Betty Finds Her Opposite.

Betty stayed in Ephraim only three weeks, and then returned to New York, to study. She determined to give all her spare time to the missionaries, and she was welcomed back joyously.

She made her home in a quiet little boarding-house, not far from the Mission Home. There were only a few boarders. Miss Allen and Miss May were two kindly women, unmarried and middle-aged. A Mr. Mellor was as mild as his name, and though a devout Catholic, he overlooked Betty's faith, and was her enthusiastic admirer.

Then there was a Mr. Edgeway, a young man with a blond attractiveness. Sometimes Betty was inclined to laugh at his mischievous moods, and at other times she would pity his shallow conceptions of life, and manner of living it.

This morning he had joined her before she had gone to school.

"And won't you even take in the Henrick Hudson Celebration?" asked his persuasive voice, while the eyes of the speaker looked at Betty with a laugh that defied too serious an answer.

Betty returned his glance with a smile.

"Mr. Edgeway, you seem determined to make me spend my time frivolously. Well, this once I shall surprise you. I shall be delighted to accept your invitation, for this should be an event of interest to every American."

"Spoken like an oracle!" exclaimed Edgeway with a careless laugh. "But, really, I am glad you will let me take you out, just once."

Betty regarded him with a queer little smile. She rather liked this man with his completely boyish manners. There was an undercurrent of serious thought in him, which she could not always follow, but she felt sure that most of his flippancy was assumed, to hide sterner feelings.

"You know I would love to go out with you many times, but I haven't the time," she said to him, kindly.

"Time! You have twenty-four hours in the day—the same as anyone. You mean you prefer to use your time differently?" he asked with a semicomic expression.

"Exactly!" she responded, laughing. "I would not be such a spendthrift with the hours as you!"

"All a matter of opinion. Methinks you are wasting the precious days of your youth, fussing over religion with people who can't possibly appreciate you, while here I am, languishing for attention!"

He regarded her in mock misery, as she fastened her coat.

"If they needed my attention as little as you do, I might not give them my time," she returned gravely. "O, I would love to see you make some use of your life!"

"Well, I like that!" he exclaimed, and he opened the door for her to pass out. He was in the habit of accompanying her as far as their way lay together. "Here am I going to a hard day's work, and you talk to me about using my life," he added ruefully.

"Yes, but you work for the sole purpose of getting money to spend in the pursuit of pleasure."

"How horribly frank you are!" he said good-humouredly. "Well, do you know what might make me change into the most active 'Mormon?'"

"What?" she asked him, facing him in wondering interest.

"You!" he said, with a little shake of the head. "If you would just get interested in me, enough to go out with me now and then, to keep me from getting 'lonesome, oh, so lonesome,' I would devote all my time to investigating your Gospel."

Betty looked her delight. "O? I will indeed. Everything I will do to to help you!" she returned earnestly, and they parted with bright smiles of friendship.

"Queer girl!" he muttered to himself, grimly, as he left her. "Just thinks I am about to be reawakened," and he gave a little laugh of amusement. "I wonder if she will ever"—and then he drew out a cigar, and puffed seriously while he thought.

"Just as those little rings of smoke form perfectly to ascend to the heavens, and then vanish into nothingness, so my aspirations for your hand, fair lady!" And he quickened his pace to suit his impatience at the flatness of things.

That same evening, at the supper table, all seemed in excellent spirits and talkative.

"What great weather!" exclaimed Frank Edgeway, with a deep sigh of satisfaction, as he started to eat of the bountiful repast spread before him.

"Do say something original," said Mr. Mellor, with his quiet little laugh. "I have remarked that fact at least ten times today."

"Worthy of repetition," returned Edgeway, brightly. "And now, good friends, I'm going to make you all fairly jump with surprise."

"What now?" mildly interrogated Miss May, fastening her sharp little gray eyes upon him, while the rest smiled without comment, so accustomed were they to his jokes.

"Miss Emmit has consented to let me escort her just once to the Hudson-Fulton Celebration. Just think of her indulging in such frivolity!"

All eyes turned to Betty with mild amusement.

"You will certainly pay for the pleasure, by being tormented by the giver," remarked Mr. Mellor. "And, ladies, since the spirit is in the air, you must promise to give me the pleasure," he added, turning with courtesy to the two other ladies.

"Bravo!" exclaimed Edgeway. "The true patriotic spirit stirreth the masses!"

During the next week, the celebration was the main topic of conversation at the table. The spirit of patriotism pervaded the city. Betty's anticipation was full of delight.

New York suddenly awakened from its slumbering pride in its wonderful history of achievement. All classes, rich and poor, seemed enthused to the point of childish glee. The preparations were marvelous. Groups of men and women stopped to point to the million tiny bulbs, everywhere being prepared to make New York the gayest illuminated city of the world. Children chatted, as they went to school, each longing to be one of the favored to march in the great children's carnival, something long to be remembered as one of the gala days of their youth.

The days sped by rapidly, and the great festival opened with unprecedented enthusiasm.

On the Sunday morning, Betty and Mr. Edgeway went to church.

Coming home, Betty asked him if he enjoyed it.

"Yes, indeed," he replied. "I'm thankful for a few hour's relief from Sunday's stupid monotony!"

"You have found Sunday stupid then?"

"Most abominably, I always do. Everyone parades the streets, stiff to the neck with Sunday clothes and faces to match, that look as though they were starched for the occasion. I always hated Sunday, from the day my mother put on my stiff collars and made me sit straight and solemn in the family pew for two hours!"

He was evidently in a dissatisfied mood.

"The impressions of your childhood were unfortunate," she said gravely. "Mine were so different. I suppose it was no virtue in me to have loved Sunday, arid looked for its coming. But today! Any church should be interesting, even to you. All are celebrating the event, and you could hear something attractive almost anywhere."

"Attractive! Yes, to those who live on the surface of things. What does all this hubbub and show mean after all? When the city is poor, and needs money to help those who are striving to keep above water, it calmly appropriates half a million for—what? A world-renowned pageant! The people can look on; yes, look with fascination upon the boastings of a city that grinds them down to the depths, those depths you and I know well. Then the churches hold festivals to applaud all this! I do not profess to be a Christian, but how you, with your spirit of one, can look upon this as you do, is beyond my understanding!"

Betty had met before this pessimistic spirit in Edgeway. There were few that knew its existence, but somehow, coming in contact with Betty's purity of thought, the smothered discontent of his own nature seemed ever rising to the surface to defy her criticism. At times, he wondered at himself cynically. With the world, he shrank from uncovering his real self, and hid his gloom with a gay mask. With her, he dropped it entirely, said what was uppermost in his mind, and though he longed for her good opinion, he laid his unattractive thoughts before her with careless defiance.

For a few moments Betty was lost in deep thought; then she turned to him with a bright smile.

"Such thoughts seem at first utterance to be true, and they sow discontent among many of our people. But they are first thoughts and not the deepest. We cannot lay too much stress upon true sentiment—especially public sentiment. This grand carnival carries with it a spirit of homage to peace and progress more enthusiastic and sincere than the great war pageantries of victory. Increase public sentiment, and we increase public good. True, the city might appropriate that half a million, and distribute it to the poor, but in a city of such great want, it would be of little account. It would soon be forgotten, and in a year would need to be repeated, to recall to mind that it had ever been given. But in this appropriation, the city has purchased a huge mass of public sentiment. It will be distributed to rich and poor alike, in fact, the whole world will feel the influence of this tribute to peace and industry. As all things of spirit, time increases instead of diminishing its good."

Betty paused in her earnestness, for him to answer.

"Don't stop, until you have exhausted your thoughts," he said.

"Do you remember," she continued, "the Bible story about the woman anointing Christ's feet with precious ointment, purchased with her entire wealth? There were those then, who asked if it would not have been better for her to have given her money to the poor. But our Master rebuked them, saying, "The poor ye have always with you, but me, ye have not always." The woman's wealth was a mere penury compared to the great public influence spread abroad in every land by her tribute to sentiment."

"Completely out-argued!" exclaimed Edgeway, at once assuming his easy good-natured manners. "I shall never try to defend slothful public spirit again!"

That evening Betty walked with Mr. Edgeway, enjoying the illuminations. She preferred to walk, winding their way through crowded thoroughfares, watching the eager faces, and contemplating the panorama of varied characters with a keen appreciation of a great cosmopolitan city.

Their conversation consisted mostly of exclamations. But each enjoyed the scene too much to lose any passing effect by ordinary conversation.

It was eleven o'clock when they returned home.

A carriage stood outside the door.

"It looks like the doctor's," Betty remarked, as they ascended the steps of the house.

As they entered the door, they met Miss Allen and Miss May, excitedly running here and there.

"A boy hurt," they explained hurriedly. "Was knocked over in the crowd. Mr. Mellor and a Salvation man brought him here."

"Can I be of assistance?" asked Betty eagerly.

"I guess the doctor won't let any more about him at present. He's unconscious—in Mr. Mellor's room." And so, the two women hurried back to the scene of disaster.

Betty had just entered her own room when a tap came at her door. It was Mr. Mellor.

"I have come to ask a great favor of you," he said. "The little chap I picked up hurt, is very low, and I thought you might sit with him, until his father and mother come. We are going to telephone to them now. Miss Allen and Miss May have both been kind, but the doctor won't have any excitable people around, and they act like a couple of flustered hens disturbed from their nest."

"O, yes indeed! I will come directly. How did you know where to telephone?" she asked as they left her room.

"That is the strange part of it," he answered. "I will tell you about it before you go to him. I was making my way through a crowded corner, when suddenly I felt myself thrown violently to the side. I escaped falling, by catching a post; but several around me were thrown to the ground. Among them was this boy, who was evidently separated from his folks. He fell face downward, and hit his temple against the sharp curbstone. A big fellow fell on top of him, nearly crushing him. There was a Salvation Army man trying to get through the jam, and he was pinned up against me. He and I extricated the youngster, then unconscious. He evidently knew the boy. He turned the ashiest kind of color, and almost fell over him. Then he controlled himself, and said he would hold him fast, if I could get an ambulance. We could not do this, so we carried him here, and sent for the nearest doctor. He says he has a broken limb and that the cut in his head is serious. The Salvationist won't move from his bedside, and eyes him with such absolute absorption and tenderness, that I know there is some hidden link in their lives. He said he knew his parents slightly, and would inform them."

"Strange," answered Betty, with ready sympathy, "Poor child, I hope he will live."

As they reached Mr. Mellor's door, the Army man came out. He met Betty's gaze with a far-away look of intense pre-occupation.

"You will surely send word directly?" asked Mellor.

"Assuredly," he answered, in a husky voice.

As he made his answer, Betty looked once more in the face of the stranger. Again their eyes met. A scarlet flush surmounted to his temples. He turned hastily and made a hurried exit.

Betty stood thoughtful.

"You know him?" asked Mellor, surprised.

"Yes, and no, his eyes are so perfectly familiar. I must have met him somewhere. I can't place him, though."

"Come, you are getting fanciful," said Mellor gently, and he led her to his room.

Upon the bed lay out-stretched the long slim figure of a boy of fourteen. His dark curly hair was a striking contrast to the white handsome face, so death-like in its unconscious state.

Betty approached the bed softly. One moment she looked at the still form. Her own face became deathly white. In consternation, Mellor took her arm.

"What is it?" he exclaimed.

Unheeding his question, she slipped to the side of the bed and sank to her knees.

"Harold! Harold!" she cried in sudden anguish.

Then her head bowed in prayer.

Reverently Mellor lowered his eyes, and stood awaiting her in silence.

Betty prayed with her while heart and strength. Finally, Mellor left the room, and closed the door gently.

"Some great sorrow is hers," he said wondering.

At midnight, the bell rang sharply.

Edgeway, guessing it to be the parents of the boy, opened the door.

"I have come in response to a telephone saying my boy is hurt, and has refuge here," said the man who confronted him.

"I am glad you have come quickly. The doctor attending him will return any minute. He thinks the case is extremely serious. This way, please," and he led George up to the room where Harold lay.

"One moment," he said, as he reached the door.

Opening it carefully, he discovered Betty still at prayer. She did not even hear the opening of the door.

"Miss Emmit," he said softly, "the boy's father is here."

Betty started. Summoning all her strength of mind, she arose slowly, and stood by the bed.

"Come in," said Edgeway kindly.

Hurriedly George entered. Eagerly his eyes scanned the form upon the bed. He did not instantly perceive Betty. From the prostrate Harold, he glanced up at the woman standing near by.

"It can't be you, Betty!" he exclaimed, with his eyes thrilling her with their warm welcome.

"It is Betty," she returned gravely, her lips quivering with strong emotion. "O, George, forget my presence. Fetch Alma, it may be that Harold won't live. This is Mr. Edgeway," she added, suddenly realizing they were not alone.

The two men shook hands.

Then, leaning over Harold, George examined him carefully.

"He will live," pronounced George with a great sigh of relief. "It is serious, but I have handled many such cases with sure success. Betty, Alma was so upset when we lost Harold in the crowd, that I didn't tell her he was hurt. Simply reported the telephone message that he was found, and left her rejoicing."

Turning to Edgeway, he asked, "How long has he been unconscious?"

"Ever since Mr. Mellor picked him up."

"Ah! It was lucky then that Miss Emmit knew him. How came you here Betty?"

"This is my home," she answered. "I have boarded here since my return from Ephraim. It was indeed a wonderful chance that brought Harold our way, though it was not through me, Mr. Mellor telephoned to you."

"No? Through whom, then?" he asked surprised.

"A Salvation Army man who helped to carry your boy home. He was quite overcome over the accident, and said he knew you slightly."

"Strange!" returned George, wonderingly. "It must be someone Mrs. Cadman has helped."

The doctor soon arrived, and while he and George consulted, Betty turned to Frank Edgeway who was sitting on the other side of the room, contemplating her seriously.

Surely this friend deserved some explanation of the mysterious happenings.

"Mr. Edgeway, this boy's mother is a very dear friend of mine. When a widow, she married Dr. Cadman. But he cares for her child as if it were his own."

Edgeway received this explanation with no comment. He had witnessed her meeting with George. He felt certain this man held control of Betty's feelings. With a reckless despair, he awaited the next move.

George re-entered the room.

"Betty, could you manage to stay with Harold while he is here?"

"You may be sure I will not leave his side," replied Betty, "and I will go with him tomorrow, and stay with Alma a few hours," she added impulsively, putting self-consideration aside.

"Thank you," said George, simply.

Edgeway escorted both doctors to the door.

With a hurried "goodbye," they left the house.

The doctor's auto stood outside.

"You will, of course, let me take you home?"

George was glad to accept, and he jumped in.

The doctor lingered a moment, to examine his tire.

As he did so, a man, coming forward out of the darkness, accosted him.

George leaned forward slightly, as he distinguished the Salvation Army uniform. His face was quite indistinctly seen.

"Will you kindly tell me if the boy is out of danger?" he asked in a low, eager voice—so low that George did not catch the words.

"I think so," the doctor answered. "I guess his father would like to thank you for your share in the rescue," he added, nodding toward George. "There he is!"

One moment he looked toward George. Then, without a word, he turned hastily, and walked rapidly away.

Something in his familiar gait, made George tremble. With a sudden impulse, he jumped to the ground.

"You will excuse me, I must talk with him," he said quickly. "Thank you, just the same for your wish to accompany me home."

The doctor stared after George in surprise, then jumped into his auto, and started off.

The Army man had turned the corner, but George hurried on, possessed with a determination not to let him escape.

"Hunting a spectre!" he said to himself grimly. "I must be a fool, but—"

He turned the corner sharply, and looked ahead.

The object of his pursuit, thinking himself safe, had slackened his pace, and was not far ahead of him, walking slowly, with head bowed in thought.

Quickly, George came up to him.

"I would like to speak with you," he said, grasping him by the shoulder.

The man wheeled about suddenly.

As he did so, the street lamp shone full upon his face.

With a cry of horror, George let go his hold.

Almost fiercely the man grasped George's hands.

"I'm dead, George! You understand? I'm dead to the world! This miserable chance has brought my spirit across your path!"

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