When he could stop laughing, he said: "You know, Rossiter, that I am always ready to lend my books to any one who will make good use of them and bring them back, but I always forget to whom I lend them.It happened, in this case, that I wanted that volume of Ruskin about a week ago; but when I went to the shelf for it, it was gone.I knew I must have lent it, but to whom I could not remember.During the past week, Ibegan to demand the book of every friend I met to whom I might have lent it.Of course, every one of them protested innocence; but at last I've struck the guilty man.I shall know, in future, how to find my missing books.The plan works beautifully."One evening, after supper, Mr.Beecher said to his wife:
"Mother, what material have we among our papers about our early Indiana days?"Mr.Beecher had long been importuned to write his autobiography, and he had decided to do it after he had finished his Life of Christ.
Mrs.Beecher had two boxes brought into the room.
"Suppose you look into that box, if you will," said Mr.Beecher to Edward, "and I'll take this one, and we'll see what we can find about that time.Mother, you supervise and see how we look on the floor."And Mr.Beecher sat down on the floor in front of one box, shoemaker-fashion, while Edward, likewise on the floor, started on the other box.
It was a dusty job, and the little room began to be filled with particles of dust which set Mrs.Beecher coughing.At last she said:
"I'll leave you two to finish.I have some things to do up-stairs, and then I'll retire.Don't be too late, Henry," she said.
It was one of those rare evenings for Mr.Beecher--absolutely free from interruption; and, with his memory constantly taken back to his early days, he continued in a reminiscent mood that was charmingly intimate to the boy.
"Found something?" he asked at one intermission when quiet had reigned longer than usual, and he saw Edward studying a huge pile of papers.
"No, sir," said the boy."Only a lot of papers about a suit.""What suit?" asked Mr.Beecher mechanically, with his head buried in his box.
"I don't know, sir," Edward replied naively, little knowing what he was reopening to the preacher."'Tilton versus Beecher' they are marked."Mr.Beecher said nothing, and after the boy had fingered the papers he chanced to look in the preacher's direction and found him watching him intently with a curiously serious look in his face.
"Must have been a big suit," commented the boy."Here's another pile of papers about it."Edward could not make out Mr.Beecher's steady look at him as he sat there on the floor mechanically playing with a paper in his hand.
"Yes," he finally said, "it was a big suit.What does it mean to you?"he asked suddenly.
"To me?" Edward asked."Nothing, sir.Why?"Mr.Beecher said nothing for a few moments, and turned to his box to examine some more papers.
Then the boy asked: "Was the Beecher in this suit you, Mr.Beecher?"Again was turned on him that serious, questioning look.
"Yes," he said after a bit.Then he thought again for a few moments and said: "How old were you in 1875?""Twelve," the boy replied.
"Twelve," he repeated."Twelve."
He turned again to his box and Edward to his.
"There doesn't seem to be anything more in this box," the boy said, "but more papers in that suit," and he began to put the papers back.
"What do you know about that 'suit,' as you call it?" asked Mr.Beecher, stopping in his work.
"Nothing," was the reply."I never heard of it.""Never heard of it?" he repeated, and he fastened that curious look upon Edward again.It was so compelling that it held the boy.For several moments they looked at each other.Neither spoke.
"That seems strange," he said, at last, as he renewed the search of his box."Never heard of it," he repeated almost to himself.
Then for fully five minutes not a word was spoken.
"But you will some day," said Mr.Beecher suddenly.
