The Fatal Glove | Page 3

brat, but I love you, Arch, and some time, when we get
bigger, I'll marry you, Arch, and we'll live in the country, where there's
birds and flowers, and it's just like the Park all round. Don't feel
so--don't!"

Arch pressed the dirty little hands that fluttered about him--for, next to
his mother, he loved Mat.
"I will go out now and call somebody," she said; "there Mrs. Hill and
Peggy Sullivan, if she ain't drunk. Either of them will come!" And a
few moments later the room was filled with the rude neighbors.
They did not think it necessary to call a coroner. She had been ailing
for a long time. Heart complaint, the physician said--and she had
probably died in one of those spasms to which she was subject. So they
robed her for the grave, and when all was done, Arch stole in and laid
the pinks and roses on her breast.
"Oh, mother! mother!" he said, bending over her, in agony, "she sent
them to you, and you shall have them! I thought they would make you
so happy! Well, maybe they will now! Who can tell?"
The funeral was a very poor one. A kind city missionary prayed over
the remains, and the hearse was followed to Potter's Field only by Mat
and Arch--ragged and tattered, but sincere mourners.
When they came back Mat took Arch's hand and led him into the
wretched den she called home.
"You shall stay here, Arch, with Grandma Rugg and me. She said you
might if you'd be a good boy, and not plague the cat. Grandma's a
rough one, but she ain't kicked me since I tore her cap off. I'm too big
to be kicked now. Sit down, Arch; you know you can't stay at home
now."
Yes, to be sure he could not stay there any longer. No one knew that
any better than Arch. The landlord had warned him out that very
morning. A half-quarter's rent was still due, and the meagre furniture
would barely suffice to satisfy his claim. Hitherto, Mrs. Trevlyn had
managed to pay her expenses, but, now that she was gone, Arch knew
that it was more than folly to think of renting a room. But he could not
suppress a cry of pain when they came to take away the things; and
when they laid their rude hands on the chair in which his mother died,

poor Arch could endure no more, but fled out into the street, and
wandered about till hunger and weariness forced him back to the old
haunt.
He accepted the hospitality of Grandma Rugg, and made his home with
her and Mat. The influences which surrounded him were not calculated
to develop good principles, and Arch grew rude and boisterous, like the
other street boys. He heard the vilest language--oaths were the rule
rather than the exception in Grigg Court, as the place was called--and
gambling, and drunkenness, and licentiousness abounded. Still, it was
singular how much evil Arch shunned.
But there was growing within him a principle of bitter hatred, which
one day might embitter his whole existence. Perhaps he had cause for it;
he thought he had, and cherished it with jealous care, lest it should be
annihilated as the years went on.
From his mother's private papers he had learned much of her history
that he had before been ignorant of. She had never spoken to him very
freely of the past. She knew how proud and high his temper was, and
acted with wisdom in burying the story of her wrongs in her own
breast.
His father, Hubert Trevlyn, had come of a proud family. There was no
bluer blood in the land than that which ran in the veins of the Trevlyns.
Not very far back they had an earl for their ancestor, and, better than
that, the whole long lineage had never been tarnished by a breath of
dishonor.
Hubert was the sole child of his father, and in him were centred many
bright and precious hopes. His father was a kind parent, though a stern
one, who would never brook a shade of disobedience in this boy upon
whom his fondest hopes and aspirations were fixed.
When Hubert was about twenty-four he went into the country for his
health, which was never very robust, and while there he met Helen
Crayton. It was a case of love at first sight, but none the less pure and
steadfast account. Helen was an orphan--a poor seamstress, but

beautiful and intelligent beyond any woman he had ever met. They
loved, and they would not be cheated out of their happiness by any
worldly opposition. Hubert wrote to his father, informing him of his
love for Helen, and asking his consent to their union. Such