4 
a 
Still John did not come in. At last Susy 
put on her sun-bonnet and went through 
the garden, the truck-patch, the woods, in 
in search of him. 
She found him, after a long search, 
among the hay mows, lying on his face, 
his head covered with his arms. 
*‘Oh, John, what is it?” 
He would not answer for a while. Then 
he raised his head. “It’s my luck,” he said 
savagely, with an oath such as never crossed 
his lips before. “There will be a full yield 
©n George Harvey’s farm, and on mine—” 
“On yours!” breathlessly. 
“Not a drop. Now let me alone! I want 
no pity;” and he stalked away into the 
woods. 
But every cup, no matter how bitter, is 
drained at last. Months passed by, George 
Harvey received from the company a sum 
for his land which to his neighbor appeared 
a princely fortune. Derricks and mills 
were built. The oil poured out like water. 
A branch railroad was built from the city 
to the “Harvey Mills.” 
Harvey himself bade the village good-bye, 
and went to one of the eastern cities to 
live. Reports came back of his lavish 
extravagance, of Parisian clothes, of dia¬ 
monds, and blooded horses. 
“Harvey lives like ajarince,” people said 
to John Alden. “He does credit to his 
native town.” 
If there was no sarcastic emphasis on the 
pronoun meant, John fancied it. As for 
himself, he was in a morbid sullen despair 
for about a year. Nobody would buy his 
land, except for oil. It was an elephant on 
his bands. 
At last, being young and hopeful, and 
with Susy to urge him on, he determined 
to make use of his elephant. 
“What are you going to do, Jack?” 
queried Squire Peters. “Digging up your 
sheep walk ?” 
“Yes; berries,” was Jack’s crusty answer. 
Four years later Squire Peters was es¬ 
corting a Mr. Hudson, from the West, 
about the neighborhood. 
“Here is the famous ‘Harvey Mill,’” he 
said, “which ran out in three years, or but 
little more. Company broke up—terrible 
smash. The young fellow to whom the 
land belonged, too,—that was a worse 
wreck than one of mere capital. Very 
promising lad ; a little frothy, superficial, 
to be sure. But he shared the fate of many 
to whom the oil fever brought sudden 
fortune. Unexpected success seemed to go 
to his brain and made him heady. He took 
to extravagant dressing at first, then card 
playing, and at last the bottle. You may 
see him hanging round the tavern door, a 
poor, penniless sot.” 
They passed down the road, still talking 
of the lamentable effects of the oil specula¬ 
tion on the slow-going, steady farmers, 
when the stranger stopped suddenly. 
“Aha! This looks like enterprise! Whose 
work is this?” 
.“Now, that,” said the squire, striking 
his chin complacently, “that is a specimen 
of what a different stamp of a young man 
from poor George Harvey can do. A mis¬ 
erable stone patch of a hillside, which had 
the luck to belong to a young man named 
Alden. He had the idea of raising fine 
fruit;,bought the finest varieties of berries, 
spared no expense in manuring his ground 
or advertising his crops. Now, sir, he has 
doubled his land, and commands the mar¬ 
ket in the Western cities. Some men are 
born to an inheritance of luck.” 
“Or of common sense. Married?” 
“No. Lives with his sister, as nice a little 
girl as the country side would yield. But 
should not wonder if the young fellow 
would marry some of these days. There’s 
a certain young lady in the next town that 
any man might be proud to marry; but no 
matter about that. This piece of work before 
you is not the result of luck—as you see— 
but of downright labor and skill. And the 
whole town is benefited by the young man’s 
enterprise and success.” 
A Chinese Funeral in California. 
BY T. S. PRICE. 
A Chinese funeral is, at any time, a 
grand thing in California, and more espec¬ 
ially is this true if the deceased has been a 
person of rank, or a member of the Chi¬ 
nese Order of Masons. 
The writer, in company with three other 
members of the reportorial staff of the city 
