“Avenged at Last; or, The Fairy of the Castle,”

a Charming Novelette,

Will

appear Next Week,

 

 

 

Entered at the Post Office, New York, as Second Class Maiter.

 

 

Office

Vol. 42.

P.O. Box 2734 N.Y.

31 Rose St.

 

 

 

 

Three Dollars Per Year,
Two Copies Five Dollars.

 

 

No. 30.

 

LIFE.
BY T. M. EVANS.

They tell me that life
Is a toilsome strife,
A wearisome journey uphill;
But I find not these words
In the songs of the birds,
Or the murmurings of the rill.

They call life an ocean
In angry commotion,

And they say that our bark is frail;
But the storms, as they heighten,
Tend only to brighten

Our ever complaining tale.

We move ina battle
*Midst the cannon’s rattle,
They call it the “battle of life ;”
Do we struggle in vain
Amid the leaden rain?
Need we sink at the height of the strife?

Oh, hill we must climb!
Oh, frail bark sublime!
Oh, battle with danger so fraught!
When love has the helm,
Life’s a glorious realm
Where trials sink into naught.

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OLIVER THE OUTGAST.

By HORATIO ALGER, /r.,

Author of “‘The Western Boy,” “Mr. Craven’s
Step-Son,” “‘Frank and Fearless,”
“The Train Boy,” etc., etc.

{“OLIVER THE OUTCAST” was commenced LAST WEEK. ]

CHAPTER VY.
MR. KENYON’S RESOLVE.

Mr. Kenyon felt that a sword was impending over
his head, which might at any time fall and destroy
him. Four years before, he had married Mrs. Con-
rad, a wealthy widow, whose acquaintance he had
made at a Saratoga boarding-house. Why Mrs. Con- |
rad should have been willing to sacrifice her inde- |
pendence for such a man,is one of the mysteries |
which I do not pretend to solve. I can only record |
the fact. Oliver was away at the time, or his in-
fluence—for he never fancied Mr. Kenyon—might
have turned the seale against the marriage.

Mr. Kenyon professed to be wealthy, but his new
wife never was able to learn in what his property
consisted or where it was located. Shortly after
marriage, he tried to get the management of his
wife’s property into his own hands; but she was a
cautious woman—a trait she inherited from Scotch
ancestry—and, moreover, she was devotedly attached
to her son Oliver. She came to know Mr. Kenyon
better after she had assumed his name, and to dis-
trust him more. Three months had not passed when
she bitterly repented having accepted him; but she
had taken a step which she could not retrace. She
allowed Mr. Kenyon a liberal sum for his personal
expenses, and gave a home to his son Roland, who
was allowed every advantage which her own son en-
joyed. Further than this she was not willing to go,
and Mr. Kenyon was, in consequence, bitterly disap-
pointed. He had supposed his wife to be of a more
yielding temperament.

So matters went on for three years. Then Mr. Ken-
yon all at once fancied himself in very poor health ;
at any rate, he so represented. He induced a phy-
sician to recommend traveling, and to urge the im-
portance of his wife accompanying him. She fell
into the trap, for it proved to be atrap. The boys
were left at home, at a boarding-school, and Mr. and
Mrs. Kenyon set out on their travels. They sailed
for Cuba, where they remained two months; then
they embarked for Charleston. In the neighborhood
of Charleston Mr. Kenyon was enabled at length to
earry out his nefarious design. He made the ac-
quaintance of Dr. Fox, an unprincipled keeper of a
private insane asylum, and left Mrs. Kenyon in his
charge, under the name of Mrs. Crandall, with the
strictest orders that under no circumstances should
she be permitted to leave the asylum.

Three months from the time of his departure, he
reappeared in Brentville wearing deep mourning—a
widower. According to his account, Mrs. Kenyon
had been attacked by malignant fever, and died in
four days. He also produced a will, made by his
wife, conveying to him absolutely her property, all
and entire. The only reference to her son Oliver was
couched in these terms:

“T commend my dear son Oliver to my husband’s
charge, fully satisfied that he will provide for him in
all ways as I would myself, urging him to do all in
his power to promote my dear Oliver’s welfare, and
prepare him for a creditable and useful position in
the world.”

But for this clause, doubts would have been ex-
pressed as to the genuineness of the will. As it was,
it was generally supposed to be authentic, but Mrs.
Kenyon was severely criticised for reposing so much
confidence in her husband, and leaving Oliver wholly
dependent upon him.

It was a great blow to Oliver—his mother’s death—
and the world seemed very lonely to him. Besides,
he could not fail to notice a great difference in the
manner of Mr. Kenyon and Roland toward him. The
former laid aside his velvety manner, and assumed
airs of command. He felt secure in the position he
had so wrongfully assumed, and hated Oliver all the
more because he knew how much he had wronged
him.

Roland, too, was quick to understand the new state
of things. He was older than Oliver, and tried to ex-
act deference from him on that account. His father
had promised to make him his chief heir, and both

 

had’a tacit understanding that Oliver was to be treat-

 

 

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ed as a poor relation, with no money, and no rights
except such as they might be graciously pleased to
accord.

But Oliver did not fit well into this role. He was
too spirited and too independent to be browbeaten,
and did not choose to flatter or fawn upon his step-
father though he did bear the purse.

The outbreak recorded in the first chapter would
have come sooner had Oliver been steadily at home.
But he had spent some weeks in visiting a cousin out
of town, and was thus saved from a conflict with
Roland. Soon after he came home, the scene already
described took place.

Thus far things had gone to suit Mr. Kenyon. But
the arrival of Dr. Fox, and his extortionate demand,
with the absolute certainty that it would be followed
at frequent intervals by others, was like a clap of
thunder in a clear sky. Henceforth peril was immi-
nent. At any time his wife might escape from her
asylum, and appear on the scene to convict him of
conspiracy and falsehood. This would mean ruin. At
any time Dr. Fox, if his exactions were resisted,
might reveal the whole plot, and this again would be
destruction. If not, he might be emboldened, by the
possession of a damaging secret, to the most exorbit-
ant demands.

These thoughts worried Mr. Kenyon, and robbed
him of sleep.

What should he, or could he do?

Two things seemed desirable—to get rid of Oliver,
and to leave Brentville for some place where neither
Dr. Fox nor his injured wife could seek him out.

The more he thought of this way out of the diffi-
culty the better he liked it. There was nothing to
bind him to Brentville, except the possession of a
handsome place. But this comprised, in value, not

 

more than a tenth part of his—that is, his wife’s pos-
Why should he not let, or still better, sell
it, and at once and forever leave Brentville. There
were no friendly ties to sunder. He was not popular
in the village, and he knew it. He was popularly re-
garded as an interloper, who had no business with
the property of which he had usurped the charge.
Neither was Roland liked, as much on his own ac-
count as on his father’s, for he strutted about the vil-
lage, turning up his nose at boys who would have
been better off than himself in a worldly point of
view but for his father’s lucky marriage; and de-
clining to engage in any game in which the first
place was not accorded to him.

It was very different with Oliver. He was born to
be popular. Though he possessed his share of pride,
doubtless, he never showed it in an offensive man-
ner. No poor boy ever felt ill at ease in his com-
pany. He was the life and soul of the play-ground,
though he obtained an easy preeminence in the
school-room.

“Oliver is worth a dozen of Roland!’ was the com-
mon remark. ‘What a pity he was left dependent
on his step-father.”

The last remark was often made to Oliver himself,
but it was a subject which he was not willing to dis-
cuss. It seemed to him that he would be reproach-
ing his mother, to find fault with the provision she
had made for his future.

It did seem to him, however, in his secret heart
that his mother had been misled by too blind a con-
fidence in his step-father.

“T wish she had left me only one-quarter of the
property, and left it independent of him,” he thought
more than once. “She couldn’t know how disagree-
able it would be to me to be dependent upon him.”

sessions.

Oliver thought this, but he did not say it.

The thought came to him again, as he walked home
from the house of Frank Dudley, twenty minutes
after Roland had traveled over the same road.

“J wonder whether Mr. Kenyon will be up,” he
asked himself, as he rang the bell. ‘If he is, I sup-
pose I must make up my mind for another volley.
How different it was when my poor mother was
alive !’”

The door was opened by Maggie, the servant,

‘““Has Roland come home ?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Oliver; he is in bed by this time.’

“That’s good!” thought Oliver. “Is Mr. Kenyon
up ?’

“No, Mr. Oliver. Did you wish to see him ?”’

“Oh, no,” said Oliver, feeling relieved. ‘I only in-
quired out of curiosity, You’d better shut up the
house, Maggie.”

“T was going to, Mr. Oliver.”

Oliver took his lamp, and went up slowly to bed.
His room was just opposite to Roland’s, which ad-
joined the apartment occupied by his father.

,

r

CHAPTER VI.
MR. KENYON’S CHANGE OF BASE.

Remembering the scene of the day previous, Oliver
expected it would be renewed when he met his step-
father and Roland at breakfast. Such, also, was the
expectation of Roland. He wanted Oliver to -be
humiliated, and fully anticipated that he would be.

What, then, was the surprise of the two boys, when
Mr. Kenyon displayed an unusually gracious manner
at table. —

“Good-morning, Oliver,” he said, pleasantly, when

 

our hero entered the room.

““Good-morning, sir,” returned Oliver, in surprise.

‘“‘We missed you at supper last evening,” continued
the step-father.

“Yes, sir; [took supper at Dr. Dudley’s,” explained
Oliver, not quite certain whether this would be con-
sidered satisfactory.

“Dr. Dudley is a very worthy man,” said Mr. Ken-
yon. ‘His son is about your age, is he not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He has a daughter, also—rather a pretty girl?”

“T believe Roland thinks so,” said Oliver, glancing
at his step-brother.

“Roland has taste, then,’ said Mr. Kenyon, ‘You
two boys mustn’t quarrel about the young lady.”

“T shan’t quarrel,” said Roland, stiffly. “There are
plenty other girls in the world.”

“You are a philosopher, I see,” said his father.

Roland felt that this had gone far enough. Why
should his father talk pleasantly to Oliver, who had
defied his authority the day before? If this went on,
Oliver would be encouraged in his insubordination.
He felt that it was necessary to revive the subject.

“T expect my ball is lost,’? he said, in an aggrieved
tone.

“What ball?’ asked his father.

“The one I batted outinto the road‘ yesterday af-
noon.”

“Probably some one has picked it up,” said Mr.
Kenyon, proceeding to open an egg.

Roland was provoked at ais father’s coolness and
unconcern.

“Tf Oliver had picked it up for me it would not
| have been lost,” he continued, with a scowl at our

hero.
| “Tf you had picked it up yourself, wouldn’t it have
| answered the same purpose ?”
Roland stared at his father in anger and dismay.
| Could he really mean it? Had he been won over to
Oliver, too, was surprised. He began

 

Oliver’s side?
to entertain a much more favorable opinion of his
step-father.

“Didn’t you tell Oliver to pick it up yesterday af-
ternoon?’ demanded Roland, making a charge upon
his father.

“Yes, I'‘believe I did.”

“Well, he didn’t do it.”

“He was wrong, then,” said Mr. Kenyon, mildly,
‘He should have respected my authority.

“T’ll go and look for it directly breakfast is over,”
said Oliver, quite won over by Mr. Kenyon’s mild-
ness. >

“Tt wouldn’t be any use,” said Oliver. “I’ve been
looking for it myself this morning, and it isn’t
there.”’

“Of course it wouldn’t stay there all night,” said
Mr. Kenyon. ‘It has no doubt been picked up.”

“Ain’t you going to punish Oliver for disobeying
you?’ burst out the disappointed Roland.

Oliver turned to his step-father with interest to
hear his answer.

“No, Roland. On second thought, I don’t think it
was his place to gofor the ball. You should have
gone after it yourself.”

Oliver smiled to himself with secret satisfaction.
He had never thought so well of his step-father be-
fore. He even felt better disposed toward Roland.

“Why didn’t you ask me politely, Roland,” he said.
“Then we should have saved all this trouble.”

“Because I am older than you, and you ought to
obey me.”

“T can’t agree with you there,’ said Oliver, com-
posedly.

“Come, boys, [ can’t allow any quarreling at the
table,’ said Mr. Kenyon, but still pleasantly. “I
don’t see why we can’t live together in peace and
quietness.”

“Tf he will only be like that all the time,” thought
Oliver, “there will be some pleasure in living with
him. Iam only afraid it won't last. Whata differ-
ence there is between his manner to-day and yes-
terday.”

Oliver was destined to be still more astonished
when breakfast was over.

He had known for some time that Roland was bet-
ter supplied with money than himself. In fact, he
had been pinched for the want of a little ready money
more than once; and whenever he applied to Mr.
Kenyon, he was either refused, or the favor was
grudgingly accorded. To-day, as he rose from the
table, Mr. Kenyon asked:

“How are you off for pocket-money, Oliver ?”’

“Thave twenty-five cents in my pocket,” said
Oliver, with a smile.

“Then it’s about time for a new supply.”

“Tf you please, sir.”

Mr. Kenyon took a five-dollar bill from his pocket,
and passed it over to our hero.

“Thank you sir,’ said Oliver, with mingled sur-
prise and gratitude. ,

“How much did you give him?’ asked Roland,
crossly.

“The same that I giveyou, my son; and Mr. Ken-
yon produced another bill.

Roland took the bill discontentedly.
satisfied to receive no more than Oliver.

“TJ think,” he said to our hero, ‘‘you ought to buy
me a new ball out of your money.”

Oliver did not reply, but looked toward Mr. Ken-
yon.

“T will buy you a new ball myself,” he said. “There
is no call for Oliver to buy one, unless he wants
one for his own use.”

“Tf you will excuse me, sir,” said Oliver, respect-
fully, ‘‘I will get ready to go to school.”

“Certainly, Oliver.”

Roland and his father were left alone.

“Tt seems to me you’ve taken a great fancy to
Oliver all at once,” said Roland.

“What makes you think so?’

“You take his part against me. Didn’t you tell
him yesterday to go after my ball?’

feYORi

“To-day you blame me for not going myself. You
reward him for his impudence besides by giving him
five dollars.”

Mr. Kenyon smiled.

“So my conduct puzzles you, does it ?” he inquired,
complacently.

He was not

,