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4 Levels of Analysis 107
The International System 110
Realism and the International System 110

GLOBAL PERSPECTIVES
THE INTERNATIONAL SYSTEM: A VIEW FROM CHINA 114

Liberalism and the International System 116

Constructivism and the International System 118
Change in the International System 119
The International System as a Level of Analysis: The Russia-
Ukraine Conflict 123

The State 124

International Relations Perspectives and the State 124
State Power 125
The State as a Level of Analysis: The Russia- Ukraine
Conflict 131

The Individual 132

International Relations Perspectives and the Individual 132
The Role of Elites 133
The Role of Mass Publics and Private Individuals 141
The Individual as a Level of Analysis: The Russia- Ukraine
Conflict 145

In Sum: Seeing the World through Different Levels of

Analysis 146

5 The State and the Tools of Statecraft 149

The State and the Nation 150

GLOBAL PERSPECTIVES
BECOMING A STATE: A VIEW FROM PALESTINE 154

Tools of Statecraft 157

The Art of Diplomacy 157
Economic Statecraft 160
The Use of Force 163

Models of Foreign Policy Decision Making 165

The Rational Model: The Realist Approach 165
The Bureaucratic/Organizational Model and the Pluralist Model:
The Liberal Approaches 167

CONTENTS \\ vii
 Constructivist Alternatives 170

Democracies, Autocracies, and Foreign Policy 172

Challenges to the State 173
Globalization 174
Transnational Religious and Ideological Movements 175
Ethnonational Movements 179
Transnational Crime 181
Fragile States 182

In Sum: The Centrality of States 183

6 War and Security 187

Military Security and War 189
What Is War? 190
Types of War 191
Interstate War 191
Intrastate War 193
Conventional War 195
Unconventional Warfare 196
Terrorism 198
Cyberwarfare 204

The Causes of War 206

Realist Interpretations of the Causes of War 207
Liberal Interpretations of the Causes of War 209
Constructivist Interpretations of the Causes of War 210

Preventing War and Managing State Security 212

Realist Approaches to Preventing War 212

GLOBAL PERSPECTIVES
GOING NUCLEAR: A VIEW FROM NORTH KOREA 214

Liberal Approaches to Preventing War 219

Constructivist Approaches to Preventing War 222

“Laws of War” and State Security 224

Jus ad Bellum 224
Jus in Bello 226
Cyberwarfare and Just War 228

In Sum: International and State Security Today 230

viii \\ CONTENTS
7 International Cooperation and
International Law 233
International Cooperation 235
Realism and the Cooperation Problem 235
Neoliberal Institutionalism and Cooperation 238
Other Liberal Explanations of Cooperation 241
Constructivism and Cooperation 244

International Law 246

Sources of International Law 247
Enforcement Mechanisms and State Compliance 250
Bodies of International Law 258

GLOBAL PERSPECTIVES
TRIANGULAR COOPERATION: A VIEW FROM COLOMBIA 264

In Sum: The Centrality of Cooperation 266

8 International Political Economy 269

The Evolution of the International Economy: Ideas and
Institutions 270
Economic Institutions 272

How the Globalized Economy Works Today 279

International Finance 279
International Monetary Policy 282
International Trade 283
International Development 295
Strategies to Achieve Economic Development 296
Is Development Being Achieved? Goals for the Next 15 Years 301

Economic Challenges in the Twenty- First Century 303

Crises of Economic Globalization 303

GLOBAL PERSPECTIVES
DEVELOPMENT: A VIEW FROM RWANDA 304

The Future of Economic Liberalism and Globalization: Crisis,

Continuity, or Reform? 310
Alternative Institutions: The Debate over Globalization
Continues 312
The View from Economic Theories 315

In Sum: From the Economy to Other Institutions

of Cooperation 316

CONTENTS \\ ix
 9 Intergovernmental Organizations and
Nongovernmental Organizations 319
Intergovernmental Organizations 320
The Creation of IGOs 320
The Roles of IGOs 323
The United Nations 324
The European Union— Organizing Regionally 340
Other Regional Organizations: The OAS, the AU, and the Arab
League 349

GLOBAL PERSPECTIVES
BREXIT: A VIEW FROM GREAT BRITAIN 350

Nongovernmental Organizations 353

The Growth of NGO Power and Influence 354
Functions and Roles of NGOs 355
The Power of NGOs 358
The Limits of NGOs 359

Do IGOs and NGOs Make a Difference? 360

The Realist View 360
The Liberal View 361
The Constructivist View 361

In Sum: IGOs and NGOs Respond to New Issues of the

Twenty- First Century 362

10 Human Rights 365

Religious, Philosophical, and Historical Foundations 367
Human Rights as Emerging International Responsibility 370
States as Protectors of Human Rights 374
State Tactics to Protect Human Rights 375

GLOBAL PERSPECTIVES
HUMAN RIGHTS AND HUMAN SECURITY: A VIEW FROM
CANADA 376

States as Abusers of Human Rights 378

The Role of the International Community— IGOs and NGOs 379

IGOs in Action 379
NGOs’ Unique Roles 381
Evaluating the Efforts of the International Community 383

x \\ CONTENTS
 Specific Human Rights Issues 384
The Problem of Genocide and Mass Atrocities 384

Women’s Rights as Human Rights: The Globalization of

Women’s Rights 390
The Debate over Humanitarian Intervention and R2P 394
Contending Perspectives on Responding to Human Rights
Abuses 397
In Sum: From Human Rights to Human Security 399

11 Human Security: Migration, Global Health,

and the Environment 401
Human Security in a Globalized and Transnational
World 403
Migration 403
Contending Perspectives on Migration 408

Health— Protecting Individuals in the Global Commons 409

Ebola, HIV/AIDS, and Noncommunicable Diseases as
Transnational Issues 411
Contending Perspectives on Health 416

The Environment— Protecting the Global Commons 417

Conceptual Perspectives 418
Pollution and Climate Change 419
Natural Resource Issues 425
Population Dynamics 427
Environmental NGOs in Action 431
Contending Perspectives on the Environment 432

GLOBAL PERSPECTIVES
THE ENVIRONMENT: A VIEW FROM INDONESIA 434

The Impact of Human Security Issues on International

Relations Practice and Theory 437
Will Transnational Issues Lead to Global Governance? 440
In Sum: Changing Your World 441

Notes N-1
Glossary G-1
Credits C-1
Index I-1

CONTENTS \\ xi
FIGURES, TABLES, AND MAPS

FIGURES
Figure 4.1 Levels of Analysis in International Relations 109

Figure 4.2 Polarity in the International System 112

Figure 4.3 Ingredients of State Power Potential 128

Figure 4.4 Personality Characteristics of Leaders 135

Figure 4.5 The Impact of Individual Elites 140

Figure 5.1 The Rational Model of Decision Making 167

Figure 5.2 The Bureaucratic/Organizational and Pluralist Models

of Decision Making 168
Figure 7.1 Sea Areas in International Law 262

Figure 8.1 The International Economic Institutions 276

Figure 11.1 Trend of Global Displacement and Proportion

Displaced, 1997–2016 405

Figure 11.2 Antiretroviral Therapy Coverage and Number of

AIDS- Related Deaths, Global, 2000–2015 414

Figure 11.3 Carbon Dioxide Emissions by Region 421

TABLES
Table 1.1 Contributions of Philosophers to International
Relations Theory 10

Table 1.2 Tools for Studying International Relations 16

Table 2.1 Important Events of the Cold War 47

Table 4.1 Psychological Mechanisms Used to Process

Information 138

Table 5.1 Instruments of Economic Statecraft 161

Table 5.2 Challenges to State Power 174

Table 6.1 Selected Terrorist Organizations 202

xiii
Table 7.1 Enforcement of International Law 251

Table 8.1 Human Development Index, 2016 297

Table 9.1 Principal Organs of the United Nations 327

Table 9.2 Traditional Peacekeeping Operations, Representative

Cases 331

Table 9.3 Complex/Multidimensional Peacekeeping Operations,

Representative Cases 332

Table 9.4 Representative International and Regional

Organizations 340

Table 9.5 Significant Events in the Development of the

European Union 344

Table 9.6 Principal Institutions of the European Union,

2017 345

Table 10.1 Selected UN Human Rights Conventions 372

MAPS
Africa xx

Asia xxi

The Middle East xxii

Europe xxiii

North America xxiv

Central and South America xxv

The World xxvi—xxvii

Europe, c. 1648 22

Europe, c. 1815 27

Extent of European control from the 1500s to the 1960s 30

Europe, c. 1914 35
Europe, showing alliances as of 1939 40

Europe during the Cold War 45

Kashmir, 2017 180

Maritime boundaries, East Asia 263

Expansion of European Union, 1952–2016 342

xiv \\ FIGURES, TABLES, AND MAPS

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Karen A. Mingst is Professor Emeritus at the Patterson School of Diplomacy and

International Commerce at the University of Kentucky. She holds a PhD in politi-
cal science from the University of Wisconsin. A specialist in international organi-
zation, international law, and international political economy, Professor Mingst
has conducted research in Western Europe, West Africa, and Yugoslavia. She is
the author or editor of seven books and numerous academic articles.

Heather Elko McKibben is an associate professor in the Department of Political

Science at the University of California, Davis. She has been at Davis since 2009,
after receiving her PhD from the University of Pittsburgh in 2008 and holding a
postdoctorate position in the Niehaus Center for Globalization and Governance at
Princeton University in the 2008–2009 academic year. In her research, Professor
McKibben is interested in understanding when, why and how different countries
negotiate with each other. When and why will countries come to the negotiating
table to resolve problems instead of resorting to more coercive measures? What
types of strategies do they use in those negotiations, and why do those strategies
differ from country to country and negotiation to negotiation? When and why
will countries be able to reach cooperative agreements, and what are the result-
ing agreements likely to look like? Examining international negotiations in a wide
variety of settings, Professor McKibben seeks to answer these types of questions.

Ivan M. Arreguín-Toft is Assistant Professor of International Relations at Boston

University, where he teaches introductory international relations, among other
courses. He holds a PhD in political science from the University of Chicago.
Professor Arreguín-Toft is a specialist in security studies, asymmetric conflict, and
cyber warfare. He was recently the recipient of a U.S. Fulbright grant to Norway.

xv
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PREFACE

Brief textbooks are now commonplace in International Relations. This textbook

was originally written to be not only smart and brief, but also—in the words of
Roby Harrington of W. W. Norton—to include “a clear sense of what’s essential
and what’s not.” While this book’s treatment of the essential concepts and informa-
tion has stood the test of time through seven editions, this edition includes more
substantial revisions.
The overall structure remains similar. Students need a brief history of interna-
tional relations to understand why we study the subject and how current scholarship
is informed by what has preceded it. Theories provide interpretative frameworks for
understanding what is happening in the world. The levels of analysis—the inter-
national system, the state, and the individual—are introduced and then expanded
in a chapter on the state and the tools of statecraft. Since conflict and cooperation
are the foundation of international relations, a chapter is devoted to each. Then
the other major issues of the day are examined from the international political
economy, to international and nongovernmental organizations, human rights, and
human security, namely migration, heath, and the environment.
This fully updated edition is enhanced by the addition of new material on the
challenges to globalization posed by populism; the discussion of the perspectives
using the 2014 and beyond Russia-Ukraine conflict; the introduction of cyberwar-
fare as a major type of war; the elaboration of international cooperation theory and
new examples drawn from international law; the introduction of basic economic
concept, including the role of the state and international monetary policy; the
implications of Brexit for the future of the European Union; the expanded notion
of human security with discussion on migration and refugees. As we add, so must
we subtract to preserve the “brief ” and “essential.” Radicalism is dropped from the
general theoretical discussions, but retained in the international political economy
chapter. Discussion of the individual level of analysis is abbreviated, as was sug-
gested by our valuable reviews.

xvii
 The rich pedagogical program of previous editions has been revised based on
suggestions from adopters and reviewers:
 Each chapter is introduced with a new story “ripped from the headlines,”
selected to help students apply the concepts discussed in the chapter to a
contemporary problem.
 The popular Global Perspectives features have been updated with new per-
spectives, including: Brexit—view from Great Britain; development—view
from Rwanda; going nuclear—view from North Korea; human rights—view
from Canada. This feature encourages students to consider a specific issue
from the vantage point of a particular state.
 End-of-chapter review materials include discussion questions and a list of
key terms from the chapter to help students remember, apply, and synthe-
size what they have learned.
 Theory in Brief boxes, In Focus boxes, and numerous maps, figures, and
tables appear throughout the text to summarize key ideas.

Many of these changes have been made at the suggestion of expert reviewers,
primarily faculty who have taught the book in the classroom. While it is impos-
sible to act on every suggestion (not all the critics themselves agree), we have
carefully studied the various recommendations and thank the reviewers for tak-
ing time to offer critiques. We thank the following reviewers for their input on
this new edition: Christopher J. Saladino, Virginia Commonwealth University;
Alexei Shevchenko, California State University, Fullerton; Charles W. Mahoney,
California State University, Long Beach; Mona Lyne, University of Missouri,
Kansas City; Joseph M. Brown, University of Massachusetts, Boston; Phil Kelly,
Emporia State University; Kelly M. Kadera, University of Iowa; John W. Dietrich,
Bryant University; Fabian Borges, California State University, San Bernardino,
and all those who provided feedback along the way.
Karen Mingst would like to offer a special thanks to Heather. It was a joy to
work together even though they did so mostly over the Internet. Heather provided
not only a “fresh eye” to the substance of the book, but also was quick to respond to
inquiries, filling in key gaps, always with aplomb.
In this edition as in the others, Karen Mingst owes special thanks to her hus-
band, Robert Stauffer. He has always provided both space and encouragement,
while questioning another book, another edition! Together we are enjoying a
new phase of life called retirement (or just old age). We continue to explore the
political and natural world together, as we have for 45 years. Our son Brett and

xviii \\ PREFACE
daughter-in-law Tara have given us Quintin, now five years old and Langley, one
year old. Quintin just received a globe so he can see where grandma and papa are.
Our daughter Ginger, an attorney, has found her own voice, while constantly try-
ing to provide technical support to her “slow” parents. We are thrilled that they all
continue to be a large part of our life even though we remain divided by the miles.
Heather Elko McKibben would like to thank Karen for inviting her to join the
incredible journey of working on this book. Most of all, she is thankful for Karen’s
trust in her ideas (some of which were new and different), allowing Heather to help
reshape the book that had been Karen’s own “baby” for so long. It has been a true
joy to work with her, and I look forward to continuing to do so. Thank you also
to Peter Lesser, who took notice of the ideas I had, and introduced me to Karen
to start this joint project together. Without Karen and Peter, my part in this story
would not exist.
Heather would also like to give special thanks to her husband, Scott McKibben.
Writing a book is always a team effort—not just among co-authors, but among
those supporting us behind the scenes as well. Without Scott’s patience and rein-
forcement, I would not have been able to pull this off. Thank you also to my par-
ents, who have always been there to support me and continue to be there, pushing
me to be the best I can in all things.
Special thanks to Ivan Arreguín-Toft for his important contributions to previ-
ous editions.
We have been fortunate to have several editors from W. W. Norton who have
shepherded various editions: Peter Lesser has been the calm point person on this
edition, taking a personal interest in making this new collaboration smooth and
seamless. He has kept us on task and time and offered his own keen eye for sub-
stantive ambiguity and awkward wording. He has done this with grace and tact
while at the same time welcoming a new member to his family and relearning the
necessity of sleep. Ann Shin, the editor of the first four editions, continues to offer
support, guidance, and enthusiasm. And Anna Olcott has expertly directed the
editorial process in an expeditious fashion. In short, many talented, professional,
and delightful people contributed to the making of this edition, which we feel is
the best so far. And for that, we remain always grateful.

PREFACE \\ xix
 TURKEY

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Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
She’d promise to try and remember; and would he like to hear all
about what a lovely, lovely time she had had? Did he know what
snow felt like? Had he ever ridden and ridden till he couldn’t see,
and been dumped into high banks and buried underneath the soft,
cold stuff, till he was nearly smothered, and got his stockings all wet,
and shouted till he couldn’t shout another shout? Had he? she cried.
“I suppose I have. Many, many years ago. But wet stockings? Have
you got such on your little feet?” he anxiously asked.
Then, though he shrank from contact with anything damp or cold,
fearing fresh pangs to himself, he drew off her shoe and felt the
moist but now hot, little foot within.
“Child, you’re crazy. Never go round like that. Run up to your
bathroom and take a hot bath. Then put on everything clean and
dry. Don’t you know better than to behave as you have done? Didn’t
your mother have sense”—
There he paused, arrested by the piteous look which came over his
guest’s bonny face.
“Never mind. Don’t cry. I couldn’t stand that. It’s bad enough to
have the gout, and a little girl in the house who doesn’t—won’t—
hasn’t changed her stocking—Oh! Ouch! Clear out, can’t you? My
foot, my foot!” he shouted.
Josephine might have echoed, “My throat! my throat!” but she
disdained any such outcry. Her lip curled in a fine scorn, and at sight
of the grimace he made she laughed outright. Laughed foolishly,
convulsively, began to cry, and with a little wail of “Mamma!
Mamma!” ran out of the room.
Old Peter followed, saw that her room was made warm, prepared
her bath, helped her to lay out clean, dry clothing, and left her, with
the consoling remark:
“Don’t you never mind Massa Joe when he’s gouty. Men-folks ain’t
done got the gumption little gells has to keep their mouth shut and
not groan. Groanin’ lets a powerful lot of bad temper outen gouty
people, missy, and don’t you mind, honey. Just you call on me for
what you’se needin’ and everything will all come right. Now fix
yourself up pretty and come laughin’ down the stairs, like you done
last night, and see what’ll happen.”
Josephine was comforted. The hot bath did make her feel all right,
and the pretty frock she had selected reminded her quite happily of
mamma and the days when she had sat sewing upon it. The very
tucks in its skirt seemed to bring that dear presence nearer, and she
reflected that they were absent from each other only till such time
as poor papa should get quite well. She appeared below, saying:
“Now I’m good, Uncle Joe. Forgive me for being bad. I’ll sing again if
you want me.”
“Of course I want you. Maybe I was a bit stern, too, little lady. I
hope this wretched pain will leave me by to-morrow, then I’ll be able
to think of something else besides that hateful foot.”
“Poor foot!” she exclaimed.
“Now sing, if you will.”
Josephine tried, but it was altogether another sort of voice which
essayed “Old Lang Syne” from that which had warbled it so sweetly
earlier in the day; so that she was promptly bidden to give over the
attempt, Mr. Smith adding:
“You’re as hoarse as a raven. A few more such rough plays with a
parcel of boys and your voice would be ruined. Then your mother
would never forgive me. I know enough about music to realize what
your singing is to her. Here. Take a book and read. By-and-by it will
be dinner time. Maybe the hot soup will soothe your throat.”
He directed her to a bookcase and a vellum-bound copy of “The
Pilgrim’s Progress;” observing with fresh pleasure that it was her
habit, not an accident of the previous evening, that she handled all
books daintily and with respect for them. Then he forgot her in his
own Review, and his foot grew easier as the afternoon wore on.
Josephine sat patiently poring over the familiar story, which she
could easily read in her own copy at home, but that seemed
different in this grand volume; and after a time the words began to
mix themselves up in a curious sort of jumble. She closed her eyes
the better to clear her vision, didn’t think to open them again, and
her head sank down upon the pictured page.
“Huh!” said Mr. Smith, at last laying aside his own magazine, and
regarding the sleeper across the table with some amusement. “Old
Bunyan’s a trifle heavy for that pretty head. I must hunt up some
lighter stuff. Grimm or Andersen, if I’ve such books in the library. If
not, I’ll send out after them. How lovely and innocent she looks, and
how red her cheeks are. Her whole face is red, even, and— Peter!”
“Yes, Massa Joe. Yes, suh,” answered the butler.
“Doesn’t that child seem a bit feverish? Do you know anything about
children, Peter?” asked “Uncle Joe.”
“Mighty little, I’se afraid, suh.”
“Well, sleep can’t hurt anybody. Carry her upstairs and lay her on
her bed. Cover her warm, and probably she’ll be all right afterward.
She mustn’t get sick. She must not dare to get sick on my hands,
Peter!”
“No, Massa Joe. No, suh. She dastn’t,” said the negro, quickly.
Peter lifted the little girl as tenderly as a woman, and carried her off
to rest. She did not rouse at all, but her head dropped heavily on the
pillow as if her neck were too slender to support it, and her breath
came with a strange whistling sound.
The old negro laid his hand upon her temples and found them hot.
Though he knew little about children, he did know that cold water
was good in such a case, so dipped a towel and folded it across her
head. The application seemed to soothe her, for her features became
more natural, and, after a time, as she appeared to be resting well
enough, he stole cautiously from the room and went about his
business. Though his interest was now wholly with Josephine, he
dared not neglect his duties below stairs, and knew that, as usual
when he was ill, Mr. Smith would expect the best of dinners that
evening. It had been so stormy early in the day that he had not
attended to his marketing, and must now make haste to repair the
delay. Apollo was apt to lay the blame on the butler, if things failed
to turn out as desired, and there was need for haste if the roast beef
were to be secured of the cut preferred.
“I’ll just fetch a posy for the little lady, I will. If market’s over they’s
plenty them flower-stores, and maybe it’ll make her forget all her
lonesomeness. Poor little missy! What the Lord done sent to bless
this great, empty house. Nothing mustn’t happen to hurt her,
nothing mustn’t. No, suh,” reflected the good old man.
When Peter returned from his marketing Josephine was still asleep.
He did not disturb her, though he listened anxiously to her hoarse
breathing and carefully replaced the damp towel which her
restlessness had tossed aside. He also laid the bunch of carnations
on the coverlet beside her and cautiously retreated to the hall,
where he kept as close a watch upon her as he could find time to
give.
“Dinner is served, Massa Joe,” he announced, when its hour arrived.
“Is Miss Josephine ready?” asked the host.
“She done sleepin’ mighty comf’table, suh,” protested Peter.
“Seems to me I’ve read somewhere that children should sleep half
the time. Is that so, Peter?”
“Certainly, suh, I reckon likely ’tis,” replied the other, willing to agree.
“Then don’t wake her. You—you may have a little dinner put back for
her,” said “Uncle Joe,” with some hesitation.
The butler stared at this unheard-of condescension, but answered
after his common formula. Yet the plate of food he so carefully
prepared and set in the hot-water dish to keep warm for her was
destined never to be eaten.
 CHAPTER IX.
NEIGHBORLY AMENITIES.

Mrs. Merriman’s bell rang violently once, twice, and the lady laid aside
her book, exclaiming:
“Who can that be, so late as this? Half-past nine, and almost
bedtime. Run, Michael. Though I thought you’d gone upstairs before
now. It takes the maid so long to answer. There it is again. Hurry.
Dear, dear! I hope it isn’t a telegram.”
“I’m going, Mary,” called the lad to the maid, as he rushed to the
door.
Peter stood outside, bareheaded and looking almost white in his
terror.
“For mercy’s sake, Massa Michael, is there a woman in this house?”
“Of course. Lots of them. Grandmother, Mary, waitress, Samanda—
Why?”
“Our little Miss Josephine. I reckon she’ll die.”
“Die, Peter? That little girl? What’s the matter?” cried Michael.
“Goodness knows, I don’t. She can’t hardly breathe, she can’t.
Massa Joe’s sent for his doctor and his doctor he’s out, and we don’t
have no faith in them others round the square, and—Will some of
your women please just step in and take a look at our poor little
missy?”
Michael darted back into the sitting-room, exclaiming:
“Grandma, that little girl next door is awful sick. Peter’s frightened
most to death himself. He wants some of our women to go in there
and help them.”
“Our women! Of what use would they be, either of them? I’ll go
myself. Ring for Mary, please,” said the old lady, rising.
The maid appeared, and was directed to bring:
“My shawl and scarf, Mary. I’m going in next door to see a sick child.
You stay right here in the hall and keep the latch up, so that there’ll
be no delay if I send in for you or anything needed. Yes, Michael,
you may go with me to help me up and down the steps, though you
ought to be in bed. Yet come. It must be something serious for Mr.
Smith to thus far forego his reserve.”
Uncle Joe was waiting at the head of the stairs as Mrs. Merriman
ascended them, with that activity upon which she prided herself, and
asked:
“Are you in trouble, neighbor? What is it?”
“The little girl. I don’t know whose even. Came to me, an express
‘parcel,’ and I haven’t traced the blunder, found the right—no matter.
This way, please. I’ll explain later.”
There was no trace of the gout left in the gentleman’s movements as
he preceded his neighbor to Josephine’s room, where the child lay
gasping, feverish, and clutching at her own throat in an agony of
terror.
One glance, and Mrs. Merriman’s shawl was tossed aside, and she
had lifted the little sufferer in her arms, observing:
“Not even undressed! How long has she been like this?”
“For several hours, Peter says, but growing steadily worse. I’ve sent
for the doctor, but he hasn’t come. He”—
She interrupted him with:
“Send for another. The nearest possible. It’s croup. Short and quick,
usually. Michael, run in for Mary. Now, Peter, heat some blankets.
Find me her night-clothes. Warm that bed. A foot-tub of hot water.
Any oil in the house? Epicac? Any other household remedies?”
“There’s the medicine for the gout, madam,” suggested Mr. Smith.
“Oh, bother the gout. That’s nothing. This is—serious. There, Mary,
lend a hand. Michael, run for Doctor Wilson. Hurry. If you can’t find
him, then the next one. There are seven of them around this square,
perched like vultures, seeking whom they may devour. As a rule, I
ignore the whole crowd, but I’m thinking of this little one’s mother
now. Hurry, lad,” directed Mrs. Merriman.
Mr. Smith stood silent, helpless, and admiring. This was a
gentlewoman of the old school, such as he remembered his own
mother to have been, who was not afraid to use her own hands in
ministering to the suffering and who wasted no time in questions.
Every movement of her wrinkled but still firm fingers meant some
solace to the little child, whose brown eyes roamed from one to
another with a silent, pitiful appeal. In a twinkling, it seemed,
Josephine was undressed, reclothed in soft, warm garments, her
chest anointed with the relaxing oil, and a swallow of hot milk forced
between her lips. Then Michael was dispatched to the nearest drug
store and brought back a dose of the old-fashioned remedy Mrs.
Merriman had used for her own little children. But she had hardly
time to administer it before one of the physicians summoned had
appeared, and to him she promptly resigned the direction of affairs.
His first order was that Mr. Smith should go below to his own
comfortable library and remain quiet, adding:
“I’ll report as soon as your child is better, sir.”
“She isn’t my child, doctor, but do you care for her as if she were.
Spare no expense. She must not, she must not die upon my hands.
I’d no right to retain her as long as I have, but—but— Don’t let her
die, doctor, and you’ll save me from everlasting remorse.”
“Go below, Mr. Smith. Peter, attend your master. There are enough
of us here, and this little lady will soon be all right. It’s croup only,
and— What has she been eating lately?”
“What has she not? How can I tell? But one thing I know, she ate no
dinner to-night,” answered the host.
“So much the better. Now, Mr. Smith”—a wave of the hand in the
direction of the doorway suggested that the master of the house
was banished from the sickroom.
Daylight was breaking when at last the doctor led Mrs. Merriman
down the stairs and to her own home, leaving Mary and Peter on
watch, and promising a speedy return, with the assurance that all
danger was now past. At the door of the library the old lady paused
and looked in. Mr. Smith still sat erect in his chair, and seemed as
wide awake as she was drowsy, and she advised him:
“Go to bed, neighbor. The little one is all right again. We’ve had a
tussle for it, but she’s pulled through. Go to bed and get some rest.
I’m really sorry for you that this uninvited trouble has come upon
you, and will help you share it, so far as I may. But, doubtless, we’ll
all see why it was allowed, before we’ve done with it.”
He returned, gallantly enough:
“For one reason, it may be, madam, to render me more just and
tolerant to my neighbors. You have laid me under great”—
But she checked him, saying:
“Beg pardon, under nothing at all. It was the little child for whom I
came, and if I have served you, too, why so much the better. Good
morning.”
She went at once, leaving him to reflect:
“To go to bed at daylight! When ever did I such a thing? But I will.
Though I wonder if I am quite right in my mind. The idea of one
small child upsetting two such households, all for the sake of a sled-
ride! Hmm. Hmm. Peter! Here, Peter. I’m for bed at breakfast time!
After an hour or two of rest I’ll set about finding that mislaid Joseph
Smith and hand over to him this little-too-absorbing responsibility.
Thank God, boy, that she did not die.”
“Aye, Massa Joe. I’se been a-thinkin’ of him the whole endurin’
night. Powerful queer, ain’t it? Just such a little speck of while, and
now seems if that little missy worth more to old Peter than the
whole universe. Yes, suh, the whole universe!”
“Much you know about the universe, boy. There, there! Take care
that foot. If you set it aching again—Ouch!”
It was not one but many hours that Mr. Smith slept, worn out by his
late physical suffering and his anxiety of the last night. When he
woke his first inquiry was for Josephine.
“Laws, Massa Joe, it’s just wonderful. That child seems if nothing
ever ailed her. The doctor done been here again and told what to
give her for breakfast. She eat it like she was ’most starved, the little
lamb. Now she’s sleepin’ again, the beautifullest ever was. I ’xpect
’twas that sleddin’ round the square done fetched it on. Next time”—
“Hush, boy. Don’t count on any ‘next time’ for her here. I must hunt
up that other Joseph Smith and hand her over to him forthwith,” said
the master.
Peter’s heart sank. How could they ever endure that great house
now with this little child gone out of it? Well, there was one thing
which nobody could prevent—his wishing that the “other Joseph”
might never be found!
After Mr. Smith had eaten he paid a flying visit to the little one’s
room, gazed at her now peaceful, if pale face, and stole downstairs
again with softened tread. He limped but slightly, and made a critical
survey of himself before he issued from the great hall into the street.
“If you’s going down town, Massa Joe, like enough you better have a
cab. ’Counten your foot,” suggested Peter.
“You may ’phone for one, boy. No. Stay. I’ll not baby myself thus far.
The air is warm as summer, almost, and the streets cleared. I’ll take
a car; but—Shut that door, Peter. I don’t need you further. If
anything happens to Miss Josephine, or any news comes concerning
her, send me word at once. Shut that door, can’t you?” he finished
testily.
“Certainly, suh;” yet good Peter left it a crack ajar, the better to
watch his master, whose actions somehow suggested a different
order of things from usual. He saw Mr. Smith descend his own and
ascend Mrs. Merriman’s stoop, and threw up his hands in dismay,
exclaiming:
“For goodness! I do hope Massa Joe ain’t done gone rake up all that
old line-fence trouble, just after her bein’ so good to our little missy.
What if ’tis five inches on our ground, and she claimin’ it’s just so far
’tother way, and the lawyers argifying the money outen both their
pockets, this ain’t no time for to go hatchin’ fresh miseries. And I
never, not once, all these dozen years seen Massa Joe go a callin’
and a visitin’ nobody, not for just pure visit. Whenever he has, ’twas
’cause there was some sort of business tacked on to the end of it
somehow. Huh! I never done looked for this, I didn’t.”
Neither had the lady expected the call which was made upon her.
But she greeted her guest with a friendly courtesy that made him all
the more remorseful for the legal difficulties he had placed in her
way in the past, and quite ready to offer his apologies for the same
at a fitting opportunity. At present his visit was to express his
gratitude for her services to Josephine, and to ask her advice.
“My advice, Mr. Smith? I am the last person in the world to advise so
capable a person as yourself. My opinion you’re most welcome to, if
you explain what I should express it about,” she returned.
“The little girl, Josephine;” and he told all he knew and had thought
concerning her; finishing with the words, “I have so little information
to go upon.”
She promptly inquired:
“Beg pardon, but have you gone upon what little you do possess?”
“Madam?” he asked.
“I mean, have you really set about finding this mislaid uncle as if
your heart was in it?” she explained.
“I haven’t hurried. I deputized my business man to look the thing
up, but—I don’t deny that I wish the other rightful Joseph Smith
might be found to have left the country,” he answered.
“Even despite the anxiety Josephine has caused you?”
“Yes, madam. I mean to be honest. I hate to set detectives on the
task, yet I will. But meanwhile, until the child’s relatives are found,
what shall I do with her? Can you direct me to a capable woman
who will engage to look after her welfare for the few days I may
need her?”
Mrs. Merriman looked at him critically, with a twinkle gleaming in her
eye. An audacious thought had come to her, yet a thought so full of
possibilities for good—and, maybe, ill—that she decided to act upon
it, and quietly replied:
“Yes, Mr. Smith, I think I do know just the right woman. She has
lately returned from a winter in California, where she has been
nursing an invalid back to health. She is a trained nurse and was
with me last year, during my long illness. I received her card recently
saying that she would be in this city about now. Indeed, she must
have left Southern California at about the same time as your little
ward, though she was to delay a day or so at Chicago. I will send to
inquire if she is at home, at her boarding-house, if you desire.”
He assented, adding:
“I should be very grateful. I trust I may be able to prove later on
that I am not unappreciative of all your goodness.”
“Don’t mention it. Good morning. I will write the note immediately,
and until some person is regularly established in your house to look
after little Josephine, I will step in there now and then, myself, to
see that all is right.”
They parted most amicably, and the first action of Mr. Smith, upon
reaching his office, was to send for his lawyer and tell him that he
had abandoned the question of line-fences entirely; that Mrs.
Merriman should be notified that all claim to the “insignificant strip
of land midway their respective side-yards was hereby and forever
relinquished, with no costs to herself.”
Her own proceeding was the writing of a note to her friend, the
nurse, and so imperative was the summons it contained that the
lady answered in person, although not yet sufficiently rested from
the fatigue of a long journey and her previous engagement to desire
another so promptly.
As for Josephine, after a morning of dreamless, health-restoring
sleep, she woke to find a familiar figure sitting by her bedside,
smiling affectionately upon her. A brief, puzzled glance, a rubbing of
the brown eyes to make sure they saw aright, and the child sprang
out of bed, into the woman’s arms crying:
“Oh, Red Kimono! You dear, kind, Mrs. Red Kimono, where did you
come from?”
 CHAPTER X.
TOM, DICK, HARRY, AND THE BABY.

For the next week Mr. Smith was untiring in his efforts to find the
missing Joseph Smith, his namesake. Telegrams sped back and forth
between Baltimore and San Diego, with the result that the only
information gained was: on the very day, or the next following that,
on which Mrs. John Smith sailed from San Diego for Santiago de
Chile, Doctor Alexander MacDonald, otherwise known as “Doctor
Mack,” had departed for the Philippines. No person at their recent
home knew anything further concerning these two persons, and
owing to their long journeys all communication with them was for
the present impossible.
The seventy-five Joseph Smiths residing in or around Baltimore had
all been unearthed, so to speak, without finding one who in any
particular beyond the name resembled the desired one. Not one was
anybody’s twin, not one happened to have had any relative in either
San Diego or Santiago, and not one welcomed the thought of
receiving a strange child into his household.
One Joseph Smith had, indeed, been found to have lately resided at
1000 Bismarck Street and this confusion of street and avenue
explained to Uncle Joe’s mind the whole curious, yet simple blunder.
This Bismarck-Street Joseph Smith was, doubtless, the right one;
but, also, he was the only one of the seventy-five who could not now
be located! He had disappeared as completely as if the earth had
swallowed him, and Josephine’s present guardian rested his efforts;
merely causing an advertisement to be inserted in each of the daily
papers to the effect that the person answering it might hear of
something to his advantage by calling at the newspaper office and
leaving his address for the advertiser, “S.”
Nobody called. Matters dropped into a comfortable routine. Uncle
Joe was disturbed at finding the name of the trained nurse was also
Smith, and to prevent unpleasant complications, requested that he
might call her as the little girl did, “Mrs. Red Kimono,” or, more
briefly, “Miss Kimono,” she having set him right as to her maidenly
condition.
She readily and smilingly agreed to this, and, reporting the matter to
Mrs. Merriman, laughed so heartily over it, that that lady
remonstrated, saying:
“Dear Miss Desire, it’s outrageous. Under the circumstances I would
never permit it. The idea! He excludes you from table with himself
and the little girl, does he not? For so Michael tells me.”
“Yes. Not, I fancy, from arrogance, but merely from force of habit.
He dislikes women, utterly and sincerely. Or he thinks he does. But
Josephine has won his whole heart for childhood, and he likes her to
be with him as constantly as possible. From what the servants tell
me, she has wrought a complete transformation in the household.
And she is so lovely, so winning, that eventually she’ll bring
everything right. I don’t mind the table business; the main thing is
that I am in his house, tolerated there, and determined, if the time
is not too short, to prove to him that blood is thicker than water, and
that, just though he thinks himself, he has been wholly unjust in his
treatment of others. Oh, I don’t object to the situation. I get lots of
quiet fun out of it, and haven’t felt so happy in a long time. I’ve even
lost all bitterness against him, poor, solitary, prejudice-bound old
man,” returned the nurse.
“Well, may I be there to see when the revelation is at last made!
Though I prophesy that his behavior in the matter will be as
straightforward as it was about the line-fence. Think! We squabbled
over it like a couple of silly children, for years and years. I can’t
understand now how I could ever have been so absurd. Must you
go? Well, then, since your employer wishes you to take little
Josephine down town to get that Rudanthy a head, suppose you
both go with me in my carriage? I will call for you at three o’clock.”
Miss Kimono thanked her friend and departed; and that same
afternoon the unhappy doll’s ruined countenance was replaced by
one so beautiful that it almost consoled Josephine for the loss of the
more familiar face.
That very day, too, away out in a suburban village, where rents were
cheap and needs few, three little lads sat on a bare floor,
surrounding a baby, who rejoiced in the high-sounding name of
Penelope, but rejoiced in very little else. Even now she was crying
for her dinner, and each of the “triplets,” as they were called by the
neighbors, was doing his utmost to console her. In reality they were
not triplets, though the eldest were twins, and their names were
those so objectionable in Uncle Joe’s ears, Tom, Dick, and Harry.
“Here, Penel! You may play with my pin-wheel!” cried the latter.
“No, Harry, she must not. She’ll swallow it. The pin’ll scratch her
insides. She swallows everything, Penelope does. And you mustn’t
say just ‘Penel.’ Mother doesn’t like that. She says it’s a beautiful
name and mustn’t be spoiled.”
“Oh, Tom, you’re always a c’recting a fellow. Well, if she can’t have
my pin-wheel, what shall I give her to make her shut up?”
“Maybe I can find something in mother’s cupboard, maybe,”
answered Harry.
The tone was doubtful, but the suggestion cheering, and with one
accord the triplets left the baby to its fate and betook themselves to
the rear room where they ransacked a small pantry, only to find their
search rewarded by nothing more palatable than a stale loaf of
bread and a few raw potatoes.
“She can’t eat taters, and she can’t eat this bread, ’ithout it’s
softened. And there isn’t any milk,” said Dick, despondingly. “I don’t
see why we don’t have things like we used to have. I don’t know
what made my folks move ’way out here to nowhere, anyway. I was
just going to get a new ’rithmetic to my school, and now, I—I hate
this.”
“No, you don’t hate it, Dicky. Not always. You’re hungry, that’s all,”
said the more thoughtful Tom.
“Well, so are you!” retorted Dick, resenting the statement as if it
were an implication of guilt.
“If you can’t get milk, water must do,” answered Tom, taking the loaf
from his brother’s hand and carefully breaking off a portion of it, to
moisten it under the spigot.
The others watched him with keen interest, and Harry inquired:
“Do you s’pose I could have just a little bit, Tom?”
“No, I don’t s’pose anything like it. You aren’t a baby, are you? Only
babies eat when ’tisn’t dinner time, now.”
“Once I used to eat when ’twasn’t dinner. Once I did,” answered the
little boy, with something like a quiver of the lip.
“Does our father or our mother eat ’tween meals, Harry Smith?”
demanded Tom, indignantly.
“No. Come on. If we can’t have bread let’s play hop-toad.”
“All right. After I’ve set Penelope up against the wall so’s we shan’t
knock her over,” answered the brother.
The little maid was soon propped securely across an angle of the
whitewashed wall, with a chair before her to keep her from creeping
forward into danger, and the small triplets were soon leaping over
one another’s backs, around and around the room. Fortunately,
there was little furniture to obstruct their movements and therefore
little danger of hurting themselves; and though the exercise tended
to increase their always-present hunger, that was nothing new.
“A fellow can have a good time even if he doesn’t have a good
dinner,” was their father’s assertion; and to them father was an
oracle.
While the fun was at its height there came a knock on the little
street door. The house was but the tiniest of cottages, and its floor
raised but slightly above the street. Its door hung loosely from its
upper hinge and dragged so heavily in closing that it was commonly
left ajar. No landlord cared to fix it up for such poor tenants as now
occupied the property, and they had not done it for him. So that
when his knock was unanswered, because unheard, the visitor
calmly entered, followed the noise, and presented himself before the
gaze of the astonished, suddenly quieted lads.
“Hello, youngsters, hard at it?” demanded the stranger, playfully.
“Hop-toad, leap-frog; having frolics,” answered Harry, boldly, while
his brothers, the twins, clung together and looked anxiously at the
man.
“Nice game. Used to play it myself, when I was a little shaver. Don’t
know but I might be persuaded to try it again, if I was invited,” said
the unknown visitor.
None of the trio responded to this suggestion, nor was the game
resumed. The three children stood utterly silent, regarding the
gentleman with the intensely critical gaze of childhood which
pretence finds so disconcerting. The stranger felt as if six gimlets
were boring their way through his outward amiability to the vexation
beneath; a vexation that he had allowed himself to come so far out
of his way to find a man who could not possibly reside in such a
hovel. None the less, since here he was he would ask a question or
two for the satisfaction of it, and put the first one, thus:
“Say, youngsters, what’s your name?”
“Tom, Dick, and Harry. That’s me,” answered the latter, placing his
arms akimbo, the better to stare at the questioner, it seemed.
“The mischief! Saucy, aren’t you!” rejoined the newcomer.
“And the baby. That’s Penelope,” added Tom, with his usual precise
gravity.
“Tom, Dick, and Harry, and the baby; a hopeful lot of you. All right.
So much for first names, though I don’t believe they’re genuine.
Give us the last name and be quick about it,” ordered this odd man.
“Our name is Smith. That’s our father’s name and our mother’s.
Why? Do they owe you something? ’Cause if they do, I wish, I wish
you’d please go away, quick as a wink, and not let them know you’ve
been here. My father can’t help it. He—something got wrong with
the business, and I’ve heard them talk lots of times. They”—
explained Tom.
Just there it occurred to the little fellow that he was discussing
family affairs too freely with a stranger, and instinct made him
pause.
“Well, ‘they’ what? Is his name Joseph? Joseph Smith? Has he a
brother who is a twin?” asked the stranger.
Tom considered, there seemed no harm in answering these
questions.
“Yes, his name is Joseph. He has a brother who is a twin, same as
me and Dick.”
Then there ensued the following dialogue, begun by the visitor with
the next question:
“Where does this uncle of yours live?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t know? Haven’t you ever seen him?”
“No. Never.”
“Where’s your father?”
“Out looking for work. Maybe he’ll get it to-day, maybe.”
The wistfulness of the childish voice told its own story, and even Mr.
Wakeman’s heart was touched by it. He was compelled to say:
“Likely he will, chappie. Likely enough he will. And your mother? I
suppose you have a mother?”
“Course. The nicest mother there is.”
“Does she happen to be at home?”
Tom’s gaze flew past the questioner toward a little woman who had
entered unperceived, and who was closely followed by a handsome
man with a mien as bright and undaunted as if he were not
evidently half-starved and poor in the extreme. With the gentlest of
movements he placed himself between the lady and the stranger, as
if to ward off from her any fresh misfortune.
“Your errand, Mr.”—
“Wakeman. My name is Wakeman. Since you didn’t answer our
advertisement I looked you up, myself. I represent Joseph Smith, of
the Stock Exchange.”
“Ah!” The ejaculation spoke volumes.
 CHAPTER XI.
THE DISPOSAL OF THE PARCEL.

In that little word “Ah!” were expressed hope, relief, eagerness, and
gratitude. The name was that of a well-known financier; one who
had the power of dispensing good or ill to hundreds of other men. It
could not forebode ill to the master of this insignificant home, since
he was no debtor to it; therefore it must denote some blessing. A
situation, the chance to earn a living for these precious ones whom
his failure and his honesty had impoverished. For the first time, at
the relief of this fancy, tears leaped to the bright, clear eyes of this
new Joseph Smith, and unconsciously, it seemed, he clasped his
wife’s thin waist with his strong arm.
“Cheer for us, Kitty, girl. Doubtless this other Joseph Smith needs an
accountant and has heard of my skill that way. I was an expert, sir,
before I went into business for myself and failed, attempting a
commercial line I did not understand,” explained the man, yet losing
his own courage as the explanation went on. He had boasted thus of
his reputation the better to comfort his wife, but he read no
encouragement in the countenance of Mr. Wakeman, which grew
more forbidding each instant.
“Do not mistake, Mr. Smith. My errand is not of the sort which you
appear to expect. My employer—I am myself an expert accountant,
and the only one necessary to our business—my employer does not
know of my present visit. Some days ago he entrusted a private bit
of detective work to me, and I have now, I think, brought it to a
finish. Why, however, may I ask, did you not reply to our
advertisement?”
“I have seen none. This,” waving his hand around the bare
apartment, “is hardly the place where the luxury of newspapers may
be looked for. What was the advertisement, if you please?”
Mr. Wakeman explained. Explained, added, itemized, and diffused
himself all over the argument, so to speak, while the faces of his
audience grew more and more tense and disturbed. At length he
finished:
“That is the way it stands, sir, you see. Your brother John consigned
this child to my employer, through a mistake in the address. Simply
that. Now an old gentleman and—feeble, I may say”— Oh! if Uncle
Joe could have heard him! “A feeble old man is not the one to be
burdened with other folks’ relations. When I go back to town, now,
I’ll be able to report that the missing uncle of this waif has been
found at last, and that—Shall I say when you will call to reclaim
her?”
Father and mother looked into each other’s eyes, one questioning
the other, and reading in each but the same answer. Then said
Joseph Smith, rightful uncle of our Josephine:
“Spare yourself the trouble, Mr. Wakeman. My brother’s child is our
child, as dear and near. Alas, that I can offer her no better shelter!
but it is a safe one and will be more comfortable. I shall soon get a
situation; I must soon get one. It is impossible that skill shall go
forever unrecognized. In any case the little Josephine must come
home to us. Eh, Kitty, girl?”
She answered him valiantly, seeing through his unusual
boastfulness, who was commonly so modest of his own attainments,
and smiling back upon him with the same undaunted courage he
brought to their changed life. It was taking bread from her own
children’s mouths to do what now she did, yet her step never
faltered as she walked across to the little cupboard and took from
some hidden nook, known only to herself, their last quarter dollar.
This she gave to her husband, saying cheerily:
“If you go at once, Joe, you may be home again in time for dinner.
I’d like to be prompt with it for I’ve secured a dress to make for a
woman in the neighborhood and can begin it to-night. Besides, I’m
all impatience to see this little Josephine. Think of it, dear, the child
who was named for you. How little we dreamed she was right here
in our own Baltimore all this time. Go, dear, at once.”
With something like a groan the man caught the brave little creature
in his arms, and was not ashamed to kiss her then and there before
this staring stranger who had brought them this news. Ill or good,
which would it prove? Then he put on his hat and went directly
away.
Mr. Wakeman followed more slowly. He did not feel as much elated
over his success as an amateur detective as he fancied he should
feel. He was thinking of many things. Suppose this fellow, who was
so down on his luck, this other unknown, insignificant Joseph Smith,
should happen to take the fancy of the great Joseph Smith, of whom
the world of business stood in such awe, and that magnate should
happen to employ him on certain little matters of his own? Suppose
those inquiries were directed toward his, Mr. Wakeman’s, own
accounts, what would follow? Who could tell? Hmm! Yes, indeed. To
prevent any such “happenings” that might prove unpleasant, it
would be as well to make a little detour around by the office, even
though it was after office hours and business all done for that day.
In any case the new-found Uncle Joe, the real article, was now en
route for 1000 Bismarck Avenue, and it wouldn’t take two to tell the
same story. Mr. Wakeman hoped the story would be told, and that
child which had caused him so much trouble well out of the way
before he again met his master. Then would be quite time enough to
look for a reward, such as was due from a multi-millionaire to his
trusted and effective man of affairs.
Pondering thus, Mr. Wakeman rode back to town in a livery hack,
while the impecunious uncle of the little Californian rode thither in a
democratic street car. The faster the car sped the more impatient the
improvident young man became. He wondered if his twin’s little
daughter could be half as pretty and interesting as his own small
people. He was glad he had never once written John or Helen
anything about his business troubles. They supposed him to be
doing uncommonly well and living in comfort, if not in luxury. Well, if
this young Josephine were of the same good stock as her father a
little poverty and privation in her youth wouldn’t hurt her; and
where, search the wide world over, could any child find a sweeter,
better foster-mother than his own Kitty?
When he arrived at Bismarck Avenue, things were already happening
there which were out of the ordinary, to say the least. Among the
day’s mail had come several letters to one Miss Desire Parkinson
Smith, care of Mr. Joseph Smith. These letters had been handed to
the master along with his own, and had caused him surprise
amounting almost to consternation.
“Desire Parkinson! Desire Parkinson! And Smith! The combination is
remarkable, if nothing more, Peter,” he exclaimed.
“Yes, suh, Massa Joe. Yes, suh,” returned the also startled negro.
“Do you see these letters?” asked the master.
“Yes, sir,” said the butler.
“Notice the superscription. Ever been any others with the same?”
“Yes, suh, heaps. Most all of them comes to Miss Kimono. Though
some is just plain Miss Smith.”
“Hmm! Hmm! This is—this is—disturbing,” admitted Mr. Smith.
Uncle Joe dropped into deep thought and sat so long in profound
quiet that Josephine, playing on the carpet near by, folded her hands
and watched him anxiously. She had grown to love his stern old
face, that was never stern to her, with all the fervor of her
affectionate heart; and presently she could not refrain from tiptoeing
to him and laying her soft fingers tentatively upon his arm. He
looked up at her, smiled, and murmured, more to himself than to
her:
“Strange, strange. I’ve noticed something, a familiar trick of manner,
something unforgotten from boyhood, Aunt Sophronia— Little
Josephine, where is your—your nurse?”
“In the sitting-room with Mrs. Merriman, Uncle Joe. Shall I call her?”
she answered.
“If you will, dear. I’d like to speak with her a moment,” said he.
The ladies were deep in the intricacies of a new lace pattern, and
though Miss Kimono rose obediently to the summons Josephine
delivered, Mrs. Merriman for once forgot the requirements of
etiquette and followed without invitation. But Mr. Smith was now too
excited to notice this, and so it happened that one of the old
gentlewoman’s wishes was gratified without anybody’s connivance.
“May I be there to see,” she had said, and here she was.
“Miss Smith, what is your Christian name?” demanded the master of
the house.
“Desire Parkinson, Mr. Smith,” glancing toward the letters lying on his
table, replied the nurse. They flung their brief remarks at each other,
as though they were tossing balls, thus:
He: “That is an uncommon name, Miss—Smith.”
She: “As uncommon, I suppose, as our mutual surname is common.”
He: “Were you named for anybody in especial?”
She: “For a very dear lady in especial. For my mother’s twin sister.”
He: “She was a Parkinson?”
She: “She was a Parkinson.”
He: “She married a Smith?”
She: “She married a Smith, of Virginia. So did my mother another
Smith, of another State. The world is full of them, Mr. Smith. We
shall never be lonely because of a dearth of our patronymic.” The
lady was smiling in great amusement, and, it is possible, the
amusement was tinctured by a spice of malice.
He: “What was your mother’s Christian name, if I may ask?”
She: “Surely you may ask, and I will answer to the best of my ability.
Her name was Sophronia.”
He: “Then you and I are—are”—
She: “Bear up, Mr. Smith, we are first cousins.”
He: “You—you knew this before?”
She: “I’ve known it ever since our branch of the family began fighting
you to recover their portion of the old family estates in—Virginia!”
The excitement of the moment, so long anticipated by her and
undreamed of by him, was tinging her cheeks with a little color
which made her, for the time being, nearly as handsome as he was
and that brought out with distinctness a strong family likeness. This
resemblance was swiftly detected by little Josephine, who caught a
hand of each exclaiming:
“Why, you’re just the same as one another, my darling Kimono and
my precious Uncle Joe! We’re all folks together? We’re all the same
Smith folks together!”
Upon this tableau the portières parted, and the dignified voice of
Peter obtruded the announcement:
“Mr. Joseph Smith.”
Utter silence for an instant, then Josephine dropped the hands she
was clasping and bounded toward the newcomer, almost screaming
her delight:
“Papa! Papa! Papa!”
“My little Joe! John’s one baby daughter! My precious little
namesake!”
The mislaid uncle had been found! That truth was evident in the
spontaneous recognition of him, by his likeness so strong to his twin,
that even the daughter had confounded the pair. A moment later,
though, the child had perceived her own mistake and was regarding
him more shyly, from the safe refuge of the old Uncle Joe’s knee,
which had long since learned to adjust itself to the convenience of
small maidens.
Something prompted Mrs. Merriman and Miss Kimono to withdraw
from a scene they dreaded might be painful, and they thoughtfully
took Josephine away with them. They knew, far better than she,
how wonderfully she had grown into the lonely heart of the aged
millionaire, whose money was so powerless to buy for him what this
other, younger Joseph was so rich in. It were kinder and wiser to
leave the two uncles alone, and face to face to adjust their
complicated affairs as best they might.
Nobody need have feared, though. When folk are honest-minded,
and love a common object, such as little Josephine, matters are
soon arranged. In half an hour the conference was over, and the
child ran back into the library to find the two Uncle Joes standing
before its window and looking across the pretty square—where the
crocuses were peeping through the tender grass and no sign of
snow remained—toward a small house on its sunny northeastern
corner.
The child slipped in between the two and caught a hand of both,
while for an instant each diverted his gaze to her sweet face and
smiled upon her. Then began again the deep, well-beloved tones of
the old Uncle Joe:
“There, Joseph, that’s the house. It’s empty. I bought it on a
speculation, and fitted it up well. It’s completely furnished, and so
nicely I wouldn’t let it to every tenant who’s applied. That will go
with the position, in addition to the salary. I’ve been dissatisfied with
Mr. Wakeman this long time. He’s too officious, too grasping, too
eager. I’m thankful he found you, and will pay him well for it. But
that ends his service to me. I’ll give him an advance of wages and
shake him. You can enter upon your duties—to-morrow, if you like.
I’ll send out a van or two to move in your effects.”
The new Uncle Joe held up his hand.
“Unnecessary, dear Mr. Smith. Our effects could easily be brought in
on a pushcart;” yet saying this the man’s smile was neither less
bright nor more ashamed. Why should he be ashamed? He had gone
down in one battle with the world, but he was up again and ready
for another.
The answer, somehow, pleased the elder man. He liked simplicity,
and he liked frankness. Josephine’s new uncle possessed both these,
with an added cheerfulness which communicated itself to all who
met him. He was, or had been, as ready to take his brother’s charge
upon his hands in his penury as he now seemed to be in his
suddenly acquired prosperity.
Looking across the square at the home offered him, his eye kindled
and his cheek glowed. His figure that had stooped somewhat from
the wasted strength due insufficient food became erect, and his
whole bearing assumed a military poise that was so fondly familiar
to the little Californian.
“Oh, my, Uncle Joe! My dear, sweet, new Uncle Joe! You’re more and
more like my papa all the time. If you had on his gray, bright-
buttony soldier clothes, and his lovely red sash, you would be a
regular Company F—er! wouldn’t you? I wish mamma was here, and
papa and Doctor Mack and funny big Bridget!”
“So they all shall be some day, Josephine. But first you’ll have to get
acquainted with Tom, Dick, Harry, and Penelope, and the sweetest
Aunt Kitty that ever the sun shone on,” he answered heartily.
Josephine’s brown eyes opened in astonishment, and she said, with
a deprecating look at the old Uncle Joe:
“I’d like to, if you’d like me to, but he—this one—he’d not like me to.
He said, he told Michael, that lovely red-headed Michael, that I
couldn’t hob-nob—whatever that is—with any Tom, Dick, or Harry
who was in the square. Didn’t you, Uncle Joe?”
It pleased the old gentleman that she still retained her familiar name
for him, and he lifted her tenderly to his breast, replying:
“Yes, little lassie, I did; but that was before I knew these were real
children who were coming to live in my house yonder. Such boys as
are brought up by this gentleman, and your own cousins—why, of
course, it’s different.”
From her safe place within the first uncle’s arms, she questioned the
younger man:
“Have you got all those to your house, Uncle Joe?”
“Yes, little girl. Will you come and live with them when we all move
to that pretty house on the corner?” he responded.
Her arm went around her first friend’s neck, and he now didn’t fret
in the least because it rumpled his fresh linen, as she cuddled her
cheek against his, and asked:
“Who’ll live here with you in this big house, first Uncle Joe?”
“Oh, I suppose my colored ‘boys’ only; as before you came,” was his
low-toned answer.
“Nobody else?” she continued, in tones equally low.
He sighed: “Who else could, lassie?”
“Why, me! He’s got so many, and it’s only across the square. And
Red Kimono, who’s your own cousin, you know. Shall we?”
“If you will, darling,” answered the old man, with moistened eyes.
“Then when papa and mamma come back from that far off red-
pickley country maybe they’d be glad to stay, too. Can’t ’lectrickellers
find places to earn money in this Baltimore, Uncle Joe?”
“Be sure that your Uncle Joe and I will find your electrician a fine
place, little one; and we’ll call Red Kimono by her real name, Cousin
Desire, because she was my mother’s twin sister’s child; and we’ll
send for big Bridget to wait upon this real Tom, Dick, and Harry
combination of youngsters; and—anything you like!” he answered,
so gleefully that even Peter scarcely recognized him.
“Will you? Will you? Oh, I love you—I love you! I love you both,
both. But isn’t it the twiniest kind of world ever was! Papa and Uncle
Joe are twins; and your mamma and Red Kimono’s mamma were
twins; and Tom and Dick are twins; and big Bridget’s folks are twins;
and—Oh, oh, there’s my darling, red-headed Michael going by! I
must call him in, I truly must! Won’t he be the gladdest boy ever
lived, to know all about my new cousins that I never saw coming to
live and play with us in the square? He hasn’t any child to his house
and you haven’t any child but me to yours, Uncle Joe; and the line-
fence is down; so nothing’s to hinder Michael and me making
another pair of twins, is there?”
Nobody prevented the child’s movement to bring in her first child-
friend in that strange city to which she had come, and presently
entered the jolly lad, flushed and breathless and a trifle unkempt, as
was his habit, but with such a manly bearing and such a world of
good-fellowship beaming from his freckled face, that the new Uncle
Joe instantly rejoiced in the prospect of such a comrade for his own
small lads.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Smith and—Mr. Smith; and is it all just as she
says?” demanded the small gentleman from Virginia. “Has the little
‘Express Parcel’ really found her right uncle at last? ’Cause it’s just
like a ’Rabian Night’s story, seems to me, and girls—well, girls, you
know, they—they’re sometimes silly, ’cept Josephine, maybe.” Then,
as if a sudden fear attacked him he turned upon her, firmly
admonishing her to remember: “If I’m to be your twin, as you say,
you’ve got to have no nonsense in it. If I say ‘go in’ when there’s a
lot of boys out in the square you’ll have to mind, ’cause they don’t
always act polite, you see. Oh, bother! It’s all boys, anyway, isn’t it! I
wish there was another girl, to even up”—
“Why, Michael Merriman!” cried Josephine, interrupting her
playmate’s long speech. “There is another girl! You forget—how
could you forget—Penelope!”
At which the new Uncle Joe threw back his handsome head and
laughed as he had not laughed in many a day; for in fancy he could
see Miss Penelope, aged seven months, helping “Cousin Josephine”
to maintain the dignity of their mutual girlhood, as against a square
full of rollicking lads.
Presently everybody was laughing, for happiness is delightfully
infectious, and always even more “catching” than the measles.
Grandma Merriman and Cousin Desire, who had come quietly into
the room; the three black “boys” in the hall outside; the two Uncle
Joes and Michael; and most heartily, most musically of all, the little
San Diegan, who for very joy could not keep still, but went skipping
and flying about the room, like a bewilderingly lovely butterfly,
demanding between whiles of the person nearest:
“Oh, isn’t it beautiful, beautiful? Aren’t you glad I was a wrong
‘parcel,’ and came to this wrong, splendid, old Uncle Joe?”
“I am,” answered that gentleman, with sweet solemnity; “since your
coming has showed me how to deal justly, and love mercy, and find
happiness in my barren wealth. God bless you, little ‘Parcel’!”
“Amen, and amen!” echoed the other Uncle Joe, as he went softly
and swiftly out, to carry the good news to those whom he loved.
THE END.
 TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Alternate or archaic spelling has been retained from the original.
 *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MISLAID
UNCLE ***

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