set fire to his workshop
and burned it up, together with all his tools and materials. There was
no insurance.

CHAPTER II.

THE DOWNWARD PATH.

"Then you still persist in marrying John Jenkins?" queried Judge
Boompointer, as he playfully, with paternal familiarity, lifted the
golden curls of the village belle, Mary Jones.

"I do," replied the fair young girl, in a low voice, that resembled
rock candy in its saccharine firmness,--"I do. He has promised to
reform. Since he lost all his property by fire--"

"The result of his pernicious habit, though he illogically persists in
charging it to me," interrupted the Judge.

"Since then," continued the young girl, "he has endeavored to break
himself of the habit. He tells me that he has substituted the stalks
of the Indian ratan, the outer part of a leguminous plant called the
smoking-bean, and the fragmentary and unconsumed remainder of cigars
which occur at rare and uncertain intervals along the road, which, as
he informs me, though deficient in quality and strength, are
comparatively inexpensive." And, blushing at her own eloquence, the
young girl hid her curls on the Judge's arm.

"Poor thing!" muttered Judge Boompointer. "Dare I tell her all? Yet I
must."

"I shall cling to him," continued the young girl, rising with her
theme, "as the young vine clings to some hoary ruin. Nay, nay, chide
me not, Judge Boompointer. I will marry John Jenkins!"

The Judge was evidently affected. Seating himself at the table, he
wrote a few lines hurriedly upon a piece of paper, which he folded and
placed in the fingers of the destined bride of John Jenkins.

"Mary Jones," said the Judge, with impressive earnestness, "take this
trifle as a wedding gift from one who respects your fidelity and
truthfulness. At the altar let it be a reminder of me." And covering
his face hastily with a handkerchief, the stern and iron-willed man
left the room. As the door closed, Mary unfolded the paper. It was an
order on the corner grocery for three yards of flannel, a paper of
needles, four pounds of soap, one pound of starch, and two boxes of
matches!

"Noble and thoughtful man!" was all Mary Jones could exclaim, as she
hid her face in her hands and burst into a flood of tears.

* * * * *

The bells of Cloverdale are ringing merrily. It is a wedding. "How
beautiful they look!" is the exclamation that passes from lip to lip,
as M