cates for you, I guess." "Must have had a streak of luck." "Shame, girls," said another, "what would teacher say?" "Why, she'd say, 'young ladies, I trust you will follow the excellent example set you by Miss Dare'-ahem!" And then they shouted as poor Hannah tore her dress loose from the grasping hand and rushed on towards home. As she told me of this with gasping sobs, it was a pitiful sight.

"Oh, my dear auntie," said she, "what is it that I am doing, or have done, to cause this continual picking at me about how I live, where I get my clothes, who keeps me? I can not understand why my father would leave me to this inheritance of woe and apparent disgrace, for so they try to make me feel. Do other girls, orphan children of Odd Fellows, have this to bear? Am I alone, or are there others who accept such charity?"

I was stunned, overwhelmed at the phase which the trouble now assumed. I found, upon talking with her, that this thing had been growing and growing, until she had become morbid over ithad even thought of running away from it all to escape taunts, and to depend upon manual labor to get her living, instead of fitting herself to teach, as she had planned and hoped to do.

"Why, dear child," said I, "this is all folly, all

a fancy. You are only one of thousands who are the proud recipients of the aid and assistance and guardianship of the brotherhood. There is a fund of many thousands of dollars for the education of orphans alone; in this city there are scores of women and men who accept aid in time of sickness or after the death of the husband, or benefits in many ways. You are not an object of charity in the usual sense; you are using the means provided for you years ago by your father's voluntary wish and will, knowing that in case of need you would receive it as surely as at his hands if living."

No, there is a mystery behind all this, which John and I will solve yet; there is a wheel within a wheel, and it shall be our aim and study to investigate it, and with the help of clear-headed men I know of.

And while we worked together preparing the supper, I told her of people whom she knew to be respected and loved, who had been or were now recipients of aid.

When the evening train came thundering in from the east, and John came over to the house, a new and much greater surprise awaited us.

CHAPTER X.

"Brave boys are they all,

Gone at their country's call,

And yet, and yet, we must not forget
That many brave boys must fall."

Old Song.

THE bulletin board had been covered with late news from the front. There had been a short and bloody conflict between the rebel and Union forces, in which the Union army had met with heavy losses in men, army supplies and artillery. The telegrams of the morning were confirmed by the evening train from the east.

Theth Ohio cavalry had done noble service and won new laurels, but at great sacrifice. Many brave boys had fallen dead upon the field; many maimed, disfigured, wrecked, ruined for life, and several prisoners. Among the latter were the good chaplain and Fred R., one of our own city boys, who being away at college when the call for seventy-five thousand men was made, had promptly responded, and was thus enrolled and mustered into a regiment that was made up of men who

lived at quite a distance from his own home. He was, as I have said, one of our boys, known and universally loved and respected by all classes; consequently it was a shock to all to hear of his disaster. The defeat was made the more a personal sorrow and matter of regret.

You see the horrors of a southern prison were being understood and feared, and many a mother had been driven to feel that death was a boon compared to the slow tortures of starvation of soul and body in the gloomy, filthy dens provided for the hated Union prisoners.

Yes, the news flew like wildfire: "Fred R. is a prisoner." The bright-faced, warm-hearted boy of our city schools, only so few years ago the promising young student of college, so lately, of whom we all felt proud because he was one of us. Why, every one felt sorry of it.

It was this news that John was hearing canvassed over, after having safely housed his engine, when he was saluted by a slap on the shoulder and the question:

"How will that girl of his like this, I wonder?” "What girl?"

"Why, the girl at your house; that 'stray' that he sent out here."

A friend who stood near, knowing John H. bet

ter than did he who had asked the question, and seeing the "danger light" in John's eyes, spoke instantly:

"Wait, John, don't strike; investigate. There's something that I've heard whispered that I'd like to hear explained, too, and our young friend here is just the fellow to give the explanation, as he seems to know so much."

Why, I don't know anything at all-or only this that he sent her here with a recommendation to the mercy and protection of his mother, with a promise to do for her as well as he could, and do her justice as soon as he could, if spared; his mother refused to take her in, and she was out on the streets, a tramp, until your wife took pity on her. Mr. H., I am only giving you the items as I have received them; a little here, a little there, and I had supposed it true, but a profound secret, to be kept so in pity for, and out of respect to, his mother. This is the under-current of whispered talk, but you know how whispered talk will spread. I have scarcely given the matter a second thought till this occurrence brought it fresh to my mind."

“Can you give me any authority for these remarks, if demanded?" asked John.

"I do not know that I can, but if I have