She is Nettie Decker still, but you will not be able to say that of her in another hour. She has changed somewhat since you last saw her in her blue gingham dress a trifle faded, or in her brown merino much the worse for time.

To-day she is twenty years old. A lovely summer day, and her birthday is to be celebrated by making it her wedding day. The blue gingham has been long gone; so has the brown merino. The dress she wears to-day looks unlike either of them. It is white, all white; she has a suitable dress at last for a gala day. Soft, rich, quiet white silk. Long and full and pure; not a touch of trimming about it anywhere. Not even a flower yet, though she holds one in her hand in doubt whether she will add it to the whiteness.

I think it will probably be pushed among the folds of soft lace which lie across her bosom; for that would please little Sate's artist eye, and Nettie likes to please Sate.

While she sits there, watching the birds, and the flowers, and thinking of the strange sweet past, and the strange sweet present, there pass by almost underneath the window two young ladies; moving slowly, glancing up curiously at the open casement, from which Nettie draws a little back, that she may not be seen.

"That is Nettie's room where the window is open," says one of the ladies. "It is a lovely room; I was in it once when the circle met there; it is furnished in blue, with creamy tints on the walls and furniture. I don't think I ever saw a prettier room. Nettie has excellent taste."

"Do you say her brother is to be at the wedding?"

"O, yes indeed! He came day before yesterday; he is a splendid-looking fellow, and smart; they say he is the finest student Yale has had for years. He graduated with the very highest honors, and now he is studying medicine. I heard Dr. Hobart say that he would be an honor to the profession. You ought to hear him play; I thought he would be a musician, he is so fond of music, and really he plays exquisitely on the organ. Last spring when he was home he played in church all day, and I heard ever so many people say they had never heard anything finer in any church."

"I don't remember him. Was he in our set?"

"O no! he wasn't in any set when you were here. Why, Irene Lewis, you must remember the Deckers! They weren't in any set."

"Oh! I remember them, of course; don't you know what fun we used to make of Nettie? Didn't we call her Nan? I remember she always wore an old blue and white gingham to Sunday-school."

"That was years ago; she dresses beautifully now, and in exquisite taste. She must make a lovely bride. I should like to get a glimpse of her."

"The McClintocks are very rich, I have been told."

"Oh! immensely so; and they say General McClintock just idolizes Nettie. I don't wonder at that; she is a perfectly lovely girl."

"Seems to me, Lorena, my dear, about the time I left this part of the world you did not think so much of her as you do now. I remember you used to make all sorts of fun of her, and real hateful speeches, as schoolgirls will, you know. I have a distinct recollection of a flower party where she was, and my conscience, I remember, troubled me at the time for saying so many disagreeable things about her that afternoon; but I recollect I comforted myself with the thought that you were much worse than I. You used to lead off, in those days, you know."

"Oh! I remember; I was a perfect little idiot in those days. Yes, I was disagreeable enough to Nettie Decker; if she hadn't been a real sweet girl she would never have forgotten it; but I don't believe she ever thinks of it, and really she is so utterly changed, and all the family are, that I hardly ever remember her as the same girl."

"What became of that little Irish boy she used to be so fond of—Jerry, his name was?"

"Now, Irene Lewis! you don't mean to tell me you have never heard about him! Well, you have been out of the world, sure enough."

"I have never heard a word of him from the time I went with Uncle Lawrence out West. Father moved in the spring, you know, so instead of my coming back early in the spring as I expected, I never came until now? What about Jerry? Did he distinguish himself in any way? I always thought him a fine-looking boy."

"That is too funny that you shouldn't know! Why, the Irish boy, Jerry, as you call him, is the Gerald McClintock whom Nettie Decker is to marry at twelve o'clock to-day."

"Gerald McClintock! How can that be? That boy's name was Jerry Mack."

"Indeed it wasn't. We were all deceived in that boy. It does seem so strange that you have never heard the story! Why, you see, he was General McClintock's son all the time."

"Why did he pretend he was somebody else?"

"He didn't pretend; or at least I heard he said he didn't begin it. It seems that Mrs. Smith, the car-man's wife, you know, used to live in General McClintock's family before his wife died; and Job Smith lived there as coachman. When they married, General McClintock broke up housekeeping, and went South with his family. Then Mrs. McClintock died, and the General and this one boy boarded in New York, and Gerald attended school. In the spring the General was called to California on some important law business—you know he is a celebrated lawyer, and they say his son is going to be even more brilliant than his father—well, the father had to go, and the boy made him promise that he might spend the summer vacation with Mrs. Smith out here. The McClintocks had been very fond of her and her husband and trusted them both; so the General agreed to it, thinking he would be back long before the vacation closed.

"But he was delayed by one thing and another, and the boy coaxed to stay on, and study in the public school here; he was a pupil in Whately Institute at home. Imagine him taking up with our common schools! so he stayed until the first of December, and then his father came.

"Such a time as that was! You see we all knew of General McClintock, of course, and when it was found we could get him to lecture, the people nearly went wild over it. We couldn't understand why we should have such good fortune, when we knew ever so many places—large cities—had been refused; but it was all explained after he came.

"It was a beautiful day when he came; all the schools were closed, and we formed a procession and marched to the depot, and the band was there, and great crowds. I remember as though it were yesterday how astonished we were to see Nettie Decker and that boy in a conspicuous place on the corner of the platform. Nettie had on her old brown merino, and looked so queer and seemed so out of place, that I went and spoke to father about it, and he advised them to go down and join the procession; but it seems the marshal knew what he was about, and objected to their moving. Then the train came, and there was a great excitement, and in the midst of it, the General almost took that boy Jerry in his arms, and kissed and kissed him! Then he kissed Nettie Decker, and while we stood wondering what on earth it all meant, they all three entered an elegant carriage drawn by four horses, and were carried to the Keppler House.

"They had an elegant private dinner, they three; and in fact all the time the General was here, he kept Nettie Decker with them; he treated her more like a daughter than a stranger. I don't think there was ever such an excitement in this town about anything as we had at that time; the circumstances were so peculiar, you know."

"But I don't understand it, yet. Why did he call himself Jerry Mack? What was his object in deceiving us all?"

"He hadn't the slightest intention of doing so. I heard he said such a thought never entered his mind until we began it. It seems when he was a little bit of a fellow he tried to speak his name, Gerald McClintock, and the nearest he could approach to it, was, Jerry Mack. Of course they thought that was cunning, and it grew to be his pet name; so before they knew it, the servants and all his boy friends called him so, all the time. When he came here Mrs. Smith and her husband naturally used the old name; then somebody, I'm sure I don't know who, started the story that he was an Irish boy working at the Smiths for his board; and it seems he heard of it, and it amused him so much he decided to let people think so if they wanted to; he coaxed the Smiths not to tell who he was, or why he was here; and they so nearly worshipped him, that if he had asked them to say he was a North American Indian I believe they would have done it. It seems he liked Nettie Decker from the first, and was annoyed because she wasn't invited in our set. But I am sure I don't know how we were to blame; she had nothing to wear, and how were we to know that she was a very smart girl, and real sweet and good? The Deckers were very poor, and Mr. Decker drank, you know, and Norm was sort of a loafer, and we thought they were real low people."

"I remember Ermina Farley was friendly with Nettie, and with the boy, too."

"O yes, Ermina was always peculiar; she is yet. I have always thought that perhaps Ermina knew something about the McClintocks, but she says she didn't. I heard her say the other day that somebody told her he was an Irish boy, whose father had run away and left him; and the Smiths gave him a home out of pity; and she supposed of course it was so, and was sorry for him. Then she always thought he was handsome, and smart; well, so did I, I must say."

"I wonder who started that absurd story about his father deserting him?"

"I don't know, I'm sure; somebody imagined it was so, I suppose, and spoke of it; such things spread, you know, nobody seems to understand quite how."

"Well, as I remember things, Jerry—I shall always call him that name, I don't believe I could remember to say Mr. McClintock if I should meet him now—as I remember him, he seemed to be as poor as Nettie; he dressed very well, but not as a gentleman's son, and he seemed to be contriving ways to earn little bits of money. Don't you remember that old hen and chickens he bought? And he used to go to the Farleys every morning with a fresh egg for Helen; sold it, you know, for I was there one morning when Mrs. Farley paid him."

"I know it; he was always contriving ways to earn money; why, Irene, don't you remember his selling fish to Ermina Farley that day when we were talking down by the pond? I have always thought he heard more than we imagined he did, that day; I don't clearly remember what we said, but I know we were running on about Nettie Decker and about Jerry; I used to sort of dislike them both, because Ermina Farley was always trying to push them forward.

"I would give something to know exactly what we did say that day. For awhile I did not like to meet any of the McClintocks; it always seemed to me as though they were thinking about that time. But they have been perfectly polite and cordial to me, always; and Nettie Decker is a perfect lady. But I know all about the poverty. It seems the boy Jerry had been very fond of giving away money, and books, and all sorts of things to people whom he thought needed them; and his father began to be afraid he would have no knowledge of the value of money, and would give carelessly, you know, just because he felt like it. So the General had a long talk with him, and made an arrangement that while he was gone West, Jerry should have nothing to give away but what he earned. He might earn as much as he liked, or could, and give it all away if he chose; but not a penny besides, and he was not to appeal to his father to help anybody in any way whatever. Of course the father was to pay all his bills for necessary things—they say he paid a splendid price to the Smiths for taking care of him. Poor Mrs. Smith cried when he went away, as though he had been her own child. Well, of course that crippled him, in his pocket money, but they say his father was very much pleased to find how many schemes he had started for earning money. That plan about the business was his from beginning to end, and just see what it has grown to!"

"What? I don't know; remember, I only came night before last, and haven't heard anything about the town since the day I left it."

"Why, the Norman House, the most elegant hotel in town, is the outgrowth of that enterprise begun in the Decker's front room! Mr. Decker owns the whole thing, now, and manages it splendidly. His wife is a perfect genius, they say, about managing. She oversees the housekeeping herself, and the cooking is perfect they say. General McClintock was so pleased with the beginning, that he bought that long low building on Smith street that first time he was here, and fitted it up for Norman and Nettie to run. He carried his son away with him, of course, but they stayed long enough to see that matter fairly under way. The Norman House is managed on the same general principles; strictly temperance, of course. The General is as great a fanatic about that as the Deckers are, and the prices are very low—lower than other first-class houses, while the table is better, and the rooms are beautifully furnished. They say it is because Mrs. Decker is such an excellent manager that they can afford things at such low prices. Then, besides, there is a lunch room for young men, where they can get excellent things for just what they cost; that is a sort of benevolence. General McClintock devotes a certain amount to it each year; and there is a splendid young man in charge of the room; you saw him once, Rick Walker, his name is. He used to be considered a sort of hard boy, but there isn't a more respected young man in town than he. He is book-keeper at the Norman House, and has the oversight of this Home Dining Room. You ought to go in there; it is very nicely furnished, and they have flowers, plants, you know, and birds, and a fountain, and pictures on the walls, and for fifteen cents you can get an excellent dinner. Everybody likes Rick Walker; they say he has a great influence over the boys in town, almost as great as Norman Decker; he used to be in charge of it all, before he went to college."

"Still, I shouldn't think the McClintocks would have liked Nettie Decker to be in quite so public a place," interrupted her listener. "Oh! she wasn't public; why, she went to New York to a private school the very next winter after the General came home. She boarded with them; the General's sister came East with him, and was the lady of the house; then he sent her to Wellesley, you know. Didn't you know that? She graduated at Wellesley a year ago. Yes, the McClintocks educated her, or began it; her father has done so well that I suppose he hasn't needed their help lately. He is a master builder, you know, and keeps at his business, and owns and manages this hotel, besides. Oh! they are well off; you ought to see Mrs. Decker. She is a very pretty woman, and a real lady; they say Nettie and Norman are so proud of her! What was I telling you? Oh! about the room; they have a library connected with it, and a reading room, and everything complete; it is such a nice thing for our young men. A great many wealthy gentlemen contribute to the library. There is a little alcove at the further end of the reading room, where they keep cake and lemonade, and nuts and little things of all sorts. They are very cheap, but the boys can't get any cigars there; I'm so glad of that. The Norman House is in very great favor—quite the fashion, and it makes such a difference with the boys who are just beginning to imagine themselves young men, and who want to be manly, to have an elegant place like that frown on all such things. My brother Dick, you remember him? He was a little fellow when you lived here—he went into the Norman House one day and called for a cigar; he was just beginning to smoke, and I suppose he did it because he thought it would sound manly. It was in the spring when Norman was at home on vacation, and it seems he expressed so much astonishment that Dick was quite ashamed; I don't think he has smoked a cigar since."

"The Deckers seem to be quite a centre of interest in town."

"Well, they are. They are a sort of exceptional family someway; their experience has been so romantic. Mr. Decker has become such a nice man; Deacon Decker, he is, a prominent man in the church, and everywhere. Oh! do you remember those two cunning little girls? I always thought they were sweet. Susie is a perfect lady; she is going with Nettie and her husband to Washington; but little Sate is a beauty. They say she is going to be a poet and an artist, and she looks almost like an angel. General McClintock admires her very much; he says she shall have the finest art teachers in Europe. I never saw a family come up as they did, from nothing, you may say. But then it was all owing to that fortunate accident of being friends with Gerald McClintock, and having the Farleys interested in them. Did I tell you Norman was engaged to Ermina Farley? O yes! they will marry as soon as he graduates from the medical college, and then he will take her abroad and take a post graduate course in medicine there. I suppose they will take Sate with them then. They say that is the plan. No, I certainly never saw anything like their success in life. Mrs. Smith doesn't believe in luck, you know, nor much in money, though since her Job has a position in the Norman House that pays better than carting, they have built an addition to their house, and, Sarah Ann says, "live like folks." She is housekeeper at the Norman House—Mrs. Decker's right-hand woman. Mrs. Smith says the Lord had a great deal to do with the Decker family; that Nettie came home resolved to be faithful to Him, and to trust Him to save her father and brother, and so He did it, of course. It seems she and Jerry promised each other to work for Norman and the father in every possible way until they were converted; and they did. I must say I think they are real wonderful Christians, all of them. I like to hear Mr. Decker pray better than almost any other man in our meeting; and as for Norman, he leads a meeting beautifully. They say Mr. Sherrill thought at first that he ought to preach; but now he says he is reconciled; there is greater need for Christian physicians than for ministers. Mr. Sherrill has always been great friends with all the Deckers; you remember he was, from the first. Norman studied with him all the time he was managing that first little bit of a restaurant in the square room of the old Decker house. They tore down that house last month, to make room for a carriage drive around the back of their new house, and they say Nettie cried when the square room was torn up.

"She has some of the quaintest furniture! Sofas, she calls them, made out of boxes; and a queer old-fashioned hour-glass stand, and a barrel chair, which have been sent on with all her elegant things, to New York; she is going to furnish a room for Gerald and her with them; he made them, it seems, when they began that queer scheme. Who would have supposed it could grow as it did? It really seems as though the Lord must have had a good deal to do with it, doesn't it? I tell you, Irene, it is wonderful how many young men they have helped save, those two. It seems a pity sometimes that they could not have told us girls what they were about and let us help; but then, I don't know as we would have helped if we had understood; I used to be such a perfect little idiot then! Well, it was Nettie Decker got hold of me at last. Norman signed the pledge that night when General McClintock lectured here, and during the winter he was converted; but it was two years after that before I made up my mind. I was miserable all that time, too; because I knew I was doing wrong. And I didn't treat Nettie wonderfully well any of the time; but when she came to me with her eyes shining with tears, and said she had been praying for me ever since that day of the flower party, I just broke down.

"O Irene, there's the carriage with the bride and groom and Norman and Ermina. Doesn't the bride look lovely! I wish they had had a public wedding and let us all see her! But they say General McClintock thinks weddings ought to be very private. Never mind, we will see her at the reception next week; but then, she won't be Nettie Decker; we shall have to say good-by to her."

And Miss Lorena Barstow stood still in the street, and shaded her eyes from the sunlight to watch the bridal party as the carriage wound around the square, looking her last with tender, loving eyes, upon Nettie Decker.

Story of the American Sailor (The). By Elbridge S. Brooks. Octavo, cloth, 2.50.

The first consecutive narrative yet attempted, sketching the rise and development of the American seaman on board merchant vessel and man-of-war.