



Produced by Annie McGuire








THE SPECTACLE MAN


  Out of a song the story grew;
  Just how it happened nobody knew,
  But, song and story, it all came true.




BOOKS BY MARY F. LEONARD.

       *       *       *       *       *

=THE SPECTACLE MAN=. A STORY OF THE MISSING BRIDGE. 266 pages. Cloth.
$1.00.

=MR. PAT'S LITTLE GIRL=. A STORY OF THE ARDEN FORESTERS. 322 pages.
Cloth. $1.50.

=THE PLEASANT STREET PARTNERSHIP=. A NEIGHBORHOOD STORY. 269 pages.
Cloth. $.75, _net_.




[Illustration: "The Spectacle Man, leaning his elbows on the
show-case"]




The Spectacle Man

_A Story of the Missing Bridge_

       *       *       *       *       *

By
Mary F. Leonard

AUTHOR OF
"THE BIG FRONT DOOR"


_Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill_


W. A. WILDE COMPANY
BOSTON AND CHICAGO


_Copyright, 1901,_
BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_.




_TO THE ONE
Whose Love has been from Childhood
An Unfailing Inspiration
Whose Friendship has made Dark Paths Light
This Little Book is Dedicated
In Memory of "Remembered Hours"_




CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER FIRST.                                                    Page

    Frances meets the Spectacle Man                                   11

  CHAPTER SECOND.

    A Certain Person                                                  22

  CHAPTER THIRD.

    Gladys                                                            32

  CHAPTER FOURTH.

    They look at a Flat                                               40

  CHAPTER FIFTH.

    Some New Acquaintances                                            50

  CHAPTER SIXTH.

    An Informal Affair                                                61

  CHAPTER SEVENTH.

    A Portrait                                                        77

  CHAPTER EIGHTH.

    The Story of the Bridge                                           86

  CHAPTER NINTH.

    Finding a Moral                                                  106

  CHAPTER TENTH.

    The Portrait Again                                               118

  CHAPTER ELEVENTH.

    Mrs. Marvin is perplexed                                         128

  CHAPTER TWELFTH.

    At Christmas Time                                                134

  CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.

    One Sunday Afternoon                                             151

  CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.

    Three of a Name                                                  164

  CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.

    A Confidence                                                     177

  CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.

    Hard Times                                                       186

  CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.

    At the Loan Exhibit                                              198

  CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.

    The March Number of _The Young People's Journal_                 207

  CHAPTER NINETEENTH.

    Surprises                                                        215

  CHAPTER TWENTIETH.

    Caroline's Story                                                 231

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST.

    Overheard by Peterkin                                            240

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND.

    The Little Girl in the Golden Doorway                            249

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD.

    "The Ducks and the Geese they All swim over"                     257




Illustrations.


                                                                    Page

  "The Spectacle Man, leaning his elbows on the
  show-case" _Frontispiece_                                           11

  "'What is your name, baby?'"                                        54

  "'Little girl, I wish I knew you'"                                 120

  "She pointed out a picture, set in diamonds"                       200




The Spectacle Man.

       *       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER FIRST.

FRANCES MEETS THE SPECTACLE MAN.

  "The bridge is broke, and I have to mend it,
    Fol de rol de ri do, fol de rol de ri do--"


sang the Spectacle Man, leaning his elbows on the show-case, with his
hands outspread, and the glasses between a thumb and finger, as he
nodded merrily at Frances.

Such an odd-looking person as he was! Instead of an ordinary coat he
wore a velvet smoking-jacket; the top of his bald head was protected by
a Scotch cap, and his fringe of hair, white like his pointed beard, was
parted behind and brushed into a tuft over each ear, the ribbon ends of
his cap hanging down between in the jauntiest way. It was really
difficult to decide whether the back or front view of him was most
cheerful.

"Will it take long?" Frances asked, with dignity, although a certain
dimple refused to be repressed.

"Well, at least half an hour, if I am not interrupted; but as my clerk
is out, I may have to stop to wait on a customer. Perhaps if you have
other shopping to do you might call for them on your way home." If there
was a twinkle in the eye of the Spectacle Man, nobody saw it except the
gray cat who sat near by on the directory.

"Thank you, I think I'd better wait," replied Frances, politely, much
pleased to have it supposed she was out shopping.

At this the optician hastened to give her a chair at the window,
motioning her to it with a wave of the hand and a funny little bow; then
he trotted into the next room and returned with a _St. Nicholas_, which
he presented with another bow, and retired to his table in the corner.
As he set to work he hummed his tune, glancing now and then over his
shoulder in the direction of his small customer.

Perched on the high-backed chair, in her scarlet coat and cap, her hands
clasped over the book, her bright eyes fixed on the busy street, it was
as if a stray red bird had fluttered in, bringing a touch of color to
the gray-tinted room. From her waving brown locks to the tips of her
toes she was a dainty little maid, and carried herself with the air of a
person of some importance.

If the Spectacle Man was interested in Frances, she was no less
interested in him; neither the street nor the magazine attracted her
half so much as the queer shop and its proprietor. It had once been the
front parlor of the old dwelling which, with its veranda and grass-plat,
still held its own in the midst of the tall business houses that closed
it in on either side. Here were the show-cases, queer instruments, and
cabalistic looking charts for trying the sight; over the high mantel
hung a large clock, and in the grate below a coal fire nickered and
purred in a lazy fashion; and through the half-open folding doors
Francis had a glimpse into what seemed to be a study or library.

At least a dozen questions were on the tip of her tongue, but didn't get
any further. For instance, she longed to ask if those cunning little
spectacles on the doll's head in the case near her, were for sale, and
if the Spectacle Man had any children who read the _St. Nicholas_ and
what the gray cat's name was, for that he had a name she didn't doubt,
he was so evidently an important part of the establishment.

He had descended from the directory, which was rather circumscribed for
one of his size, and curled himself comfortably on the counter; but
instead of going to sleep he gently fanned his nose with the tip of his
tail, and kept his yellow eyes fixed on Frances as if he too felt some
curiosity about her. She was thinking how much she would like to have
him in her lap when the Spectacle Man looked around and said, "The next
time your grandmother breaks these frames she will have to have some new
ones."

"They aren't my grandmother's, they are Mrs. Gray's. I haven't any
grandmother," she answered.

"You haven't? Why, that's a coincidence; neither have I!"

Frances laughed but didn't think of anything else to say, so the
conversation dropped, and the optician fell to humming:--

  "The bridge is broke."

They might never have become really acquainted if, just as he was giving
a final polish to the glasses, it had not begun to rain.

"What shall I do?" Frances exclaimed, rising hurriedly. "I haven't any
umbrella."

The Spectacle Man walked to the window, the glasses in one hand, a piece
of chamois in the other. "It may be only a shower," he said, peering
out; "but it is time for the equinoctial." Then, seeing the little girl
was worried, he asked how far she had to go.

"Only two blocks; we are staying at the Wentworth, but mother and father
were out when I left and won't know where I am."

"Well, now, don't you worry; Dick will be in presently and I'll send him
right over to the hotel to let them know where you are, and get a
waterproof for you."

This made Frances feel more comfortable; and when, after putting the
glasses in their case and giving her the change from Mrs. Gray's dollar,
he lit the gas in the back parlor and invited her in, she almost forgot
the storm.

The room was quite different from any she had ever been in, and she at
once decided she liked it. Around the walls were low cases, some filled
with books and papers, others with china and pottery; from the top of an
ancient looking chest in one corner a large stuffed owl gazed solemnly
at her; the mantel-shelf was full of books, and above it hung a portrait
of Washington. There were some plaster casts and a few engravings, and
beside the study table in the middle of the room was an arm-chair which,
judging from its worn cover, was a favorite resting-place of the
Spectacle Man.

"I have a little writing to do before Dick comes in; can't I give you a
book while I am busy? I have a number of story-books," her host asked.

Frances thanked him, but thought she'd rather look about. "You seem to
have so many interesting things," she said.

While she walked slowly around the room the optician sat down at the
table and wrote rapidly. "How does this sound," he presently asked.

"'WANTED: Occupants for a small, partially furnished flat. All
conveniences; rent reasonable. Apply 432 Walnut Street.' You don't
happen to know any one who wants a flat, I suppose?"

Frances said she did not.

"The lady who had my second story rooms was called away by her mother's
death, and now she is not coming back. With Mark away at school it is
really very important to have them rented." The Spectacle Man tapped the
end of his nose with his pen and began to hum absent-mindedly:--

  "The bridge is broke and I have to mend it."

At this moment a boy with a dripping umbrella appeared at the door. He
proved to be Dick, and was at once despatched to the Wentworth with
instructions to ask for Mr. John Morrison, and let him know his daughter
was safe and only waiting till the storm was over; and on his way back
to stop at the newspaper office and leave the advertisement.

"Dear me!" said Frances, after he had gone, "we might have sent Mrs.
Gray's glasses; I am afraid she will be tired waiting for them. She
can't see to do anything without them, and she is lame too."

"Well, she is fortunate in having a friend to get them mended for her.
And now I wonder if you wouldn't like to see old Toby," said the
optician, taking down a funny looking jug in the shape of a very fat old
gentleman. "When my grandfather died he left me this jug and the song
about the bridge. Did you ever hear it before?"

Frances said she never had.

"Grandfather used to sing it to me when I was a little boy, and I find
it still a very good song. When I get into a tight place and can't see
how I am to get through, why--" here he waved his hands and nodded his
head--

  "'The bridge is broke, and I have to mend it,'

"and I go to work and try. Sometimes it is for other people, sometimes
for myself. Bridges are always getting broken,--'tisn't only
spectacles."

Frances smiled, for though she did not quite understand, it sounded
interesting; but before she had time to ask any questions a tall young
man entered. "Why, Wink! what in the world are you doing here?" he
exclaimed.

"Oh, daddy dear, I hope you haven't worried!" she cried, running to him;
"Mrs. Gray broke her glasses and couldn't read or sew, and I thought I
ought to have them mended for her,--it wasn't far you know--and then it
began to rain so I couldn't get back."

"And this is Mr. Clark, I suppose," said Mr. Morrison; "let me thank you
for taking care of my little daughter. And now, Wink, put on this coat
and your rubbers, and let us hurry before mother quite loses her mind."

When she was enveloped in the waterproof, Frances held out her hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Clark," she said; "I hope you will find some nice person
to rent your flat. Good-by."

The Spectacle Man stood in his door and watched the two figures till
they disappeared in the misty twilight, then he returned to the shop.
"Peterkin," he said, addressing the cat, "I like that little girl, and I
suppose I'll never see her again."

Peterkin uncurled himself, stood up on the counter, arched his back, and
yawned three times.




CHAPTER SECOND.

A CERTAIN PERSON.


A day or two after her visit to the optician's, Frances lay curled up on
the broad window-sill, a thoughtful little pucker between her eyes.
About fifteen minutes earlier she had entered the room where her father
and mother were talking, just as the former said, "As a certain person
is abroad I see no objection to your spending the winter here if you
wish."

Before she could ask a single question a caller was announced, and she
had taken refuge behind the curtains.

It was quite by accident that they happened to be staying for a few
weeks in this pleasant town where the Spectacle Man lived. They were
returning from North Carolina, where they had spent the summer, when a
slight illness of Mrs. Morrison's made it seem wise to stop for a while
on the way; and before she was quite well, Mr. Morrison was summoned to
New York on business, so his wife and daughter stayed where they were,
waiting for him, and enjoying the lovely fall weather.

They liked it so well they were beginning to think with regret of the
time when they must leave, for though really a city in size, the place
had many of the attractions of a village. The gardens around the houses,
the flowers and vines, the wide shady streets, combined to make an
atmosphere of homelikeness; but to Frances' mind its greatest charm lay
in the fact that once, long ago, her father had lived here. At least she
felt sure it must have been long ago, for it was in that strange time
before there was any Frances Morrison.

She had never heard as much as she wanted to hear about these years,
although she had heard a good deal. There were some things her father
evidently did not care to talk about, and one of these was a mysterious
individual known as a Certain Person. The first time she had heard this
Certain Person mentioned she had questioned her mother, who had replied,
"It is some one who was once a friend of father's, but is not now. I
think he does not care to mention the name, dear."

After this Frances asked no more questions, but she thought a great
deal, and her imagination began to picture a tall, fierce looking man
who lurked in dark corners ready to spring out at her. Sometimes when
she was on the street at night she would see him skulking along in the
shadows, and would clasp her father's hand more closely. Altogether this
person had grown and flourished in her mind in a wonderful way.

And, she couldn't tell how, a Certain Person was connected in her
thoughts with "The Girl in the Golden Doorway." This was a story in her
very own story-book, a collection of tales known only to her father and
herself, which had all been told in the firelight on winter evenings and
afterward written out in Mr. Morrison's clear hand in a book bought for
the purpose, so that not even a printer knew anything about them.

This particular story, which she had heard many times, was of a boy who
lived in a great old-fashioned house in the country, where there were
beautiful things all about, both indoors and out. The only other child
in the house was a little girl who looked down from a heavy gilt frame
above the library mantel. The boy, who was just six years old, used to
lie on the hearth rug, gazing up at her, and sometimes she would smile
and beckon to him as if she wanted to be friends.

This happened only at nightfall when the shadows lay dark in the corners
of the room and the fire blazed brightly; at such times things that had
before been a puzzle to him became quite clear. For instance, he
discovered one evening that what looked like the frame of a picture was
really a doorway belonging to the house where the little girl lived, and
it was plain that if he could only get up there he could find out all
about her. Once there, he felt sure she would take him by the hand and
together they would go away--away--somewhere! But the mantel was very
high, and polished like glass.

One afternoon when he had come in from a long drive, and feeling tired
was lying very still in his usual place, looking up at the little girl
and the long passage that seemed to stretch away behind her, a strange
thing happened. So unexpectedly it sent his heart into his mouth, the
girl stepped out of the doorway; and then, wonder of wonders! he saw a
stairway at one side of the chimney-piece where he had never noticed one
before.

Daintily holding up her silken skirt, the little maid descended and
stood beside him. Astonished and bewildered, he put out his hand to
touch her, but with a laugh she flitted across the room.

Seized with the fear that she would escape him altogether, the boy
started in pursuit. In and out among the massive chairs and tables they
ran, the girl always just out of reach, the boy breathless with anxiety.
His heart quite failed him when she darted toward the mantel. Then he
remembered he could follow; and indeed she seemed to expect it, for she
stood still at the top of what had grown to be a very long flight of
steps, and beckoned. He hurried on, but the steps were very steep and
slippery, and try as he would he could not reach the top.

Suddenly some