



Produced by Charles Aldarondo





THE ALLEN HOUSE

OR, TWENTY YEARS AGO AND NOW.

By T. S. Arthur

Philadelphia:

1860




PREFACE.

WE point to two ways in life, and if the young man and maiden, whose
feet are lingering in soft green meadows and flowery walks, will
consider these two ways in sober earnest, before moving onward, and
choose the one that truth and reason tell them leads to honor, success,
and happiness, our book will accomplish its right work for them. It is
a sad thing, after the lapse of twenty years, to find ourselves amid
ruined hopes;--to sit down with folded hands and say, "Thus far life has
been a failure!" Yet, to how many is this the wretched summing up at the
end of a single score of years from the time that reason takes the helm!
Alas! that so few, who start wrong, ever succeed in finding the right
way; life proving, even to its last burdened years, a miserable failure!





TWENTY YEARS AGO, AND NOW.



CHAPTER I.



THE rain had poured in torrents all day, and now, for the third time
since morning, I came home, wet, uncomfortable and weary. I half dreaded
to look at the slate, lest some urgent call should stare me in the face.

"It must indeed be a case of life and death, that takes me out again
to-night," said I, as my good wife met me in the entry, and with light
hands, made active by love, assisted in the removal of my great coat and
comforter.

"Now come into the sitting-room," she said, "your slippers are on the
rug, and your dressing-gown warmed and waiting. Tea is ready, and
will be on the table by the time you feel a little comfortable. What a
dreadful day it has been!"

"Dreadful for those who have been compelled to face the storm," I
remarked, as I drew off my boots, and proceeded to take advantage of all
the pleasant arrangements my thoughtful wife had ready for my solace and
delight.

It was on my lip to inquire if any one had called since I went out, but
the ringing of the tea-bell sent my thought in a new direction; when,
with my second self leaning on an arm, and my little Aggy holding
tightly by my hand, I moved on to the dining-room, all the disagreeable
things of the day forgotten.

"Has any one been here?" I asked, as I handed my cup for a third
replenishing. Professional habit was too strong--the query would intrude
itself.

"Mrs. Wallingford called to see you."

"Ah! Is anybody sick?"

"I believe so--but she evaded my inquiry, and said that she wished to
speak a word with the Doctor."

"She don't want me to call over to-night, I hope. Did she leave any
word?"

"No. She looked troubled in her mind, I thought."

"No other call?"

"Yes. Mary Jones sent word that something was the matter with the baby.
It cried nearly all last night, her little boy said, and to-day has
fever, and lies in a kind of stupor."

"That case must be seen to," I remarked, speaking to myself.

"You might let it go over until morning," suggested my wife. "At any
rate, I would let them send again before going. The child may be better
by this time."

"A call in time may save life here, Constance," I made answer; the sense
of duty growing stronger as the inner and outer man felt the renovating
effects of a good supper, and the brightness and warmth of my pleasant
home. "And life, you know, is a precious thing--even a baby's life."

And I turned a meaning glance upon the calm, sweet face of our latest
born, as she lay sleeping in her cradle. That was enough. I saw the
tears spring instantly to the eyes of my wife.

"I have not a word to say. God forbid, that in the weakness of love and
care for you, dear husband, I should draw you aside from duty. Yes--yes!
The life of a baby is indeed a precious thing!"

And bending over the cradle, she left a kiss on the lips, and a tear
on the pure brow of our darling. Now was I doubly strengthened for the
night. There arose at this instant a wild storm-wail, that shrieked for
a brief time amid the chimneys, and around the eaves of our dwelling,
and then went moaning away, sadly,