Stephen Holton; a story of life as it is in town and country

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Preface

When this story was begun, it was with the intention of making it one of general human interest without adverting in particular terms to any one of the great sins of the nation. But, in the course of my reading and study, the magnitude of the account which may properly be charged to the great vice of Intemperance amazed me. When it is considered that more than four-fifths of the inmates of our prisons and reformatory institutions, more than one-third of the paupers, and more than one-fourth of those confined for the public good in insane asylums attribute their condition, directly or indirectly, to intoxicating liquors, the dark picture thus presented is surely most humiliating to us as a nation. When we know that, from the homes broken up by such enforced absences of mothers and fathers, thousands of children become burdens upon their relatives and friends, or dependent upon town, city, or State charity, then the contemplation of the results of the great vice becomes truly appalling.

The characters in the story are purely creations of fiction and the incidents therein are wholly viii Preface

imaginary. It has not been my intention to invent harrowing events to be presented as " terrible examples," but only to evolve them during the progress of the story. If, however, it is seen that the greatest offender is not the so-called " drunken bum," but the educated and intelligent man whose passions are inflamed and kept alive by intoxicating liquors, then an important fact will have been brought to public attention. But what means shall be adopted to counteract or remedy the existing evil? It is said that if the tentacles of the ocean monster, called the octopus, are cut off, one by one, nature replaces them by others, and no vital injury is inflicted. It may be argued that if similar measures are taken with regard to the great social monster, Intemperance, the result secured will be but temporary. So far, recourse has been had to the law, but evidence has shown that neither the prohibitory nor the license system are likely to provide either a temporary remedy or a permanent cure. No legislation has ever succeeded in making men good.

The tendency to reform must come from within the man himself. As Stephen Holton is made to say in the story: "I do not expect to see the millennium at once. We can only reach it by slow and progressive stages." The means of securing one of these progressive stages outlined in the book may not be an ideal one, but it is hoped that it

Preface ix

will supply a suggestion to thinking minds, which may turn it to practical benefit. The women of America are more interested than any other class in our communities in securing the closure of the drinking-saloons in which their fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons take their first steps in crime.

That the people are in earnest is shown by the tacit approval given in the West to the lawless proceedings of those who seek to banish the bar by physical measures, by destroying counters, and smashing mirrors, decanters, and bottles, with axes and bludgeons. But such proceedings, which savour of lynch law, will not long be tolerated by a lawabiding community. They will recognise the fact that the rightful way of securing rightful ends is only by the adoption of rightful measures, and not those which are contrary to established law and order.

The temperance question is the paramount issue of the times, and the first practical step toward its solution lies in the banishment of the bar, for the liquor saloon has no proper place in our twentieth century civilisation. It is an undesired legacy, and the children of the present should not longer be made to suffer for the sins of their fathers.

C. F. P.

CONTENTS mm

A Terrible Event .

Consequences .

"The Root of All Evil"

The New Love .

"Because I Loved Him"

Gathered Threads .

236 246

276 289

Chapter I. The Judkinses

" Ichabod, jes' stop a'pesterin' that 'ere hoss. Jes' as like as not he'll out with his hind legs and kick you inter kingdom come."

The individual thus admonished was a small boy, apparently not more than eight years of age. His name was Ichabod Judkins, and he was the youngest child of Mr. and Mrs. Jethro Judkins, of North Gayville, Maine. He was small for his age, being in reality ten years old, but though short in stature, was stout in person, with rosy cheeks, black hair, and a pair of mischievous black eyes.

The speaker who uttered this admonition was the mother of the young hopeful, Mrs. Betsey Judkins, who was rinsing out some milk-pans at the kitchen sink, directly in front of a window which looked out upon the large grass plot where Tom, the old family horse, tied to a stake in the centre of the plot, was cropping the long, thick grass. Ichabod, imitating a scene which he had seen recently at the circus, was giving the horse several sharp cuts with a stout switch, which accelerated Tom's pace to as near an approach to a gallop as it was possible for his old and tired limbs to attain. Round and round the circle he went, Ichabod at each turn giving him an added impetus with his improvised whip. At each of these blows the horse would kick up vigorously with his hind legs, and it was the possibility of his hoofs coming in contact with her son's person that led the careful Mrs. Judkins to interpose her words of caution.

Yes, Mrs. Judkins was a prudent, careful housewife. Careful of her house, for the ownership of which she and her husband had worked early and late during the first years of their married life; careful of the furniture which it contained, many articles of which were heirlooms in the family; careful of their food to see that none was wasted, and that the material used was well cooked that there might be no excuse for wasting it; careful of her own .clothing and that of her family, for, although the farm supplied the means of subsistence, there was no market for their surplus near at hand and very little money came into the family till. Mrs. Judkins was of medium height and at least fortyfive years of age, retaining many features of her

I youthful good looks ; in fact, when she became the wife of Jethro Judkins, twenty-five years before, she was considered the belle of the town. There was not a cleaner kept or better ordered house in North Gayville than the one over which she presided.

As his mother's words fell on his ear, Ichabod gave several astonishingly long leaps and was soon outside of the circle which formed the circus route of the old horse. Behind a clump of bushes which shaded him from his mother's sight, Ichabod wondered whether he should seek some new field of action or keep up his circus performance from behind the clump of bushes, whence he could make a foray upon old Tom and then retreat beyond reach of his mother's inspection- His uncertainty was soon brought to a termination by hearing his name called in loud tones from the other side of the farmhouse.

"Ichabod! Ichabod 1 come round here quick as yer legs will carry yer and turn this 'ere grindstun."

"Drat the grindstone!" muttered Ichabod.

Grasping the top rail of the fence he swung himself over into the road. As he did so his eye caught that of his sister Sareta, who, clad in a calico gown and wearing a huge sunbonnet, was working among the flowers in the little garden at the front of the house. Taking a long run, he vaulted over the picket fence which enclosed the garden, and landed upon both feet in one of the flower-beds, crushing beyond recovery to life two tender slips to the growth of which his sister had looked longingly forward.

" You miserable little boy ! " she cried, as she grasped him by the back of the neck. He was taken unawares, and, unable to resist, soon found himself flat upon his back in one of the little paths in the garden.

" What shall I do to you ? You have killed both of those flowers, which have such beautiful blossoms when they are full grown."

Ichabod sat up with a rueful expression on his countenance.

" I'm awful thorry, thith," he said, slowly. He had a slight lisp, which had often been the means of extricating him from sundry mishaps, as his expressions and apologies were often so droll that the victims of his pranks usually burst into shouts of laughter when they should have administered words of reproof. On this occasion, Sareta could not help smiling, despite her anger, at the comicality of her brother's looks, and then turned her attention to her beloved slips, which she endeavoured by tender and careful manipulations to restore to their former position, banking them up with the moist loam, and breathing an inward hope that they might still flourish.

As she bent over her plants, she made a pretty picture, with her brown eyes, wavy brown hair, and glowing cheeks — the sweetest and purest of the fragrant, old-fashioned blooms that filled the garden with their green leaves and bright colours. There were marigolds and sweet-williams, pansies and China asters, four-o'clocks and bachelors'-buttons, and running up on the sides of the house were morning-glories and nasturtiums. A large sunflower stood near the upper corner of the garden, close to the road; while on one side of the gate, close to the front fence, were several lilac bushes, behind which Ichabod was sheltered.

Ichabod was not inclined to rise from his sitting posture in the path. He knew that he was screened from sight by the fence and the flowers, and that, if his father came in search of him, he would not be likely to find him. By falling into one kind of trouble, he had escaped from another which would have been much harder to bear. Anything that Ichabod liked to do, he did with his whole heart, but it was rarely that the desires of his parents, regarding work to be performed by him, coincided with his own ideas on the subject.

As his father's voice ceased to call his name, Ichabod rose slowly to his feet. As he did so, his sister approached him and asked:

" Didn't I hear father calling you just as you jumped over the fence?"

" P'raps," allowed the boy, " but he ain't calling me now."

" You should say ' isn't,' " protested his sister.

"I will," retorted Ich, "when I have had so much education as you have got."

As he said this, he opened the gate quietly and sneaked along outside the fence under cover of the lilac bushes. As he turned the corner of the garden, he made a bolt for the road, hoping, by his speed, to escape observation. The farmyard at the rear of the house opened out upon the road, and it was just possible that his father might be in a position which would allow him to see him. If this took place, he knew that he would be obliged to answer his parent's call and be condemned to an hour's hard work at the hated grindstone.

So great was his desire to reach the road unseen by his father that he paid but little attention to his surroundings, and thus it happened that his career of flight was cut short by his stumbling headlong over the old house-dog, Rogue, who had dropped himself lazily a few feet from the corner of the garden. Rogue, rudely awakened from his nap by this sudden and unexpected onslaught, did not stop to recognise his assailant, but, springing up, attacked Ichabod viciously before he could regain his feet. Ichabod might have come to grief, but for the fact that the loud barking and growls of the dog attracted the attention of Farmer Judkins, who arrived upon the scene in time to rescue his son. With his clothing badly torn in the affray, and covered with dust from head to foot, Ichabod presented a pitiable spectacle as his somewhat irate parent, grasping him firmly by the ear, led him into the farmyard, where the rest of the family were gathered.

His twin sisters, Polly and Dolly, who had been feeding the chickens, had turned from their occupation to learn the cause of Rogue's loud barking. At sight of their brother, their girlish sympathies were at once aroused and they ran toward him to learn the cause of his trouble.

" What's the matter, Ichie ? " cried Polly. " Did old Tom kick you?"

" 'T would have served him right if he had," said Mrs. Judkins, who stood in the back door.

" No, I guess 'tain't anything quite so bad as that," said Mr. Judkins, as he released his hold upon Ichabod's ear, and explained his son's mishap.

Then Polly and Dolly each took an arm and led Ichabod to his mother, who stood ready to ascertain the extent of her son's injuries, the sharpness of her remark having been followed by a surge of motherly feeling. Thus it is that mothers always forgive and forget the misdemeanour out of sympathy for the one who has committed it.

i$ Stephen Holton

By the kind ministrations of his mother and Sareta, who had entered the kitchen, the dust was soon brushed from Ichabod's clothing and his hands and face cleansed. It was found that he had a bad bruise on the right arm, caused by it striking a rock as he fell. Mrs. Judkins got the bottle of " anarchy," as she called it, while Sareta brought a bottle containing a balsam distilled from balm of Gilead buds. Then a discussion took place between mother and daughter as to which was the better for the bruise. It was finally decided to use both, and after the arm had been bathed with arnica, a cloth, saturated with balm of Gilead, was bound around it. Then his mother said that he had better He down on the haircloth sofa in the sitting-room and she thought he would be all right by supper time.

Mr. Judkins returned to the barn to resume his interrupted work. He was a tall, angular, rawboned man, big-jointed at wrist and ankles, with a skin tanned and wrinkled, largely by hard work, for he was barely fifty years of age. On his way back, he passed by the woodshed, where, sunning himself in an armchair tilted back against the shack, sat his father, Adoniram Judkins, usually called 'Ram Judkins, smoking his pipe. Beside him, in a little rocking-chair, sat his wife's mother, Grandma Crane, knitting a stocking.

"Well, son," quavered the old man, "what's all these didos been about, anyhow ? "

Farmer Judkins informed him, and passed on to the barn.

" Well," said old 'Ram, turning to Grandma Crane, " if that 'ere Ichabod was my boy, I'd dust his jacket and then sit down and read him a few appropriate passages of Scripter suited to the occasion."

" Well, I dunno," replied Grandma Crane, " lickin' children don't do much good now'days. As 'Bijah used to say, and truer words was never spoken — you didn't know 'Bijah, but he was one of the most truthful men. He and me lived together nigh on to forty year and I never caught him in a lie in all my life."

The old lady dropped a stitch and it was some little time before she recovered it and her equanimity, and then 'Ram asked:

" Well, what was it 'Bijah said ? "

" Oh, I mos' forgot. What was we talkin' about? Oh, about Ichabod and lickin' boys. Well, you see, me and 'Bijah had a discussion one evenin' 'bout our boy John — he is dead now — he was a little feller, but he had a terrible temper, and if we told him to do anything and he didn't want to, he jus' wouldn't, and there was no use argifyin' the matter. He went off to sea and we never heard from him aterwards."

The old lady wiped a tear from her eye with one end of the stocking and then relapsed into silence again. But 'Ram was not to be put off in any such way.

" Well, Mrs. Crane," he said, — and he knew if he called her Mrs. Crane he would secure her undivided attention at once, — " you said that your husband, 'Bijah, said something once about lickin' boys and girls, but you haven't yet told me what he said."

"Good lawl" said the old lady; "I think my mind must be wandering a little. Well, as 'Bijah said, and as I told you before, he was the most truthful man and hardly never said anything that he couldn't back up. Well, one evening, we had a discussion, and after we had talked and talked and talked, he jus' brought his hand down on the table kinder powerful like — it was a way he had — and he said in a voice I have never forgotten, ' Boys will be boys.' "

" Yaas, yaas," replied 'Ram, who, although outwardly always professing a great respect for the saying3 of the deceased 'Bijah, had, nevertheless, an inward contempt for him as a moral teacher. " Yaas," he repeated, " boys will be boys, 'less their parents do somethin' to make men on 'em. Now I draw my maxims from Holy Writ, and I think the sayings of Scripter, if followed, are the most likely to turn out good men and women."

"No doubt on it," interposed Grandma Crane; " that is what 'Bijah alius said. ' Spare the rod and spile the child,' was his favourite savin'."

" Yaas," said 'Ram, elevating his eyebrows, " that is very good doctrine, but it ain't Scripter language. In Solomon's Proverbs 'tis writ : ' He that spareth his rod, hateth his son.' Now, Jethro was my only son. I didn't hate him, and so, follerin' out the Scripter injunction, I gave him more licldn's and wallopin's and larrupin's than he's got fingers and toes. It didn't seem to hurt him none nuther."

" Well," remarked Grandma Crane, as she wiped a tear from her eye with her knuckle, " p'raps ef 'Bijah had licked John, he might have stayed to hum, but I fancy he'd 'a' gone so much the sooner."

" ' Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it,' is another one of Solomon's proverbs," continued 'Ram, for he saw an opportunity to use his Scriptural attainments on a willing listener.

" I'm sure 'Bijah and I tried to," sobbed Grandma Crane, for her feelings overcame her, " an' I lived for years and years in the hope that John would come back and be a blessin' to both on us."

" Well, I wouldn't cry, grandma," said 'Ram, softening somewhat. "The Lord's ways are not always our ways, but they are the best after all." The old man was about to begin on a fresh lot of

Scriptural quotations, when the supper-bell interrupted him.

At supper, Jethro, the oldest son, a frank, shrewdlooking youth of twenty-four, made his appearance. He had just come from the village post-office, and laid a letter down by his father's plate, saying, " I think, dad, this looks like an answer to your notice in the papers." •

Mr. Judkins opened the letter and read :

"Boston, July I, 189-.

" Mr. Jethro Judkins.

" Dear Sir: — In reply to your advertisement in to-day's Morning Telegram, I would say that your terms are entirely satisfactory. Will you be able to accommodate a friend and myself at your farm for at least a month, beginning the second Monday in July? Kindly reply at once and oblige, "Very truly yours,

" Chester Dethbrtdge."

"Well, Betsey, wat do you say? Two on 'em for a month ain't so bad." He tossed the letter to his wife for her inspection and decision.

" Now, my advice to you, Betsey, is to be mighty keerful," broke in grandma. " I remember about two years before my husband 'Bijah died, we took a young man from the city to board. When the end of the first week come he said he hadn't got a check he expected, and so it went on until he had been with us nigh onto four weeks, when he suddenly skipped out and took two of my best silver spoons, which 'Bijah's mother left him. Now, my advice to you, Betsey, is to lock up your spoons in the big chist every night, an' don't you, Adoniram, don't you leave your gold watch hangin' on the bedpost, same as you alius does, but you jus* tuck it in 'tween the straw bed and the feather bed, and jus' see that you tuck it in far enough, for them city fellers are light-fingered."

" Nonsense, grandma ! " laughed Sareta, " I don't think these two will steal anything from us."

" Well," declared Mrs. Judkins, " we'll risk it. Write at once, Jethro, an' say we'll take 'em."

Chapter II. The Mission In The Slums

For hours the burning rays of the sun had been beating; down upon the pavements and sidewalks of Schwelkers Court. It was now six o'clock, very near to the supper hour in that locality. . The toilers who lived in the tall tenement houses which stood upon both sides of the narrow court, were wending their way homeward.

In the upper portions of the city, a cooling breeze was sweeping through the wide avenues and wider boulevards, invigorating the weary and cooling the brows of those who were lying upon beds of suffering, but no such cool breeze had, as yet, permeated the narrow confines of Schwelkers Court. Instead, the latent heat was being radiated from the pavements and sidewalks, and, as one walked along, it seemed as though the heat were tangible, to be grasped in the hand or kicked one side by the foot.

An air of unusual quiet pervaded the court. Not, however, so unusual at this hour, for the toilers were eating their evening meal, to the consumption of which they brought that most savoury of all sauces — hunger — the satisfaction of which gives so much greater pleasure than the mere gratification of the appetite.

An Italian, dragging behind him one of those ponderous piano-organs, turned from Minton Street into Schwelkers Court at about half-past six. He was accompanied by his daughter, who was attired in a short skirt and wore the national head-dress, flaming with bright colours. There were bracelets of uncertain value upon her arms and rings upon her fingers, while, in one hand, she carried a tambourine. When about half-way up the court, the piano-organ man came to a stop and, grasping the handle, the air was soon filled with the music of a popular dance. From a score of windows, little, smiling faces looked out. The piano-organ man had timed his visit aright. Now was the hour of rest and relaxation within the precincts which he had invaded.

Then out of the houses the children came running, even as the rats came tumbling out of the houses in Browning's well-known legend, " The Pied Piper of Hamelin." In the story, there were white rats and black rats and gray rats ; in Schwelkers Court there were boys and girls : black-haired, liEfht-haired, tow-headed, and red-haired boys, and little girls whose hair ran through the same range of colouring. As though under the influence of a magician's wand, they gathered about the organ, but in this case the music did not, as in the old legend, lead the children away to some deep cave in the mountains to be held as hostages for the payment of the sum of money rightfully due. The piano-organ man's revenue came from willing hands, and many coppers were thrown into the tambourine extended by the small hand of the Italian girl, while with one accord the little girls and boys took partners and were soon keeping time to the music.

One might have called this dance " The Carnival of Nations," — for the lithe Jewess, the graceful Italian, the sturdy little Dutch fraulein, and the rollicking Irish lass, with their partners, likewise of varied races, were whirling round together. In no other country could such a harmonious commingling of different nationalities take place. It is the American atmosphere which softens race prejudices and makes it possible, figuratively speaking, for the Hon and the lamb to lie down side by side.

At the head of a short flight of steps which led down to a basement tenement occupied by Mrs. Milligan, familiarly known as the Widder Milligan, sat two young hoodlums, Budd Moran and Terence Harrigan.

"What's the matter with Mamie Kerrigan?"

asked Budd Moran, pointing at one of the older girls. " Her face looks like a boiled lobster."

" I should think it would," replied Terry. " When she was bringing the milk from the store this morning, she drank up half of it. Her mother gave her a batin', and when her dad came home at noon ter dinner, he gave her another, and I should think by her looks that after supper both on 'em took a hand at it again."

" Hello, Mamie," cried out Budd. " What's the price of milk ? "

Mamie turned up her nose and gave him a disdainful glance. Then her tormentor cried out : " Say, Mamie, you drunk so much milk it makes you dance like a calf."

Now, Mamie was not a good dancer, and this palpable hit caused a burst of laughter from the children who had gathered about the dancers. Mamie's temper was none of the best and her revengeful feelings had been aroused by the severe castigations that she had received during the day. Stepping into the street, she picked up a stone and hurled it with all her might at Budd Moran. He dodged the missile, which continued its course, breaking one of the Widder Milligan's windows into a hundred pieces.

As soon as Mamie heard the sound of breaking glass, she turned and ran toward her home at the upper end of the court. She knew that if a demand was made upon her father to pay for the broken glass, that the whippings she had received during the day for drinking the milk were slight in comparison with those in store for her if her father were called upon to pay for the broken window.

The basement door was suddenly opened and the Widow Milligan appeared, her face white with rage. Rushing upon Moran and his crony, she grasped each of them by his coat collar and bumped their heads together in an unmerciful manner, crying as she did so :

" Ye miserable spalpeens, to take the bread out of a poor widder's mouth by breakin' her windy, when ye know that the skinflint of a landlord will make me pay for it."

Terry recovered sufficient breath to say, " We didn't do it. It was Mamie Kerrigan."

The widow went on : " If aither of yez had the spirit of a man in yez, ye'd take the blame upon yerself instid of layin' it on to that poor girl, who has a hard time of it anyway with her brute of a father and her baste of a mother. I heard what ye said to her, for one of me windies was open, and nayther of yez is a gintleman or ever will be, or I'd make ye pay for the windy, but I'm an honest woman and I know all the money ye get, ye make by gamblin' down in the pool-room yonder, and as for yer fathers, if they have any money left, it must be because they haven't paid for the beer that I saw yez goin' for last night."

With these words she gave each of the two a stinging blow upon the ear. Then she vanished, slamming the basement door behind her, while Moran and Harrigan, jeered at by the lookers-on, shuffled away.

A few minutes later, when the piano-organ man left Schwelkers Court, he was followed down to Minton Street by the smaller children, who resumed their dancing on the broader sidewalk, and no leaders of a cotillion, listening to the strains of a stringed orchestra, could have enjoyed the harmony any more than did these children, dancing to the music of the organ. Again the piano-organ man moved on, and again the children had just started to follow him, when the notes of a sweet-toned bell sounded upon the air. Then the children, as with one accord, instead of following the organ, turned in the opposite direction.

On the opposite side of Minton Street, one block from Schwelkers Court, was a short blind alley called Mission Place, at the end of which stood the little church, from the belfry of which came the sound of the sweet-toned bell. Upon one side of the door was a wooden sign, painted black, upon which in gold letters were the words, " Bethany