Amos Huntingdon Read online

  CHAPTER NINE.

  IS IT GENUINE?

  But though Walter was learning to understand and appreciate hisbrother's character, and to acknowledge his superiority to himself inmoral courage, he was not altogether satisfied with continuing to lieunder the sense of that superiority on his brother's part. He hadhimself been so constantly made the object of his father's admirationand outspoken praises, and had always been so popular with all friendsof the family and guests at the Manor-house, that anything like afeeling of inferiority to his brother was one which he found it veryhard to allow a lodging in his heart and thoughts. So, while thegenerous impulse of the moment had led him to applaud and rejoice in hisbrother's noble moral courage, when they were discussing the matter inhis aunt's room, he was by no means prepared, when that impulse had diedaway, to allow Amos to carry off and retain the palm which heacknowledged that he had won. Jealousy of his brother's reputation formoral courage with Miss Huntingdon was a meanness which he would havethought himself incapable of, and which he would have repudiatedindignantly had he been charged with it. Nevertheless, it was there inhis heart; it made him restless and dissatisfied, and kept him longingfor an opportunity to display a moral courage which should shine with alight that might, even in his aunt's eyes, eclipse, or at any rateequal, that which glowed so brightly in Amos. He was therefore on thewatch for such an opportunity; and before long that opportunity, as hethought, presented itself.

  One morning as the squire was reading the county paper, while his sisterwas superintending the preparations for breakfast, and her two nephewswere seated near her, Mr Huntingdon exclaimed suddenly, in a tone ofangry excitement, "Why, whatever is the meaning of this? Walter, myboy, whatever does it mean?"

  "What, father?" asked his son in a voice of mingled uneasiness andsurprise.

  "Why, just listen to this advertisement:--`I hereby challenge theworking-men of this neighbourhood to a trial of skill in running,leaping, and shooting; and I promise to give a sovereign to any man whoshall beat me in a mile race, a high jump, and firing at a mark. Thetrial to come off on Marley Heath, on Tuesday, June 8th, at four o'clockp.m.

  "`Signed, Walter Huntingdon, Flixworth Manor.'--Do you know anythingabout this, Walter? Did you really put this advertisement into thepaper? or is it a disgraceful hoax?"

  Poor Walter looked perfectly astounded, as did also his aunt andbrother. Then he said, with some hesitation, "It is no advertisement ofmine."

  "No, I thought not," said his father indignantly. "It must be, then, amost shameful hoax; and I shall speak or write to the editor about it inpretty strong terms you may be sure."

  "Father," said Walter sadly, and after a pause, "it is no hoax."

  "No hoax! What do you mean? You said you did not put the advertisementin; so it must be a hoax."

  "I will explain it," said his son in a subdued voice. "The other day,young Saunders, Gregson, and myself were discussing which of us was thebest shot, and best at a race and a jump. `Well,' said I, `we caneasily put it to the test. Let us meet to-morrow on Marley Heath andhave it out.' So we brought our guns with us next day; and Saunders andGregson brought a few other fellows with them to look on and see allfair. We three fired at a mark, and leapt over a rod hung across twopoles, and tried who was best runner over a hundred yards; and I won theday in all three things. So, as we were sitting down in the littleroadside inn, where we all had some eggs and bacon and bread and cheesetogether for lunch, Gregson said to the other fellows, `Why, our friendWalter here might challenge the whole county.' `That he might; and wintoo,' said more than one of them. `I don't know,' I said; `but Ishouldn't mind offering a sovereign to any working-man in theneighbourhood who would beat me.' `Good,' said Saunders; `there's manya working-man that would like to have a try for your sovereign; and itwould be capital fun to see the match come off.' `What do you say toputting an advertisement in the county paper to that effect?' saidGregson. `Not I,' I said; `I shall do nothing of the sort.' `Ah, he'sbacking out,' said Saunders. `Indeed, I'm not,' I cried; `I meant whatI said.' `Well, will you let me put the advertisement in in your name?Don't be modest, man; you're sure to win,' said Gregson. `You can do soif you like,' I replied; `I have no intention to go back from my word.'I said this half in joke and half in earnest, and no doubt we were all alittle excited with the sport and with the lunch; but I never dreamedthat Gregson was serious when he talked about putting in theadvertisement in my name, and I shall not soon forgive him for gettingme into such a fix. So, father, that's just all about it."

  Mr Huntingdon listened to this explanation with much surprise andvexation, and then was silent.

  "And what do you mean to do about it, Walter?" asked his aunt. "Yousurely won't let the matter go on."

  "I don't see how I can help it," was her nephew's reply; "the challengehas been publicly given in my name."

  "It can't be--it mustn't be," exclaimed his father angrily; "it'sperfectly preposterous. We shall be the talk and the jest of the wholecounty. It will do harm, too, to the working-classes. Why, you'll haveall the idle vagabonds there. Some light-fingered and light-heeledpoacher will win your sovereign--you'll be the laughing-stock of all thecountry round, and so shall I too. And such a thing, instead ofencouraging patient industry and sobriety, will be just the means ofgiving heart to the idlers and the profligates. It must not be, Walter,my boy."

  His son did not reply for some time; at last he said, "I don't see how Ican back out of it; I've pledged my word. I'm sorry for it, and I'mwilling to take all the shame and blame to myself, and all the ridicule,if I'm beaten. You may depend upon it I won't be caught in this wayagain, but I must go through with it now."

  "Nonsense," said his father; "I don't see that at all."

  "Perhaps not, father," replied his son; "but I can't go back from whatI've said." These last words were uttered with a dogged determinationof tone and manner which showed that Walter had made up his mind, andwas not to be turned from his purpose.

  Like his father, he had a considerable share of obstinacy in hisdisposition, and Mr Huntingdon could call to mind several occasions onwhich a battle with his favourite son had ended in the boy's getting hisown way. And so, thinking further remonstrance useless, at any rate forthe present, he let the matter drop, hoping, as he said afterwards tohis sister, that Walter would come to his senses on the matter when hehad had time to think the subject over coolly. But he was mistaken inthis hope. Much as Walter was annoyed at having been thus taken at hisword, which he had given half in jest, he nevertheless considered thathe was pledged to abide by what had been advertised in his name and withhis sanction. So on the day appointed there was a considerablegathering of working-men, and also of women and children, on MarleyHeath, and this gathering swelled into a crowd as the time of trialapproached.

  Gregson and Saunders--who enjoyed the whole thing amazingly, and nonethe less because, as they had expressed it to each other as they camealong, "Young Huntingdon would be none the worse fellow for getting alittle of the shine and brag taken out of him"--were on the spot in goodtime, with several like-minded companions. These all gathered roundWalter as he came on to the ground, and wished him good success,assuring him that no doubt he would keep his sovereign safe in hispocket, and come off conqueror.

  Poor Walter's reply to his friends was not particularly cordial in itstone, and made Gregson see that he must put in a word of conciliation."Come, old fellow," he said, "you must forgive me if I took you tooliterally at your word. I really thought you meant it; it will do noharm to anybody, and will only show that you've got the old Huntingdonpluck and spirit in you."

  "All right," said Walter, but not very cheerily; "I'm booked now, andmust make the best of it. How many are there who are going in for thetrial, do you think?"

  "We shall see," said Saunders, "if we wait a bit; it wants a quarter tofour, still."

  Everything was then duly arranged for the contest. A mile's course hadbeen previously marked out, and a shooting-butt s
et up, and also twopoles with a leaping-rod across them. As the hour approached, severalyoung men respectably dressed came up, and among them a powerful andactive-looking fellow whose appearance was hailed by a general shout ofmirth. His clothing was none of the best; his face was scarred inseveral places; and there was a free-and-easy manner about him, verydifferent from that of the other competitors. He answered the loudlaughter by which his appearance had been greeted with a broad grin anda profound bow of mock salutation. Each candidate for the trial hadbrought his gun with him, and stood prepared for the contest. Gregsonand Saunders managed all the arrangements after a brief consultationwith Walter.

  Four o'clock had now come, and Gregson, having ascertained the fact bylooking at his watch, brought the competitors forward, and informed themthat the shooting would be the first thing, and that six shots would beallowed to each, the winner being of course he who should place thegreatest number of marks nearest the bull's-eye. At the same timeGregson made it to be distinctly understood that the sovereign was onlyto be given to the man, if such should be found, who should beat WalterHuntingdon in all three things,--namely, in shooting, leaping, andrunning.

  By his own request Walter came first. Whatever may have been hisfeelings of annoyance or reluctance up to this time, they were nowcompletely swallowed up in the excitement of the moment and the desireto maintain the high reputation he had previously gained. So he threwhis whole soul into the contest, and with steady eye and unwavering handpointed his rifle towards the target. Bang! a cloud of smoke. Wellshot! the bullet had struck the target, but not very near the centre. Asecond and third were equally but not more successful. The fourthstruck the bull's-eye, the fifth the ring next it, and the sixth thebull's-eye again. Bravo! shouted the excited crowd; would any one beatthat? Forward now came a sober-looking young man, and did his best, butthis was far short of what Walter had achieved. Two others followedwith no better success. Then came one who handled his gun verycarefully, and took his aims with great deliberation. Three shots inthe bull's-eye! here was a winner--would any one come up to him? Fourmore came forward, and two of these again scored three shots in thebull's-eye. And now the rough-looking man, who had excited the generalmirth of the crowd on his arrival, took his stand opposite the target.He gazed at it a full minute before raising his piece. There was aderisive titter throughout the spectators as at last he did so in anawkward style, and with a queer twist of his mouth. The next moment hewas rigid as a statue cut out of stone. Flash! bang! the bull's-eye;again the bull's-eye; two more very near it; twice again the bull's-eye.So he has made the best score after all. "I thought so," he cried,with a swaggering toss of his head and a jaunty whistle, and then with aflourish of his rifle high in air he strode back into the midst of theonlookers. Thus there were four of the competitors who had outdoneWalter in the firing at the mark.

  But the running and jumping yet remained to be contested. The jumpingwas arranged to come next, and the four winners in the shooting preparedto do their best against their young challenger: Walter was nowthoroughly roused, and, taking off his coat, and exchanging his bootsfor a pair of light shoes, stepped forward to exert himself to hisutmost. Higher and higher did he bound over the cross-rod as it wasraised for him by his friends peg by peg. Jumping was a feat in whichhe specially prided himself, and loud was the applause of Gregson,Saunders, and their friends as he sprang over the rod time after time.At last he failed to clear it, and his utmost was done. And now theprevious winners came on in turn. The first who made the attempt soongave in; he was clearly inferior to Walter in the high jump. The nextsurpassed him by one peg. The third equalled him. And now came forwardthe strange-looking man on whom all eyes were eagerly bent. He haddivested himself of his coat and dirty neck-tie, and having kicked offhis shoes, looked round him with a snort and a wild grimace, and thenran forward with a light, skipping step, and cleared the first stickwithout the slightest effort. Each succeeding height was leapt overwith the same ease, till he had equalled the most successful jumper."And now for a topper," he cried, as the rod was raised by still anotherpeg. Throwing all his energies into the effort, with a rush and amighty bound he cleared the stick by nearly a foot, and danced gailyback to the starting-point amidst the vociferous applause of allpresent. Therefore Walter had now the two to contend with in the foot-race who had surpassed him in the high jump. The interest of the crowdwas now at boiling-point, and all sorts of conjectures, opinions, andaffirmations were circulated as to the issue of the trial, while thethree who were to run were resting a while. At length, cheered on bythe sympathising shouts of the impatient spectators, they placedthemselves abreast, stripped of all superfluous garments, and at asignal from Gregson the race began. Walter commenced warily, husbandinghis strength, and not quickening his speed till he had reached themiddle of the course; the one of the remaining two did much the same.As for the other, the wild-looking winner of the highest place in thetwo previous contests, he slouched along amidst peals of laughter allthrough the line. Nevertheless, it was soon evident that, althoughdropping behind a little in the first quarter of a mile, he wasgradually drawing up nearer and nearer to the front. When Walter hadaccomplished three-fourths of his task, and was now putting on extraspeed, the wild stranger, with a shout of "Victory for ever!" flunghimself forward at a tremendous speed, and kept easily ahead to the end.The two remaining racers now pressed on abreast till within a yard ofthe place from whence they started, when, by a last vehement effort,Walter's companion came in a foot or two in advance. All flungthemselves on the grass, and when the hubbub of cheers and shouts hadsubsided, Walter rose to his feet, and holding out a hand to each of thevictors, said with a laugh, "Fairly beaten."

  Gradually now the crowd began to disperse, while the little band ofcompetitors gathered round a cart which had been brought up by Walter'sdirection carrying some refreshments for himself and his friends, andthose who had tried skill and endurance with him. When the provisionshad been duly partaken of, Walter, taking out his purse, turned to thoseabout him and said: "And now, to whom am I to give the sovereign, fortwo have beaten me?"

  "Oh, to our friend here, of course," said Gregson, placing his hand onthe strange-looking man's shoulder, "for he has done the best rightthrough."

  "Come forward, then, my man," said Walter; "and pray, may I ask yourname?"

  "Oh," said the man addressed, with a laugh, "every one knows my name--Jim Jarrocks they calls me."

  "Well, Jim, here's your sovereign, and you've fairly won it."

  "Thank'ee, sir," said Jim; "and so has Will Gittins here, if I'm notmistaken."

  "How do you mean?" asked Saunders; "the sovereign was offered to thebest man."

  "Them's not the terms of the advertisement," said Jim, taking thenewspaper out of his pocket. "Here it is: `I promise to give onesovereign to any man who shall beat me in a mile race, a high jump, andfiring at a mark.' Now, I've done it and won my sovereign, and WillGittins has done it and won his sovereign too."

  It was even so. Two had fairly won the prize. So Walter, not with thebest grace, felt in his purse for a second sovereign, which he handed tothe other winner; and the two men walked away from the place of meetingarm in arm.

  "Walter," said Gregson earnestly and apologetically as they left theground, "I never meant this nor thought of it. I can't let you be outof pocket this second sovereign; you must allow me to give it you back."

  But Walter declined it, spite of earnest remonstrance and pressure onhis friend's part. "No," he said; "I've got myself into a nice mess bymy folly; but what I've undertaken I mean to carry out, and take my ownburdens upon myself." And so, notwithstanding the applause and finespeeches showered on him by his friends, Walter returned homeconsiderably crestfallen and out of spirits, the only thing thatcomforted him being a sort of half conviction that he had shown aconsiderable degree of moral courage in the way in which he had stuck toand carried out his engagement.

  As for Mr Huntingdon, his mortification wa
s extreme when there appearedin the next issue of the county paper a full description of the contest,from which it appeared that his favourite son had been beaten in apublic trial of skill by Jim Jarrocks, well-known all over the county asthe most reckless poacher and unblushing profligate anywhere about, andhad thus given encouragement to a man who was constantly before themagistrates for all sorts of minor breaches of the law. However, hefelt that he must make the best of it, and he therefore spoke of itamong his friends as a bit of foolish practical joking on his son'spart, in which he had burned his fingers pretty severely, and whichwould therefore, he had no doubt, read him a lesson to avoid anything ofthe sort in the future.

  As for Walter himself, he was only too glad to keep silent on thematter, and let it die out; and so were the family generally. There wasone, however, from whom Walter looked for sympathy, and even for ameasure of approbation--this was his aunt. In the evening, after thearticle in the county paper on his challenge and its results had beenread with severe comments by his father at the breakfast-table, he foundMiss Huntingdon sitting alone in the summer-house. Having cut two orthree small slips off a laurel, he brought them to her, and, as he satdown by her side, said, half mournfully, half playfully, "Auntie, I wantyou to make me a laurel crown or chaplet of these."

  "Indeed, Walter; what for?"

  "That I may wear it as a reward from you, and a token of victory inmoral courage."

  "Well, but, my dear boy, if the laurels are to be looked at as a rewardfrom myself, I cannot crown you till I am satisfied that you have wonthem."

  "Exactly so, auntie; now that is just what I am going to show you."

  "Do so, dear boy, and I shall be only too rejoiced to make the chaplet,and to place it with my own hands on your head."

  "Well then, dear aunt, you have heard all about this wretched businessof the race; you may be sure that it has made me feel very small andvery foolish."

  "I can quite understand that," said Miss Huntingdon; "and I have feltvery sorry for you in the matter; but I hope it may turn out for good,and make you a little more cautious."

  "I hope so too, auntie; but this is not the point with me just now. Iwant to get credit, from you at any rate, for a little bit, perhaps onlya very little bit, of moral heroism or courage."

  "Well, Walter?"

  "Ah, now, auntie, that `well' didn't sound well. I'm afraid I shan'tget much credit or encouragement from you."

  "Let me hear all about it, dear boy," said his aunt kindly.

  "Why then, you see, I made a foolish offer, and might have backed out ofit; and if I had done so I should have pleased my father and saved mymoney, and not have encouraged one of the biggest scamps going, and havebeen spared a lot of chaffing and ridicule. But you see I had given myword, though it was only half a word after all, for I never dreamed thatGregson would have taken me up as he did. But rather than break myword, I stood by what I had promised, and got all sorts of bother andtrouble by doing so. Now, wasn't that something like moral courage?Don't I deserve my laurels?"

  "It was something _like_ it," replied his aunt gravely.

  "Is that all, auntie? Wasn't it the thing itself? You know there hasbeen no dash or mere impulse here. I've had a deal of patience andforbearance to exercise, and these are quite out of my line."

  "Yes, I see that; but then, Walter--"

  "But then, Aunt Kate, it wasn't moral courage after all."

  "Do you yourself think it was, dear boy?"

  "Well, I don't know; I should like to think it was, but I am almostafraid. What should you call it, dear aunt, if it wasn't truly moralcourage?"

  "I fear, dear Walter, you will think me very hard and unfeeling if I saywhat I really think."

  "Oh, no, no! speak out, auntie--let me hear the truth; you are neverreally unkind."

  "Then, Walter, I should call it obstinacy, and not moral courage. Youmade a promise, and you would stick to it through thick and thin, letthe consequences to yourself and others be what they might, just becauseyou had said it. Was it not so?"

  Walter turned red, and looked very uncomfortable, and for a little timemade no reply. Then he said hastily, "And what _ought_ I to have done?"

  "Well, my boy, in my judgment," replied his aunt, "you ought to havelistened to your father, and to have withdrawn your offer, and to haveborne patiently the shame and the annoyance this would have brought uponyou from your friends Gregson, Saunders, and others."

  "Ah, I see; and then I should have shown real moral courage. What's thedifference, then?"

  "I think, Walter, the difference is just this: in the course you took,your firmness and patience were for an _unworthy_ object; had you takenthe other course, they would have been for a _worthy_ object. It seemsto me that this makes all the difference. I could not myself call thatmoral courage which made a man carry through, spite of all hindrances,opposition, and with much personal sacrifice, a purpose which he mustknow to be unworthy. Now, I will give you an illustration of what Imean by an example. And first, I would remind you that all my heroeshitherto have been those who showed their moral courage about worthyobjects; for instance, Washington, Howard, Colonel Gardiner, the youngman in the American revival. But the person whose moral courage I amnow going to mention was not on other occasions one of my heroes, buthis conduct on one particular occasion is specially to the point justnow. For I want you to see, dear boy, that true moral courage is shown,not in sticking to a thing just because you have said it, when you mustknow that you ought not to have said it, but in giving up what you havesaid, and bearing the reproach of doing so, when you have becomeconvinced that you have said or undertaken what was wrong. It is duty,in fact, that makes all the difference."

  "I see it, auntie; and who's your hero now?"

  "Frederick the Great of Prussia, Walter."

  "What! the man who ridiculed that good officer's religion?"

  "The same; but remember that, while he ridiculed religion, he wasconstrained to honour that officer for his consistency. But his moralcourage was exhibited on a very different occasion. Now, you mustremember what sort of a man Frederick was,--he just resembled a spoiledchild, who could not brook the slightest thwarting of his will orpleasure. In some things he was a miser, and in others just thereverse. He wore his uniform till it was patched and threadbare, whilehe gave two dollars each for cherries in the winter. He would payenormous sums to secure a singer, and then refuse to allow the opera-house to be lighted with wax-candles, so that the pleasure of theevening was spoiled by the smell of tallow. He was, unhappily, well-known in the army for two peculiarities,--first, a temper of such ironunforgiveness that, if he had taken offence at any one, that man'scareer was closed, he was never employed again; and, second, a memory ofsuch tenacity that not a hope existed of entrapping him intoforgetfulness.

  "Now, among his officers there was a colonel, a very brave man, and acapital soldier, who, on one occasion, had made some slight militaryslip or blunder. This drew on him the king's displeasure, and was neverforgotten. So his pension or half-pay allowance was made the verylowest his rank would permit; for these allowances were regulated by theking himself.

  "The poor colonel had a wife and a large family of children; he did notunderstand how to make the best of his small income, nor to improve itby other employment, so that he was at last reduced to what was littleshort of beggary and starvation. Day after day he placed himself in theroyal ante-chamber and begged an audience; but the king would not hearhim, and one day got into a towering passion when the officer-in-waitingventured to utter the poor man's name in the king's presence. At lastthe colonel grew desperate. He could not make up his mind to beg; hiswife was ill, his children starving,--what was he to do? He hit uponthe curious idea of getting relief for his family by putting up,unobserved, in the night time, at the corners of the streets in Berlin,placards breathing the most venomous abuse of the king, in the hope thata reward would be offered to the person who should disclose who was thewriter of the placard, that he
might then himself claim the reward byinforming against himself, and so might relieve the immediate pressingnecessities of his wife and children, whatever might be the personalsuffering and consequences to himself.

  "The plan succeeded. The king, in a transport of rage, offered a rewardof fifty gold pieces to whoever should disclose the offender. But youmay imagine Frederick's amazement when the poor colonel, in raggedregimentals, and half perishing with hunger, obtained an interview, andnamed himself as the guilty libeller.

  "And now, how did the king act, when the unhappy officer begged that thereward might be sent at once to his wife, that she might obtain medicalhelp for herself and bread for her children? What was such a man asFrederick likely to do? The colonel, when he confessed his crime,acknowledged that his life was justly forfeited, and asked no pity forhimself; and had the king acted up to his ordinary rules, he would haveat once ordered the miserable officer off to execution, or, at least,lifelong imprisonment. But it was not thus that he punished the crushedand miserable culprit. His heart was touched, his conscience waspricked; he felt that he had acted wrongly to the colonel in times past,and that he must now undo the wrong as far as was possible. But thenremember the king's character and habits, especially in militarymatters. When he had once said `No,' when he had once resolved upon acourse of policy or action, he was the very last man to alter; the wholeworld might go to pieces sooner than he change. And yet, in thisinstance, having become thoroughly convinced that he had been treating adeserving man with injustice, he had the moral courage to reverse hisconduct, to unsay what he had before said, and to incur the risk ofbeing called fickle or changeable by doing what he now believed to bethe right thing. So he at once laid the poor man on his own couch, forthe colonel had fainted after making his confession. Then he gave himfood, and sent the doctor to his wife and provisions for the children;and then, having summoned an attendant, he bade him take the colonel'ssword, and consider the officer himself as his prisoner. After this hesat down and wrote a letter, and, having delivered it to the attendant,dismissed the unhappy man from his presence.

  "The person who now had the colonel in charge was an old friend of his,who had often tried to put in a kind word for him to the king, buthitherto without any good result. And now, as he conducted him from thepalace, he said, `You are to be taken to the fortress of Spandau, but,believe me, you have nothing to fear.' Spandau was a fortress nearBerlin, to which at that time all state prisoners were sent.

  "On reaching Spandau, the officer gave his prisoner in charge to thecaptain of the guard, while he himself carried the king's sealed orderand the prisoner's sword to the governor of the fortress, who, havingread the king's letter, told the colonel that, although he was hisprisoner, yet he was not forbidden to invite him for once to joinhimself and his brother officers at the dinner-table.

  "In due time the guests assembled, and with them the poor, half-starvedcolonel. But imagine the astonishment of all when, after the dinner wasover, the governor of the fortress read out to the whole company theking's letter, which ran thus:--`Sir Commandant, I hereby nominate andappoint the present half-pay colonel, who was this day delivered over toyou as a prisoner, to the command of my fortress of Spandau, and I lookto receive from him in his new service proofs of the same fidelity,bravery, and attention to duty, and strict obedience, which he so oftenexhibited in the late war. The late commandant of Spandau now goes, inreward of his faithful services, as commandant of Magdeburg.'

  "Now I call this, dear Walter, real nobility of conduct, real moralcourage in such a man as Frederick, the courage of acting out hisconvictions, when in so doing he was going contrary to those cherishedhabits and principles which were part of his very self, and made him ina degree what he was in the eyes of the world. This was indeed moralcourage, and not weak changeableness or fickleness, because it had anoble object. To have adhered to his ordinary course in the colonel'scase, when he had become convinced that he had been wronging thatofficer, would have been obstinacy and littleness."

  "Ay, auntie," said Walter thoughtfully, "I am sure your view is theright one. So good-bye, laurels, for this time;" saying which, he threwthe boughs among the trees of the shrubbery. As he did so, he felt theloving arms of Miss Huntingdon drawing him closely to her, and then awarm kiss on his fair brow.