cy of
debts behind them. There was family on the Lawrence side as well, but
not much money. David Lawrence had prospered beyond his wildest dreams.
He had twice been mayor of Yerbury, gone to the State Legislature, and
been spoken of as a possible senator; but he did not sigh for political
distinction.

Agatha was their first-born; then Frederic De Woolfe, named for some
Hope ancestor. Two girls afterward; but Fred remained the only son. He
was a delicate boy, and, until he reached the age of ten, studied with
his sisters' governess, when he rebelled, and insisted upon his boy's
prerogative of going to school. Here he met and loved Jack Darcy.

Jack was a few months the elder,--a stout, hardy, robust boy, full of
mischief, falling into scrapes, and slipping out easily. Not vicious or
ugly; in fact, he had thrashed Ned Thomas for robbing birds' nests, been
known to rescue a miserable kitten from its tormentors, and was always
bringing home sore-eyed, mangy curs to be nursed and healed. If he had
cared, he could have boasted as good a pedigree as the Hopes and the
Lawrences. For his grandmother was of pure old French Jacobin descent,
titled too. Many a wild romance and adventure had her family figured
in,--now on the top round of prosperity, now in bitter poverty and
exile. At the age of eighteen she was living on the western coast of
Ireland with her old father, when she fell in love with handsome Jack
Darcy, whose persuasive blue eyes were enough to melt the heart of the
most obdurate woman; the merriest, wittiest, best-tempered lad for miles
around, the owner of a small farm and numberless family traditions that
counted back to the time when

"Malachi wore the collar of gold,
He won from the proud invader."

For a while they were prosperous and happy: then came bad seasons,
famine, and finally typhus. Two bright, handsome sons and a little
daughter were victims, leaving only baby Bernard. They came to the New
World, and began life again, managing thriftily, and buying a house and
garden in the quaint old town of Yerbury. Mr. Darcy died; and his son
grew to man's estate, settled to the business of carpenter and builder
(as he possessed a good deal of mechanical skill), married a pretty,
delicate girl, but did not seem to make of life a signal success. Still
it is possible that a life of happiness and content may have its use in
this world, if it does not serve to point a prosperous moral.

H