it's not that waistyou have on?"Lena affected not to hear. She only nodded and laughed triumphantly,and turned away, leaving Mary standing pale and distressed outsidethe window.Mary hesitated. Should she go in and reason further with the wilfulgirl, and try to persuade her to restore the stolen garment?Something told her it would be useless; but still she was on thepoint of going in, when old James Gregory came by, and asked her towalk on with him.She complied, but not without an anxious look back at the window,where no one was now to be seen."Well, May," said Gregory, "how're ye feelin' to-day? hearty? that'sclever! I hope you wasn't frettin' about that pin any. Most girlswould, but you ain't the fool kind.""I don't know, Mr. Gregory!" said Mary, laughing. "I'm afraid I havethought about it more or less, but I haven't been fretting. Where'sthe use?""Jes' so! jes' so!" assented the old man, with alacrity."And I didn't say anything to Mother," Mary went on. "I didn't wanther to know about it unless something was really coming of it. PoorMother! she has enough to think about.""She has so!" said Gregory. "A sight o' thinkin' your mother doos,Mary, and good thoughts, every one of 'em, I'll bet my next pay.She's a good woman, your mother; I guess likely you know it withoutme sayin' so. I call Susan Denison the best woman I know, and I'vetold my wife so, more times than she says she has any occasion for.I don't say she's an angel, but she's a good woman, and that's as furas we're likely to get in this world."But that ain't what I wanted to say to you, May! Somehow or 'nother,the story's got round about your findin' that pin yesterday. Youdidn't say nothin'?""Not a word!" said Mary. "How could it--""'Twas that pison Hitchcock, I expect!" said Gregory. "I see himlookin' up with his little eyes, as red as a ferret, and as ugly. Ibet he started the hull thing; and he's tacked on a passel of lies,and the endurin' place is hummin' with it. Thought I'd tell yebefore ye went in, so's ye could fix up a little what to say."Mary thanked him cordially, and passed on into the mill: the old manlooked after her with a very friendly glance in his keen blue eyes."She's good stuff, May is!" he murmured. "Good stuff, like her mother."Folks is like rags, however you look at 'em. Take a good linen rag,no matter how black it is, and put it through the washers, and thebleachers, and the cutters, and all the time it's gettin' whiter andwhiter, and sweeter and sweeter, the more you bang it round; till atlast you have bank-note paper, and write to the Queen of England onit, if you're a mind to, and she won't have none better. And takejute or shoddy, and the minute you touch to wash it, it cockles up,or drops to pieces, and it ain't no good to mortal man. Jest likefolks, I tell ye! and May and her mother's pure linen clippin's, ifever I see 'em."Forewarned is forearmed, and Mary met quietly the buzz of inquirythat greeted her when she entered the rag-room. The girls crowdedround her, the men were not far behind. To each and all Mary told thesimple truth, trying not to say a word too much. "The tongue is afire!" her mother's favorite text, was constantly in her mind, andshe was determined that no ill word should be spoken of Mr. Gordon,if she could help it. Almost every one in the mill liked andrespected the "Old Man;" but the human mind loves a sensation, andLena and Hitchcock had told their story so vividly the day beforethat Mary's account seemed tame and dull beside it; and some of thehands preferred to think that "Mame Denison was a sly one, andwarn't goin' to let on, fear some one'd git ahead of her."Lena, who came shortly, in her usual dress, fostered this feeling,not from malice, but from sheer love of excitement and gossip. Inspite of Mary's efforts, the excitement increased, and when, late inthe afternoon, word came that Mary Denison was wanted in the office,the rag-room was left fairly bubbling with wild surmise.Mr. Gordon did not see Mary when she came in. He was standing at hisdesk, with an open letter in his hand, and his face was disturbed ashe spoke to the senior clerk."Myers, it is as I feared about that bag of rags from Blankton. Youhave kept it carefully tied up, and close by the chlorides, as Itold you?"Myers, a clear-eyed, honest-browed man, looked troubled."I did, sir!" he said. "I have looked at the bag every time I passedthat way, and have cautioned every one in the mill not to go near it,besides keeping the shed-gate locked; but this morning I found thatit had been tampered with, and evidently something taken out. I hopethere is nothing wrong, sir!"George Gordon struck his hand heavily on the desk. "Wrong!" herepeated. "There have been two fatal cases of smallpox in Blankton,and that bag has been traced to the house where they were."There was a moment of deathly silence. He went on:"I suspected something wrong, the moment you told me of things thatlooked new and good; but I did not want to raise a panic in the mill,when there might be some other explanation. I thought I had takenevery precaution--what is that?"He turned quickly, hearing a low cry behind him. Mary Denison wasstanding with clasped hands, her face white with terror."Mary!" said Mr. Gordon, in amazement. "You--surely you have hadnothing to do with this?""No, sir!" cried Mary. "Oh, no, Mr. Gordon, indeed I have not. But Ifear--I fear I know who has. Oh, poor thing! poor Lena!"Then, with an impulse she could not explain, she turned suddenlyupon Hitchcock."Who let Lena Laxen into the yard last night?" she cried. "She couldnot have got in without help. You had a key--you were talking to herafter I left her yesterday. Oh! look at him, Mr. Gordon! Mr. Myers,look at that man!"But Hitchcock did not seem to hear or heed her. He sat crouched overhis desk, his face a greenish-gray color, his eyes staring, hishands clutching the woodwork convulsively; an awful figure of terror,that gasped and cowered before them. Then suddenly, with a cry thatrattled in his throat, he dashed from his seat and ran bareheadedout of the door.Myers started up to pursue him, but Mr. Gordon held up his hand."Let him go!" he said, sternly. "It may be that he carries hispunishment with him. In any case we shall see him no more."Quickly and quietly he gave Myers his orders; to take Lena Laxen toher home, notify the physician, and proclaim a strict quarantine; toburn the infected rags without loss of time; to have every part ofthe shed where the fatal bag had stood thoroughly disinfected. Whenthe man had hastened away, Mr. Gordon turned to Mary, and his sternface lightened."Do not distress yourself, Mary," he said, kindly. "It may be thatLena will escape the infection; it seems that she only had thegarment on a few minutes; and you did all you could, I am sure, todissuade her from this piece of fatal and dishonest folly.""Oh! I might have said more!" cried Mary, in an agony ofself-reproach. "I meant to go into her house this morning, and tryto make her hear reason; it might not have been too late then.""Thank Heaven you did not!" said Mr. Gordon, gravely. "The air ofthe house was probably already infected. No one save the doctor mustgo near that house till all danger of the disease developing is over."He then told Mary briefly why he had sent for her. Finding that hecould not go to Boston himself at present, as he had planned, he hadsent the brooch by express to a jeweller whom he knew, and would beable to tell her in a few days whether it was of real value or not.Mary thanked him, but his words fell almost unheeded on her ears.What were jewels or money, in the face of a danger so awful as thatwhich now threatened her friend, and, through her, the whole village?Days of suspense followed. From the moment when the weeping,agonized Lena was taken home and put, tenderly, pityingly, in hermother's hands (it was Mr. Gordon himself who had done this, refusingto let any other perform the duty), an invisible line was drawnabout the Laxen cottage, which few dared pass. The doctor came andwent, reporting all well to the eager questioners. Mr. Gordon calleddaily to inquire, and every evening Mary Denison stole to the doorwith a paper or magazine for Lena and her mother, or some home-madedelicacy that might please the imprisoned girl. Lena was usually atthe window, sometimes defiant and blustering, sometimes wild withfright, sometimes again crying for sheer loneliness and vexation;but always behind her was her mother's pale face of dread, and herthin voice saying that Lena was "as well as common, thank ye," andshe and Mary would exchange glances, and Mary would go away drawingbreath, and thanking the Lord that another day was gone.So on, for nine anxious days; but on the tenth, when Mary looked upat the window, the mother stood there alone, crying; and the doctor,coming out of the house at the moment, told Mary harshly to keep awayfrom him, and not to come so near the house.In the dreadful days that followed, his people learned to knowGeorge Gordon as they had never known him before. The grave, silentman, who never spoke save when speech was necessary, was now amongthem every day, going from room to room with cheerful greetings,encouraging, heartening, raising the drooping spirits, and rebukingsharply the croakers, who foretold with dismal unction a generalepidemic. While taking every possible precaution, he made light ofthe actual danger, and by his presence and influence warded off thepanic which might have brought about the dreaded result.As a matter of fact, there were no more cases in the mill; and Lenaherself had the terrible disease more lightly than any one had daredto hope. The doctor, hurrying through back ways and alleys to changehis clothes and take his bath of disinfectants, was hailed from backgates and windows at every step; and he never failed to return acheery "Doing well! out of it soon now! No, not much marked, only afew spots here and there."This was when he left the quarantined house; but when he sought it,he might be seen to stop at one gate and another, picking up here ajar, there a bowl, here again a paper bag; till by the time hereached the Laxen gate he stood out all over with packages like asummer Santa Claus."There ain't anybody goin' to starve round here, if they have gotthe smallpox!" was the general verdict, voiced by James Gregory, andwhen he added, for the benefit of the mill-yard, that he had heardMr. Gordon order ice-cream, oranges, and oysters, all at once, forLena, a growl of pleasure went round, which deepened into a hearty"What's the matter with the Old Man? he's all right!"At length, one happy day, Mary Denison met Mr. Gordon at the Laxens'gate, and heard the good news that Lena was sitting up; that in aday or two now the quarantine would be taken off, the housedisinfected, and Lena back in her place at the mill. The managerlooked with satisfaction at Mary's beaming face of happiness; then,as she was turning away to spread the good tidings, he said:"Wait a moment, Mary! I have some other news for you. Have youforgotten the brooch that you found in the Blue Egyptians?"The color rushed to Mary's face, and Mr. Gordon had his answer."Because," he added, "I have not forgotten, though you might wellthink I had done so. All this sad business has delayed matters, butnow I have it all arranged. I am ready to-day, Mary, to give youeither the brooch itself, or--what I think will be better--fivehundred dollars, the sum I find it to be worth. Yes, my child, I amspeaking the truth! The stones are fine ones, and the Bostonjeweller offers you that sum for them. Well, Mary, have you nothingto say? What, crying? this will never do!"But Mary had nothing to say, and she was crying, because she couldnot help it. Presently she managed to murmur something about"Too much! too great kindness--not fair for her to have it all!" butMr. Gordon cut her short."Certainly you are to have it all, every penny of it! Finding'shaving! that is paper-mill law; ask James Gregory if it is not!There comes James this moment; go and tell him of your good fortune,and let him bring you up to my house this evening to get the money."But, Mary,"--he glanced at a letter in his hand, and his face,which had been bright with kindness and pleasure, grew very grave,--"there is something else for you to tell James, and all the hands.James Hitchcock died yesterday, of malignant smallpox!"
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