thought mebby you might know him,” said Mrs. Stein. “His business took him 'round considerable, and I thought mebby it might have took him to New York, and that mebby you might have met him.”
Mrs. Bell sighed audibly.
“It's goin' to be an awful trial to Susan if she can't go,” she said; “but I dunno WHAT to say. Seems like I oughtn't to say 'go,' an' yet I can't abear to say 'stay.'”
“I MUST have Susan,” said Mrs. Smith, putting her arm about the girl. “I know you can trust her with me.”
“Clementina,” said Mr. Bell suddenly, “why don't you leave it to the minister? He'd settle it for the best. Why don't you leave it to him? Hey?”
“Well, bless my stars,” said Mrs. Bell, brightening with relief, “I'd ought to have thought of that long ago. He WOULD know what was for the best. I'll ask him to-morrow.”
To-morrow was the picnic day.
As Mrs. Smith led the way for Eliph' Hewlitt, the minister left the group of women who had clustered about him, and walked toward her.
“Sister Smith,” he said, in his grave, kind way, “Sister Bell tells me you want to carry off our little Susan. You know we must be wise as serpents and gentle as doves I deciding, and”—he laid his hand on her arm—“though I doubt not all will be well, I must think over the matter a while. Welcome, brother,” he added, offering his hand to Eliph' Hewlitt.
The little book agent shook it warmly.
“'I was a stranger and ye took me in,'” he said glibly. “Fine weather for a picnic.”
His eyes glowed. To meet the minister first of all! This was good, indeed. Years of experience had taught him to seek the minister first. To start the round of a small community with the prestige of having sold the minister himself a copy of Jarby's Encyclopedia made success a certainty.
He took the oilcloth-covered parcel from beneath his arm, and handed it to the minister gently, lovingly.
“Keep it until the picnic is over,” he said. “I'm a book agent. I sell books. THIS is the book I sell. Take it away and hide it, so I can forget it and be happy. Don't let me have it until the picnic is over. PLEASE don't!”
He stretched out his arms in freedom, and the minister smiled and led the way toward the place where a buggy cushion had been laid on the grass as his seat of honor.
“I will retain the book,” said the minister, with a smile, “although I don't think you can sell the book here. My brethren in Clarence are not readers. I read little myself. We are poor; we have no time to read. Except the Bible, I know of but one book in this entire community. Sister Dawson has a copy of Bunyan's sublime work, 'Pilgrim's Progress.' It was an heirloom. Be seated,” he said, and Eliph' Hewlitt seated himself Turk-fashion, on the sod.
The minister took the book carefully on his knees. Even to feel a new book was a pleasure he did not often have, and his fingers itched upon it.
In three minutes Eliph' Hewlitt knew the entire story of Mrs. Smith and Susan, so far as it was known to the minister, and he leaned over and tapped with his forefinger the book on the minister's knee.
“Open it,” he said.
The minister removed the wrapper.
“Page 6, Index,” said Eliph' Hewlitt, turning the pages. He ran his finger down the page, and up and down page 7, stopped at a line on page 8, and hastily turned over the pages of the book. At page 974 he laid the book open, and the minister adjusted his spectacles and read where the book agent pointed. Then he pushed his spectacles up on his forehead and looked carefully at the picnickers. He singled out Mrs. Tarbro-Smith, and waved her toward him with his hand. She came and stood before him.
The minister wiped his spectacles on his handkerchief, readjusted them on his nose, and bent over the book.
“What is your brother's name?” he asked kindly, but with solemnity.
“Marriott Nolan Tarbro,” she answered.
He traced the lines carefully with his finger.
“Born?” he asked.
“June 4, 1864, at Tarrytown-on-the-Hudson.”
“And he is married?”
“Married Amanda Rogers Long, at Newport, Rhode Island, June 14, 1895.”
“Where is he living now?” he asked.
“Last year he was living in New York—I am a widow, as you know—but last fall he went to Algiers.”
“The book says Algiers. What-er-clubs is he a member of?”
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Smith; “The Authors and The Century.”
“I have no doubt,” said the minister, “from what the book says, and what you say, that you are indeed the sister of this—ah—celebrated”—he looked at the book—“celebrated novelist, who is a man of such standing that he received—ah—several more lines in this work than the average, more, in fact, than Talmage, more than Beecher, and more than the present governor of the State of Iowa. I think I may safely advise Mrs. Bell to let Susan go with you.”
“One!” said Eliph' Hewlitt quickly. “That's just ONE question that came up flaring, and was mashed flat by Jarby's Encyclopedia of Knowledge and Compendium of Literature, Science and Art, a book in which are ten thousand and one subjects, fully treated by the best minds of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. One subject for every day in the year for twenty-seven years, and some left over. Religion, politics, literature, every subject under the sun, gathered in one grand colossal encyclopedia with an index so simple that a child can understand it. See page 768, 'Texts, Biblical; Hints for Sermons; The Art of Pulpit Eloquence.' No minister should be without it. See page 1046, 'Pulpit Orators—Golden Words of the Greatest, comprising selections from Spurgeon, Robertson, Talmage, Beecher, Parkhurst,' et cetery. A book that should be in every home. Look at 'P': Poets, Great. Poison, Antidotes for. Poker, Rules of. Poland, History and Geography of, with Map. Pomeroy, Brick. Pomatum, How to Make. Ponce de Leon, Voyages and Life of. Pop, Ginger,' et cetery, et cetery. The whole for the small sum of five dollars, bound in cloth, one dollar down and one dollar a month until paid.”
The minister turned the pages slowly.
“It seems a worthy book,” he said hesitatingly.
Eliph' Hewlitt looked at Mrs. Smith, with a question in his eyes.
She nodded.
“Ah!” he said. “Mrs. Smith, sister of the well-known novelist, Marriott Nolan Tarbro, takes two copies of Jarby's Encyclopedia of Knowledge and Compendium of Literature, Science and Art, bound in full morocco, one of which she begs to present to the worthy pastor of this happy flock, with her compliments and good wishes.”
“I can't thank you,” stammered the minister; “it is so kind. I have so few books, and so few opportunities of securing them.”
Eliph' Hewlitt held out his hand for the sample
