That autumn a theatre was opened on the west side of Dearborn Street, over a general store, a plain, wooden building. The second floor was seated and a stage erected with rather crude paraphernalia. It was called the Rialto. A Mr. McKenzie was manager and stage director, and some very good plays were given with William Warren, Mrs. Ingersol and Mr. Jefferson, with little Joe in his first attempts. They had very fair audiences, and it was a step above the card playing. There were also some lectures given, and several educational plans brought to the fore. If they were to be a great city they must rouse themselves on every side.

I went to the theatre with Ruth and Mr. Gaynor. He, it seems, had seen several plays. Ruth was curiously interested.

"Why, it is like what people say and do all the time," she said with a rather puzzled air. "Not as funny as some of the stories they tell. And somehow, you seem to lose the thread. You want to know what they did in between. I believe I'd rather read the whole story."

I began to be curious about Shakespeare's plays, and talked them over with Mr. Harris.

"Oh, if you want to read them aloud to a little girl, I will let you have Charles and Mary Lamb's stories," he said. "You will enjoy them better."

And enjoy them we surely did.

But one night we had a great alarm. There had been occasional fires, still so many of the houses being small and detached no great harm had been done. But the Tremont Hotel took fire, and though strenuous efforts were made to extinguish it the men soon found their labor was in vain. Then the near-by houses began to go and terror filled everybody. Those at a distance started to carry out their choice belongings that they had worked so hard to accumulate. Near-by houses were demolished in the hope of staying the flames.

We were safe enough, but I had some fear for the Gaynors, and ran over as fast as I could. The streets were packed with people pushing, shouting and swearing, and if noise could have deadened the flames the brilliant sheets and spires would soon have turned to a dull smoke. I pushed my way along, once encountering Dan, who struck out at me, which I dodged.

"You start home, youngster, 'fore you git hurt," he cried, but the next moment I was lost in the crowd.

I could not think the Gaynors were in any real danger, and they were not. M'liss had run up with her baby in her arms, while her husband had gone to the fire, and they were standing in the small front yard.

"I declare to man! How did you get over here?" ejaculated John Gaynor. "Now that you are here I'll just take a stroll over and see the damage. Splendid sight, if it wasn't burning up what 'twill be hard to get together again. You can't make much out of ashes, though it's mighty good for growing corn."

Ruth clung to me. We talked this night over years afterward, when we were fleeing from an awesome and terrible army of flames that seemed bent upon our very lives.

"Will there be any one burned up?" she asked tremulously. "If it wasn't houses, it would be magnificent."

"Oh, no," reassuringly. Then I felt I was not sure. I had not thought of the sacrifice of human lives.

Out of the black smoke would shoot up a great spire of flame, showering sparks like an immense Roman candle. We knew little about fireworks then, but I never see one going to pieces without recalling this scene. Fortunately there was not much wind or all Chicago would have gone then.

You could hear the roar and the crackle and it was really frightful. She began to cry from overwrought nerves, and I tried to soothe her. M'liss was full of queer comments at which I had to laugh in the midst of my anxiety. Then the baby woke and set up a howl.

It was after midnight when Mr. Gaynor returned. The danger of the flames spreading had been conquered, the brilliant blaze subdued from lack of further food on which to vent its ravenous appetite. It was now a thick black smoke that penetrated everywhere.

"Well, that's something of a fire for a town like this," declared Mr. Gaynor. "Awfully unlucky, as if times were not bad enough without all this loss. It will take years for the town to get over it. There's eighteen or twenty houses burned besides the hotel."

We knew most of the owners, and certainly they were deserving of sympathy. I stayed all night and the next morning made one of the crowd gathered at the ruins. Seventeen buildings had been burned and there lay a long tract of cinders and ashes. The condolence was sincere and offers of assistance hearty. The hotel would be rebuilt as soon as possible. The courage evidenced the indomitable pluck that was to be tested more than once and show an undaunted front.

The ruins would be cleared away at once. More stringent rules about buildings and fires were discussed. There was a finer public spirit in all this. We were to be a town of note presently. The canal came up again for a more earnest share of attention. Streets must be improved, wharfage extended, better docks built—they were very crude indeed.

But winter settled in and most of the improvements had to stop. There was no end of trouble about money matters. The State banks suspended payment. One could never tell just what the money of any other State would be worth. The new President had brought no especial prosperity such as his party had predicted, and some of his warmest adherents denounced him—as if he alone shaped the policy of the Government.

The Little Girl and I did not meddle our heads about any of these things. I could see that John Gaynor, in a certain way, was getting to have quite a place in Chicago affairs as far as advice went. In other matters he kept closely to his own business. He picked up pieces of property, giving oftentimes labor, or grain, or pork in exchange. Game was plentiful if you went far enough for it. Often a party of men would go out for a three or four days' hunt and come home laden with spoils. Still, there was a demand for domestic poultry and eggs, and Gaynor's stock of all kinds was considered first class.

He was out quite often in the evening, and I fell into the habit of stopping as I came from work.

"Just take a bite with us, Norman," he would say. "I'm going to Green Tree or down to Baubein's, and I'll be home by nine. But I can't leave Ruth alone; don't know but I shall have to hire you for steady company," with a laugh.

Sometimes I ran off home after that, at others remained all night. Dan was very gay and seldom in before eleven. But as the Little Girl was too young for dances or merrymakings we amused ourselves. M'liss occasionally added to our fun by her droll experiences and views on everything, in an uncouth dialect. Her granny, now near a hundred, knew all about the first people who came to Chicago, and M'liss sometimes was very interesting, though I used to think granny must have drawn on her imagination for some of the tales, but they so captured Ruth's romantic side that I let them pass.

At other times we read and really studied about the different States. The Mississippi, with DeSota, La Salle and Tonti, was a mine of treasure to her. Later New Orleans, with its changes of government, Napoleon's marvellous history and the purchase of the West, was a great source of interest to us both. Mr. Harris was my mentor. Between getting and giving I added much to my incomplete boyish education.

But it was not all history. Every volume of poems I met with I borrowed, and we read the old ones over. I think we both knew pages of "The Lady of the Lake," our first love.

One evening an odd incident happened to me that in the beginning was rather a source of annoyance. I was to go to Mr. Harris's and had a list of inquiries in my mind to talk over. At the side of the cheerful fire in the arm-chair with the high cushioned back sat a gentleman of distinguished appearance that I had caught sight of in the warehouse, a tall man with a rather spare but not thin figure, a fine face that, no doubt, had been handsome in youth. The forehead was high, but rather narrow, the hair, that now had only a few dark threads in it, but a certain silvery gloss, an aquiline nose, and the beard, snowy-white, trimmed in the Van Dyck fashion. The eyes held me. They were large and dark, but with a kind of winning softness. The eyebrows were still dark and so were the long lashes.

"This is Mr. LeMoyne, Norman, and this," turning to the gentleman, "is the young friend I was telling you of."

He did not rise, but extended his hand with such a grace that I felt self-condemned for my discourteous thought.

"We have been talking about you," he began, and there was something in his voice that completed his sudden ascendency over me. "Mr. Harris was saying you were much interested in New Orleans, and that you had never seen any of our larger cities. I have been in that quaint southern French town for some months."

I knew I smiled with pleasure. There was such a charm in his manner. But I felt tongue-tied, abashed.

"You cannot have much of an idea of it from this place, except as Mr. Harris tells me that you are almost in a sea of mud except when you are frozen up. They have a great deal of it in the way of inundations, and part of the city lies very low. But there is no real winter and everything is abloom with roses. Such luxurious trees, indeed all kinds of vegetation. It is really a French city, much more so than St. Louis. The States seem to have taken in almost every nation and I wonder how they will assimilate them."

"I should like to see the year 1900," laughed Mr. Harris. "We are not half through a wonderful century. It is not sixty years yet since we achieved our independence, a few poor struggling colonies, and already we are stretching beyond the Mississippi.

"What madness took possession of France I can never understand, except that she set out to rule men's religious consciences while she herself plunged into the depths of depravity. The Huguenots would have been a crown of enlightenment to her, and she martyred them, cast them out, and then slowly followed the loss of all this great empire, for which she had paid so much in the lives of her finest and bravest men. From New Orleans to Montreal!"

"Have you been to Canada also?" I ventured to inquire.

"To Canada, to the cities on the Atlantic, to England, France, Holland, indeed as far as Moscow, Constantinople and the Mediterranean," and the smile he gave me completed his conquest.

Then we went back to New Orleans with its French, Spanish and Creoles living in harmony, its odd, narrow streets, its great outlying estates, its sugar plantations, its bloom and beauty until my heart was aflame with a desire to see it. And its antithesis was Montreal, Quebec.

It seemed to me when the clock struck nine there had never been so short an hour and a half. I knew I must go, but it was as if some curious power held me back, pervaded every pulse. I could believe in enchantment.

"I hope you have had a pleasant evening," said Mr. Harris at the door, "and that it may lead to something more advantageous."

"I can't express it," I returned bunglingly. "I never heard any one talk so delightfully before, and to think what Mr. Le Moyne must know!"

He laughed softly.

We were very busy the next day with some accounts, and said nothing about the evening until lunch time. I had brought mine. Then I heard that Mr. Le Moyne was one of the partners in a large fur-trading company and also in the new copper mining in Northern Michigan, that was being rapidly developed. In his youth he had fled from France to Canada in the time of the Huguenot persecution, and had become deeply interested in business later on. I was very enthusiastic.

"Yes, I was glad to have you see him. Such men are worth knowing."

It seemed quite absurd that I should ever have the opportunity of knowing much about him. Men of his stamp were not frequent visitors in our provincial town.

If I had been enraptured myself I have no word to describe Ruth's delight. After all, we were very simple children, though our reading had broadened our minds, and I had found before this that Mr. Gaynor, indifferent as he seemed to what is called culture, was a very well-informed man on general topics and shrewd in his observations. I did not know then that education was much more widely diffused at the East.

The outcome of this was a proposal I could not have imagined. Mr. Le Moyne dropped in the rough little office several times and we had a few suggestive talks about business which seemed rather for Mr. Harris than for me. One day my father was called into council, which amazed me, for when he went out he gave me such a mysterious look.

"We'll knock off now," said Mr. Harris. "There's nothing to suffer, and I have a plan to lay before you, an opportunity that doesn't happen more than once in a lifetime, and I hope you will take it. Your father has given his consent."

The offer was from Mr. Le Moyne, who wanted what would be called a private secretary nowadays, perhaps a little more. With his perfect health he had been seized with a mysterious eye trouble, a dimness of vision that nothing could cure, but that rest and carefulness would assist in putting off the evil day, and that he might never be totally blind. He wanted a young intelligent person who would be pleased to travel, who would be companionable, who could read to him, write his private letters, who was trusty, honest and reliable, and who had the enthusiasms of youth. He would give me a good salary and put me in the way of making a fortune if I stayed with him. But we would make our bargain first for two years.

I was absolutely speechless from surprise. My brain was in a whirl. I was glad to have Mr. Harris go on pointing out the advantages, though I am afraid I could not have told one of them afterward.

"Well?" presently, in an inquiring tone.

"I am so confused," I began. "Of course it is a splendid chance, only I had never thought of going away—"

"Two years soon passes, and you may come back before that. Mr. Le Moyne is a delightful gentleman. If I was young I'd jump at the chance. Yes, I suppose it is a surprise," with a little heartsome laugh. "But you'll take it. You see it isn't even as if your parents had no other sons. There's enough of you boys to settle a town. One won't be missed."

Ah, but I knew one who would miss me.

I went home in a dream. Father had been telling mother and Homer, who had wrenched his ankle skating. The two boys were out snowballing.

"Well, that's equal to a lottery prize!" declared father. "Norme, some of your fine notions stand you in good stead. I've sometimes thought with your mother that you should have been a girl, but now we see the sense of them. This Mr. Le Moyne wouldn't look at a great rough lout. Well, if he'd laid a hundred dollars in gold in my hand I really think I couldn't be gladder."

"It's wonderful," said mother in a softened tone. "I've jawed an' scolded at the way you boys run through stockings an' wear out trousers, but I shall be awful sorry to have you go away, only this is a chance out of a thousand. But you c'n write, an' two years isn't long."

"Well, I wish it had been me!"

"You!" cried mother with disdain.

"Homer's a smart lad in his way. I look for him to build up half Chicago before he dies. They're all good lads, if Dan is a bit wild."

We talked all the evening. Of course, there was no refusing. The next morning Mr. Le Moyne came in, and I signed an agreement to stay with him the two years.

"That's to tide you over the homesickness at first. I wouldn't give much for a lad who wasn't a little touched by parting with his own folks. But we will have some nice times together, and you'll see a good deal of the world. I hope you'll like me."

Like him! If it hadn't been for the Little Girl I could have knelt at his feet for very joy and gone all over the world with him.

I went to supper at the Gaynors'. Ruth had been making Johnny cake, and it was delicious. She had some funny sayings of M'liss' to repeat, and we laughed, of course.

"Now that you're here I'll go down to Baubein's and smoke an hour," Mr. Gaynor exclaimed, rising from the table.

"Don't go!" I blurted out, and I believe I was almost crying. "I have—something to tell you."

"Nothing bad, I hope!" He studied me curiously.

I don't know how I told the story. It was all in a jumble. He looked as if he didn't half believe me.

"Not that tall, white-bearded Frenchman, who looks as if he had just come from a King's Cabinet. Well, I swan! Norman Hayne, you're born for luck. Give us your hand."

He wrung it almost off.

"I'll sit down and hear the story over again. That Frenchman is said to be worth a mint of money, and you're on the right side. You just keep there, with care."

He made various comments as I went over the happenings. Then he seized his beaver cap.

"You don't mind if I tell it?" laughing. "I know just how a woman feels when she's dying to retail a bit of gossip. But this is uncommon."

"No," I replied, "I expect father's spreading it abroad."

"So would I if I had such a boy." Then he went out and slammed the door.

We stood and looked at each other. Ruth's eyes filled with tears that slowly rolled down her cheeks.

"Oh, Ruth, don't! don't!" I cried, and my arms were around her. Her face was buried on my breast.

"Oh, how can I let you go!" The tender accent pierced me to the heart.

It is curious what people do in times of great emotion or anguish. She released herself presently, wiped her eyes, and said, "We must clear the table. I am glad you liked the Johnny cake."

"It was delicious, only I was so full of the—" the bad news, I was about to say, but paused.

"Of course, it is splendid, and you will see so much of the world. There are so many beautiful places that we have read about. And it will be—Norman, you will be a gentleman. But you won't—" her voice trembled and broke.

"If you mean that I will not forget, you may be sure of that, and I shall never outgrow anything, not even dear old Chicago, even if other cities were paved with gold," I replied emphatically.

"Nothing is but the New Jerusalem," she said solemnly. "Whatever happens, we shall be together there."

"Nothing will happen. I shall come back in two years. Business may bring me back before that."

We washed the dishes and put them away. Then I stirred the fire and we sat down side by side. How often we had done it—two years—how long it looked!

I loved her very much. More than ever I wished she was my sister and that mother could watch over her. She would gladly, I knew. A little girl, barely twelve years old and not large for her age. Once or twice a thought crossed my mind, but when I looked at her it seemed sacrilege, like pulling the bud open before it was ready to unfold. She was so sweet and innocent.

I told her all I knew about Mr. Le Moyne, and how he had really charmed me. "I should like to bring him to see you," I said.

"Oh, I should be so glad!"

Mr. Gaynor came home, but he had not recovered from the surprise. I loitered awhile, but I knew my mother would be waiting for me.

I was quite a hero, I found. The older men congratulated me, the boys envied me. Mr. Le Moyne was very gracious and affable. He came and had a long talk with mother and she was charmed with him. He went to the Gaynors' with me and pronounced Mr. Gaynor shrewd and intelligent. Ruth, he thought sweet and pretty, but she was very shy.

Oh, how quickly the time sped by. A winter journey was no light thing in those days, but Mr. Le Moyne was well prepared and a seasoned traveller.

The good-bys and the good wishes were enough to start one on a prosperous journey. And when I glanced back I saw my mother had the Little Girl by the hand. They were the two dearest souls on the earth to me. How would she look when I met her again? Oh, what long, long years! Even then I could have turned back gladly.