T

ESTERDAY, Charaathalar had been a godless little Gentile boy, an orphan, unsheltered, fed here and there, derided, scoffed at; but to-day, by process of law, he had become possessed of a home, a father, and two mothers,all good Christian people, concerned for his material and spiritual weal, and bent on training him up as they believed a boy should go.

His two mothers were sisters by birth, and submissive, affectionate wives to their Mormon-elder husband, he being a model specimen of his kind, bishop of his block from time out of mind, a willing giver of his tithes, walking erectly in his own narrow way, and seeing all that could be seen with the dim light given him. And more than this no man can do.

No children had been born to them, and their lamentations had been long and loud, but now fate had sent this boy their way, and they smiled again. They deemed his rearing a God-given task, and threw their souls into it. To make him a good bov and a good Mormon was their determination, and in their opinion no boy could. aspire to higher things.

As a boy among boys, Charaathalar would not have rated high. There was a vulgar term of mockery among Mormon lads not heard elsewhere, and this term was constantly applied to him.

They said he was "dishwatery," and named him "Dishwater Perkins."

He was such a faded, unwholesome boy, and the projecting curve of his teeth accentuated the inward slope of his chin, while his little ball of a nose was far from attractive. As for his hands!-were this writing designed for a medical treatise I might dare describe them. But his eyes were blue and attentive, and when in repose his was an altogether most pitiable face.

His two new mothers swooped down on

him like prey-birds on choice pickings; for there was some glory in righting the wrongs of a boy like this, not found in sturdy, rosy boys, and this sort of glory was an incense smelling sweet in the nostrils of all church people there.

Jannetty had her plans for rearing boys; Emmerettah, hers. Jannetty's, all rod; her sister's, none. Each sister well-intentioned, each anxious to bring to the boy a little of the harmony of life which had fallen so generously to her share, as she believed.

Charaathalar's new home was a fair spot. Many of the dwellings about were adobe, but Elder Mills's was frame and well constructed, setting back from the wide tree-bordered street a hundred feet or so, with a double row of cottonwoods up from the gate, and a mass of luxuriant but perfectly disciplined shrubbery filling the yard. From the street you saw the double buff-and-white cottage through a screen of green branches set thick with blossoms, and the piazza running the length of the two houses was divided by a partition bearing on either side shelves filled with pots of blooming plants. Wide, rude chairs stood about and hand-made rugs strewed the floor, the arrangement being the same on either porch. Everything was orderly and cheerful and showed contentment and good housekeeping in every detail.

Charry arrived during "Jannetty's week," and her time being occupied by the somewhat exacting Elder, he was turned over to Emmerettah, she being free, and therefore house-cleaning.

The boy's first meal in his new home was like a vision of fairyland. He sat across from Ma Emmerettah, and after the blessing she had asked him which kind of sauce he preferred-peach or pear. That he should be given any kind was a revelation to him who had seldom tasted such food, and when he hesitated Emmerettah had given him a dish overflowing with peach, as being the richest and most liked by boys. He sat staring at it as if it were some rare

gem or curiosity, and when a fly lit upon it, indignantly drove it away.

To eat sweets, and to eat his fill! He wondered if he were dreaming, and was convinced that it was for to-day only, and because of his arrival. He had been washed, and his bleeding hands bound with strips of oiled linen until they were almost useless, but he ate and drank as best he could, and gazed with affectionate eyes on his new mother, who returned the gaze lovingly.

For a week she and the boy lived together, and in that time became as mother and child. The broken heart of the boy began healing, and the willingness with which he did his tasks, his very awkwardness and ignorance, endeared him to her sweet and tender soul.

It was Sunday evening and the end of the week. After a day of prayers and service-going, she called him to her side and said: "Charry, honey, you 've been a beautiful, good boy all week; but you know, beginning in the morning, t'other Ma Mills takes you for a spell."

"I know it," he replied, struggling vainly to keep back his tears; "but I want to stay here. Can't I?"

"No; 't would n't be right. You know you are half hern and half mine, and all of Pa Mills's."

Charry sat silent, pondering probably on this division of himself, while tears fell on his bandaged hands.

"I'm 'fraid of her. She ain't so good 's

you."

Why, honey, she's just the same as me, a God-fearin', Christian woman, and a better bread-baker than ever I dared be."

"She's different, though. I watched her through a crack a long time yesterday."

"Why, Charry! was you peekin' through a crack at your Ma Jannetty Mills? That's wrong and unchristian and a thing the Elder would n't 'prove on if he knew it. Don't your catechism say to honor thy parents? Good people never peek. They don't want to see people when they are alone by their secret selves, with only God's eye on 'em."

Charry, rebuked, hung his head and looked penitent, as if possessed of full knowledge of his own degenerateness, and

was meek enough. The next morning, when dressed, Ma Emmerettah led him through the little gate in the dividing fence, and into Ma Jannetty's kitchen.

The Elder had gone to his work of hauling stone below town an hour gone, and Charry's breakfast was on the table awaiting him.

Ma Jannetty met them at the door, her starched cotton dress and apron rattling like wind-blown paper.

"Good mornin', Sis. You've brought me my boy, I see. Here's his breakfast ready for him. Sit down yourself. William told me to tell you not to get too early supper, as he was likely to be late, as he was all last week with me, and us eatin' a spiled supper every evening. Now, son, eat your breakfast, so's I can get cleaned up and to my work."

Charry sat with his eyes fixed on the food, but ate nothing. The breakfast was a bowl of coarse oaten grits and a cup of milk. A week since had this been offered him he would have accepted thankfully, but Ma Emmerettah's generous cuisine had depressed his appetite and raised his standard of breakfasts. sipped the milk and dug his spoon into the oat-grits, but got no farther.

He

Emmerettah's long-empty heart had become filled to almost overflowing with this unwholesome, misshapen boy, and when she saw him stick at the porridge her tenderness for him nearly overwhelmed

her.

"Sissy, dear," she began mildly, "the child is not real well yet, and needs delicate food. I've been feedin' him on canned fruit all week. We both have so much it will only go to waste, as it's nearly cannin' time again, and not half of our jars emptied. Let's let Charry empty 'em for us. He just loves fruit, and it's good for his blood. We put up so much, to tell you the truth, I think it's just about half wasted."

"There'll be none wasted in my house, I can tell you that," replied Jannetty tartly. "Cousin Liza, up Boise City way, can use all I have left over. It 'pears like to me no one but us Mormon women ever has anything decent to eat in the fruit way. Liza's always cryin' down our religion, and then livin' from hand to mouth the way she does."