The Lawton Girl [A novel.] ... With a frontispiece by F. Barnard

Front matter

THE LAWTON GIRL NEW NOVELS AT ALL LIBRARIES, BLIND LOVE. By Wilkie Collins. With a Preface by Walter Besant. 3 vols. FOR THE LOVE OF A LASS. By Austin Clare. 2 Vols. AN OCEAN TRAGEDY. By W. Clark Russell. 3 VOls. WITHOUT LOVE OR LICENCE. By Hawley Smart. 3 vols. THE BELL OF ST. PAUL'S. By Walter Besant. 3 vols. FETTERED FOR LIFE. By Frank Barrett. 3 vols. PASSION'S SLAVE. By Richard Ashe King. 3 vols. A YANKEE AT THE COURT OF KING ARTHUR. By Mark Twain, i vol. A LAST LOVE. By Georges Ohnet. i vol. A NOBLE WOMAN. By Henry Greville. i vol. THE DEAD MAN'S SECRET. By J. E. Muddock. 1 vol. London : CHATTO & WINDUS, Piccadilly, W. " She turned now, her tear-stained face luminous with a deep, wrathful emotion." [p. 5, THE LAWTON GIRL By HAROLD FREDERIC AUTHOR OF 'SETH's BROTHER'S WIFE' WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY F. BARNARD H. onDon CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1890 [All rights reserved] CONTENTS.

CHAPTER pA(,E i. 'and yet you knew!' 1 II. CONFRONTING THE ORDEAL 7 III. YOUNG MR. BOYCE'S MEDITATIONS - - - 1G IV. REUBEN TRACY" - - - - - 24 V. THE TURKEY-SHOOT - - - - - 33 VI. THANKSGIVING AT THE MINSTERS' - - - 40 VII. THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER'S WELCOME - 52 VIII. THANKSGIVING AT THE LAWTONS' - - - 64 IX. THE PARTNERSHIP - - - - - 73 X. MR. SCHUYLER TENNEY - - - - 83 XI. MRS. MINSTER'S NEW LEGAL ADVISER - - 93 XII. THE THESSALY' CITIZENS' CLUB ... 103 XIII. THE DAUGHTER OF THE MILLIONS - - - 113 XIV. HORACE EMBARKS UPON THE ADVENTURE - - 125 XV. THE LAWTON GIRL'S WORK - - - - 137 XVI. A GRACIOUS FRIEND RAISED UP 143 XVII. TRACY HEARS STRANGE THINGS - - - 154 XVIII. A SIMPLE BUSINESS TRANSACTION - - - 163 XIX. NO MESSAGE FOR MAMMA - - - - 172 XX. THE MAN FROM NEW YORK - 181 XXI. REUBEN'S MOMENTOUS FIRST VISIT - - - 188 XXII. ' SAY THAT THERE IS NO ANSWER !' - - - VI CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE XXIII. HORACE'S PATH BECOMES TORTUOUS- - - 211 XXIV. A VEHEMENT RESOLVE .... 222 XXV. A VISITATION OF ANGELS - - - - 233 XXVI. OVERWHELMING DISCOMFITURE - - - 245 XXVII. THE LOCKOUT ----- 256 XXVIII. IN THE ROBBER'S CAVE .... 264 XXIX. THE MISTS CLEARING AWAY - - - 276 xxx. Jessica's great despair - 285 xxxi. a strange encounter . - - - 294 XXXII. THE ALARM AT THE FARMHOUSE - - - 305 XXXIII. RACING TOWARDS THE REDDENED SKY - - 313 XXXIV. THE CONQUEST OF THE MOB ... 320 XXXV. THE SHINING REWARD ... - 330 XXXVI. ' I TELL YOU I HAVE LIVED IT DOWN !' -

Chapter I

'AND YET YOU KNEW !' ' Thessaly ! Ten minutes foh refreshments !' called out the brisk young coloured porter, advancing up the aisle of the drawing-room car, whisk-broom in hand. ' Change cahs foh Thanksgiving Turkey and Cranberry Sauce !' he added upon humorous afterthought, smiling broadly as he spoke, and chuckling to himself. This friendly remark was addressed in confidence to a group of three persons at the forward end of the car, who began preparations for the halt as the clanking of the wheels beneath them grew more measured, and the carriage trembled and swayed under the pressure of the brakes. But the cheery grin which went with it was exclusively directed to the two ladies who rose nowfrom their arm-chairs, and who gently relaxed their features in amused response. Whether the porter was moved only by the comeliness of these faces and their gracious softening, or whether he was aware that they were patrician countenances, so to speak, and belonged to Mrs. and Miss Minster — persons of vast wealth and importance, and considerable stock-holders in this very railway — is not clear.

But he made a great bustle over getting their parcels down from the racks over head, and helping them to don their outer garments. He smoothed the rich fur of their sealskin cloaks with almost affectionate strokes of his coffee-coloured palms, and made a pile of their belongings on the next seat with an ex aggerated show of dexterity and zeal. This done, he turned for a cursory moment to the young man who con stituted the third member of the group, peremptorily pulled up the collar of his overcoat to the top of his ears, and was back again with his arms full of the ladies' bundles as the train came to a stop. ' This way, ladies !' he said, marching jauntily under his burden toward the door. ' I will bid you good-day, Mr. Boyce,' said the elder of the women, speaking with somewhat formal politeness, but offering her hand. ' Good-day, sir,' the younger said simply, with a little inclination of the head, but with no ' Mr. Boyce,' and no proffer of her gloved fingers.

The young man murmured ' So delighted to have had the privilege,' between low-answering bows, and then stood watching the two fur-draped figures move to the door and disappear with a certain blankness of expression on his face which seemed to say that he had hoped for a more cordial leave-taking. Then he smiled with reassurance, folded up and pocketed his thin car-cap, adjusted his glossy silk hat a trifle on one side, and proceeded to tug out his own valise. It was a matter of some difficulty to get the cumbrous bag down off the high, icy steps to the ground. It was even more disagreeable to carry it along when he had got it down, and after a few paces he let it fall with a grunt of vexation, and looked about him for assistance. ' How much better they do these things in Europe !' was what he thought as he looked.

All day long he had been journeying over a snow-bound country, with white-capped houses, white-frozen streams, white-tufted firs, white-mantled fields and roads and hill sides for ever dodging one another in the dissolving pano rama before his window. The train drawn up for the 'AND YET YOU KNEW/' 3 moment behind him might have come in from the North Pole, so completely laden with snow was every flat surface of roof and beam, of platform and window-frame, presented by the dark line of massive coaches. Yet it seemed to him that there was more snow, more bleak and cheerless evidence of winter, here in his native Thessaly, than he had seen anywhere else. It was characteristic, too, he felt, that nobody should appear to care how much inconvenience this snow caused. There was but an indifferently-shovelled path leading from where he stood, across the open expanse of side-tracks to the old and dingy depot beyond, cleared for the use of such favoured passengers as might alight from the drawing-room section of the train.

Those who had arrived in the ordinary cars at the rear were left to flounder through the smoke-begrimed drifts as best they could. The foremost of these unconsidered travellers were coming up, red and angry with the exertion of carrying their own luggage, and plunging miserably along through the great ridges of discoloured snow heaped between the tracks, when Mr. Boyce's impatient eye fell upon somebody he knew. ' Hello there ! Lawton !' he shouted, ' come here and help me with this infernal bag, won't you !' The man to whom he called had been gazing down the yard at the advancing wayfarers. He looked up now, hesitated for a moment, then came forward slowly, shuffling through the snow to the path. He was a middle-aged, thin and round-shouldered man, weak and unkempt as to face and hair and beard, with shabby clothes and no overcoat.

Although he wore mittens he still, from force of habit, had his hands plunged half-way into his trousers-pockets. Even where it would have been easy to step over the intermittent drifts and mounds at the sides of the tracks, he shiftlessly pushed his feet through them instead. ' Hello, Hod !' he said slowly, with a kind of melancholy hesitation, ' is that you?' 1-2 Young Mr. Boyce ignored the foolish question, and indi cated the valise with a nod of his head. ' I wish you'd get that thing down to the house, Ben. And take these checks for my trunks too, will you, and see that they're brought down ? Where is that expressman, anyway? Why isn't he here, on hand, attending to his business ?' ' I don't know as I can, Hod,' said the man without an overcoat, idly kicking into a heap of mingled cinders and snow with his wet, patched boots, and glancing uneasily down the yard. ' I'm down here a-waitin' — for — that is to say, I've got somethin' else to do.

Prob'ly you can get some other fellow outside the deepo.' Mr. Boyce's answer to this was to add a bright half dollar to the baggage-checks he already held in his hand. The coin was on the top, and Ben Lawton could not help looking at it. The temptation was very great. ' I ought to stay here, you know,' he faltered. 'Pact is, honest Injun ! I got to stay here. I'm lookin' for — some body acomin' in on this train.' ' Well, you can look, can't you, and do this too ? There's no hurry about the things ; if they're home two hours hence it will be time enough.' ' Yes, I know, it might be so as I could do it later on,' said Lawton, taking one of his hands from his pocket and stretching it tentatively toward the money. Then a second thought prompted him to waver, and he drew back the hand, muttering feebly, ' Then again, it might be so as I couldn't do it.

You'd better get somebody else ! And yet— I don't know — p'raps ' Mr. Boyce settled the question by briskly reaching down for his bag. ' All right ! Please yourself,' he said. ' I've got no more time to waste with you. I'll do it myself.' Before he had fairly lifted the valise from the ground, the irresolute Lawton made up his mind. 'AND YET YOU KNEW!' 5 ' Put her down again, Hod,' he said. ' I'll manage it somehow.' He took the half-dollar in his mittened hand, and tossed it gently up and down on the striped blue and white surface of yarn. ' It's the first money I've earned for over a week,' he remarked, as if in self-defence. Even as he spoke, a young woman in black, who had been wandering about in the depot-yard, came running excitedly up to him. She gave a little inarticulate cry of recognition as she drew near.

He turned, saw her, and in a bewildered way opened his arms. She dropped her bundles and bandbox heedlessly into the snow, and threw herself upon his breast, hiding her face on his threadbare coat, and sobbing audibly. Mr. Boyce had been entirely unprepared for this demonstration, and looked wonderingly upon the couple who stood in the path before him. After a moment or two of silent inspection he made as if to pass them, but they did not move. The girl still hid her face, although she had ceased to weep, and Lawton bent his head down over hers, with tears in his eyes and his gaze fixed vaguely on the snow beyond her, while he tenderly patted her shoulder with the hand that did not hold the half-dollar. ' All right then, Ben,' Mr. Boyce called out. ' If you'll just let me pass, I'll walk on.

Have the things there by five.' At the first sound of this voice the girl had raised her head. She turned now, her tear-stained face luminous with a deep, wrathful emotion, and looked at the speaker. The young man did not for more than an instant try to meet this glance. His cheek flushed and his eyes sought the ground. He lifted his hand with a hurried, awkward gesture towards his hat, made a hasty plunge around them through the snow, and Walked swiftly away past the gate into the depot. The girl's intent gaze followed the retiring Mr. Boyce until he disappeared. Then it shifted suddenly and fell upon the face of Ben Lawton, from whose embrace she had now withdrawn. The poor man made no effort whatsoever to brave its searching and reproachful inquiry. He balanced the half dollar on his mitten's edge, watched the exercise with a piteously futile pretence of interest, and looked as if he were about to cry. 'What "things" were those he spoke of, father?' she asked, after a long pause.

The passengers who had temporarily left the train for the doubtful solace of the refreshment counter were beginning now to return. Some of them jostled past the couple who stood blocking the narrow path, and one of these, a stout and choleric man in a silk skull-cap and a fur-lined over coat, brusquely kicked the big valise out of the way, over turning it in the snow. Lawton had not found the courage necessary for a complete explanation. He bent over now, set the bag on its bottom again, and made partial answer : ' This is one of 'em.' The long train, snow-capped and sombre, began to draw out of the yard. The two Lawtons stood and silently watched it unfold its length — saw first the broad, plate-glass panes of the drawing-room and sleeping-cars, with their luxurious shadows and glimpses of well-groomed heads and costly stuffs behind, glide slowly, sedately by ; then, more rapidly, the closer-set windows of the yellow, common cars, through the steam on which visions of hats and faces dimly crowded ; and last, the diminishing rear platform, with its solitary brakeman vehemently whirling the horizontal wheel of the brake — grow small, then indistinct, then vanish altogether.

A sense of desertion, of having been left behind, seemed to brood over the old clap-boarded depot like a cloud, darkening the ashen masses of snow round about and chilling the very air. The daughter looked once more at her father. 'AND YET YOU KNEW s 7 ' You are going to carry h is things ?' she said, with a stern, masterful inflection in her voice, and with flashing eyes. ' Hope-to-die, Jess, I tried as hard as I could to get out of it — made all sorts of excuses,' Lawton pleaded, shrinking meantime from her gaze, and furtively but clumsily slipping the coin into his pocket. ' But you know the kind of fellow Hod is ' — he stammered here with con fusion, and made haste to add : ' what I mean is — he — well, he just wouldn't take no for an answer.' She went on coldly, as if she had not heard : ' You have got his money ; I saw it — there in your hand.' ' Well, I tell you what, Jess,' the father answered, with an accession of boldness, ' half-dollars don't grow on every bush up this way.

I ain't see one afore in a fortnight. And to-morrow's Thanksgiving, you know — and then you've come home — and what was a fellow to do ?' The girl turned as if it were fruitless to say more. Then the necessity for relief mastered her ; she faced him again, and ground the words from between her set teeth with scornful sadness : ' You take his money — and yet you hiew !' CHAPTEE II. CONFRONTING THE ORDEAL. Jessica Lawton stood on the sidewalk outside the depot, and waited for the return of her father, who had gone in search of the expressman. The street up and down which she glanced was in a sense familiar to her, for she had been born and reared on a hill side road not far away, and until her eighteenth year had beheld no finer or more important place than this Thessaly, which once had seemed so big and grand, and now, despite the obvious march of ' improvement,' looked so dwarfed and countrified in its overlarge, misfitting coat of snow.

She found herself puzzled vaguely by the confusion of objects she remembered with things which appeared not at all to belong to the scene. There was the old Dearborn House, for example, on the same old corner, with its high piazza overhanging both streets, and its seedy brown clap board sides that had needed a fresh painting as long as she could recollect, and had not got it yet. But beside it, where formerly had been a long straggling line of decrepit sheds, was reared now a tall, narrow, flat-roofed brick building — the village fire-engine house — and through the half-open door, in which a man and a bull-dog stood survey ing her, she could see the brassy brightness of a huge modern machine within. It seemed only yesterday that the manhood of Thessaly had rejoiced and perspired over the heavy, unwieldy wheeled-pump which was dragged about with ropes, and worked by means of long hand-brakes, with twelve men on a side, and a ducking from the hose for all shirkers.

And here was a citified brick engine-house, and a ' steamer ' drawn by horses ! Everywhere, as she looked, this incongruous jumbling of the familiar and the novel forced itself upon the girl's attention. And neither the old nor the new bore on its face a welcome for her. In a narrower and more compact street than this main thoroughfare of Thessaly the people in view would have constituted almost a crowd. The stores all seemed to be doing a thriving business, particularly if those who lounged about looking in the windows might be counted upon to presently buy something. Both sides of the road were lined with rustic sleighs, drawn up wherever paths had been cut through the deep snow to the sidewalks, and farmers in bio overcoats, comforters and mittens were visible by scores spreading buffalo-robes over their horses, or getting out arm fuls of turkeys and tubs of butter from the straw in the bottoms of their sleds, or stamping with their heavy boots on the walks for warmth, as they discussed prices and the relative badness of the various snow-blocked roads in the vicinity.

Farther down the street a load of hay had tipped over in the middle of the road, and the driver, an old man with a faded army overcoat and long hair, was hurling loud impre cations at some boys who had snowballed him, and who now, from a safe distance, yelled back impolite rejoinders. Among all who passed, Jessica caught sight of no accustomed face. In a way, indeed, they were all familiar enough — they were types, in feature and voice and dress and manner, of the people among whom her whole earlier life had been spent — but she knew none of them, and was at once glad of this and very melancholy. She had done a rash and daring thing in coming back to Dearborn County. It had seemed the right thing to do, and she had found the strength and resolution to do it. But there had been many moments of quaking trepidation during the long journey by rail from Tecumseh that day, and she was conscious now, as she looked about her, of a well-nigh complete collapse of courage.

The tears would come, and she had more than once furtively to lift her handkerchief to her face. It was not a face with which one, at first glance, would readily associate tears. The features were regularly, almost firmly, cut; and the eyes — large, fine eyes though they were — had commonly a wideawake, steady, practical look, which expressed anything rather than weakness. The effect of the countenance, as a whole, suggested an energetic, self-con tained young woman who knew her way about, who was likely to be neither cheated nor flattered out of her rights, and who distinctly belonged to the managing division of the human race. This conception of her was aided by the erect, independent carriage of her shoulders, which made her seem taller than she really was, and by the clever simplicity of her black tailor-made jacket and frock, and her round, shapely, turban-like hat.

But if one looked closely into this face, here in the snow light of the November afternoon, there would be fo.und sundry lines and shadows of sensibility and of suffering which were at war with its general expression ; and these, when one caught them, had an air of being new, and of not yet having had time to lay definite hold upon the face itself. They were nearer it now, perhaps, as the tears came, than they had often been before, yet even now both they and the moisture glistening on the long lashes appeared foreign to the calm immobility of the countenance. Tears did not seem to belong there, nor smiles. Yet a real smile did all at once move to softness the com pressed lines of her lips, and bring colour to her cheeks, and a pleasant mellowing of glance into her eyes. She had been striving to occupy her all-too-introspective mind by reading the signs with which the house-fronts were thickly covered, and here, on a doorway close beside her, was one at sight of which her whole face brightened.

And it was a charming face now — a face to remember — with intelligence and fine feeling and frank happiness in every lineament, yet with the same curious suggestion, too, of the smile, like the tears, being rare and unfamiliar. The sign was a small square of tin, painted in yellow letters on a black ground : EEUBEN TEACY, Attorney and Coiinsellor-at-Lmo. SECOND FLOOR. 1 Oh, he is here, then; he has come back !' she said aloud. She repeated, with an air of enjoying the sound of the words : ' He has come back.' She walked up to the sign, read it over and over again, and even touched it, in a meditative way, with the tip of her gloved finger. The smile came to her face once more as she murmured : ' He will know ; he will make it easier for me.' But even as she spoke the sad look spread over her face again.

She walked back to the place where she had been standing, and looked resolutely away from the sign — at the tipped-over load of hay, at the engine-house, at the sleighs passing to and fro — through eyes dimmed afresh with tears. Thus she still stood when her father returned. The expressman who halted his bob-sleigh at the cutting in front of her, and who sat holding the reins while her father piled her valise and parcels on behind, looked her over with a half-awed, half-quizzical glance, and seemed a long time making up his mind to speak. Finally he said : ' How d' do ? Want to ride here, on the seat, 'longside of me ?' There was an indefinable something in his tone, and in the grin that went with it, which she resented quickly. ' I had no idea of riding at all,' she made answer. Her father, who had seated himself on a trunk in the centre of the sleigh, interposed. 'Why, Jess, you remember Steve, don't you?' he asked apologetically.

The expressman and the girl looked briefly at one another, and nodded in a perfunctory manner. Lawton went on : ' He offered himself to give us a lift as far as the house. He's goin' that way — ain't you, Steve?' The impulse was strong in Jessica to resist — precisely why she might have found it difficult to explain — but apparently there was no choice remaining to her. ' Very well, then,' she said ; ' I will sit beside you, father.' She stepped into the sleigh at this, and took her seat on the other end of the big trunk. The expressman gave a slap THE LAV/TON GIRL. 12 of the lines and a cluck to the horse, which started brisk y down the wide street, the bell at its collar giving forth a sustained cheery tinkle as they sped through the snow. ' Well, what do you think — ain't this better'n walkin' ?' remarked Lawton after a time, knocking his heels in a satisfied way against the side of the trunk. ' I felt as if the walk would do me good,' she answered simply.

Her face was impassivity itself as she looked straight before her over the expressman's shoulder. Ben Lawton felt oppressed by the conviction that his daughter was annoyed. Perhaps it was because he had insisted on riding, instead of saying that he would walk, too, when she had disclosed her preference. He ventured upon an explanation, stealing wistful glances at her mean time : ' You see, Jess, Dave Eantell's got a turkey shoot on to-day down at his place, and I kind o' thought I'd try my luck with this here half-dollar 'fore it gets dark. The days are shortenin' so this season o' year that I couldn't get there without Steve give me a lift. And if I should get a turkey — why, we'll have a regular Thanksgiving dinner ; and with you come home, too !' To this she did not trust herself to make answer, but kept her face rigidly set, and her eyes fixed as if engrossed in meditation.

They had passed the great ironworks on the western outskirts of the village now, and the road leading to the suburb of Burfield ran along through almost open country. The keener wind raised here in resistance to the rapid transit of the sleigh : — no doubt it was this which brought the deep flush to her cheeks and the glistenino' moisture to her eyes. They presently overtook two young men who were trudc ing along abreast, each in one of the tracks made by traffic, and who stepped aside to let the sleigh go by. ' Hello, Hod !' called out the expressman as he passed, ' I've got your trunks. Come back for good ?' ' Hello, Steve ! . . . I don't quite know yet,' was the reply which came back, the latter half of it too late for the expressman's ears. Jessica had not seen the pedestrians until the sleigh was close upon them; then, in the moment's glimpse of them vouchsafed her, she had recognised young Mr. Boyce, and in looking away from him with swift decision had gazed full into the eyes of his companion.

This other remembered her too, it was evident, even in this brief instant of passing, for a smile of greeting was in the glance he returned, and he lifted his "hat as she swept by. This was Eeuben Tracy, then ! Despite his beard, he seemed scarcely to have aged in face during these last five years, but he looked straighter and stronger, and his bearing had more vigour and firmness than she remembered of him in the days when she was an irregular pupil at the little old Burfield Eoad school-house, and he was the teacher. She was glad that he looked so hale and healthful. And had her tell-tale face, she wondered, revealed as she passed him all the deep pleasure she felt at seeing him again — at knowing he was near? She tried to recall whether she had smiled, and could not make sure. But he had smiled, of that there was not a doubt, and he had known her on the instant, and had taken off his hat, not merely jerked his finger toward it.

Ah, what delight there was in these thoughts ! She turned to her father, and, lifting her voice above the jingle of the bell, spoke with animation : ' Tell me about the second man we just passed — Mr. Tracy. Has he been in Thessaly long ? and is he doing a good busi ness?' She added hastily, as if to forestall some possible misconception : ' He used to be my schcol-teacher, you know.' 'Guess he's gettin' on all right,' replied Lawton. 'I hain't heard nothin' to the contrary. He must a' been back from New York along about a year, maybe two.' To her great annoyance he shouted out to the driver : ' Steve, how long's Eube Tracy been back in Thessaly ? You keep track o' things better'n I do.' The expressman replied over his shoulder : ' Should say about a year come Christmas !' Then, after a moment's pause, he transferred the reins to his other hand, twisted himself half around on his seat, and looked into Jessica's face with his earlier and offensive expression of mingled familiarity and diffidence. ' He appeared to remember you : took off his hat,' he said.

There was an unmistakable leer on his lank countenance as he added : ' That other fellow was Hod Boyce, the .General's son, you know — just come back from the Old Country.' ' Yes, I know,' she made answer curtly, and turned away from him. During what remained of the journey she preserved silence, keeping her gaze steadily fixed on the drifted fields beyond the fence in front of her, and thinking about these two young men— at first, with infinite bitterness and loath ing of the one, and then, for a longer time and with a soft, half-saddened pleasure, of the other. It was passing strange that she should find herself here at all — here in this village which for years at a time she had sworn never to see again. But, when she thought of it, it seemed still more remarkable that at the very outset she should see walking together the two men whom memory most distinctly associated with her old life here as a girl.