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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12102 ***
+
+DARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES
+
+
+BY
+
+IRVING BACHELLER
+
+
+
+AUTHOR OF
+
+EBEN HOLDEN
+D'RI AND I
+CANDLE-LIGHT, Etc.
+
+
+ILLUSTRATED BY
+ARTHUR I. KELLER
+
+
+1903
+
+
+
+To the Memory of my Father
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+The author has tried to give some history of that uphill road,
+traversing the rough back country, through which men of power came
+once into the main highways, dusty, timid, foot-sore, and curiously
+old-fashioned.  Now is the up grade eased by scholarships; young
+men labour with the football instead of the buck-saw, and wear high
+collars, and travel on a Pullman car, and dally with slang and
+cigarettes in the smoking-room.   Altogether it is a new Republic,
+and only those unborn shall know if it be greater.
+
+The man of learning and odd character and humble life was quite
+familiar once, and not only in Hillsborough.  Often he was born out
+of time, loving ideals of history and too severe with realities
+around him.  In Darrel it is sought to portray a force held in
+fetters and covered with obscurity, yet strong to make its way and
+widely felt.  His troubles granted, one may easily concede his
+character, and his troubles are, mainly, no fanciful invention.
+There is good warrant for them in the court record of a certain
+case, together with the inference of a great lawyer who lived a
+time in its odd mystery.  The author, it should be added, has given
+success to a life that ended in failure.   He cares not if that
+success be unusual should any one be moved to think it within his
+reach.
+
+A man of rugged virtues and good fame once said: "The forces that
+have made me?  Well, first my mother, second my poverty, third
+Felix Holt.  That masterful son of George Eliot became an ideal of
+my youth, and unconsciously I began to live his life."
+
+It is well that the boy in the book was nobler than any who lived
+in Treby Magna.
+
+As to "the men of the dark," they have long afflicted a man living
+and well known to the author of this tale, who now commits it to
+the world hoping only that these poor children of his brain may
+deserve kindness if not approval.
+
+  NEW YORK CITY,
+  March, 1903.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+PRELUDE
+
+CHAPTER
+     I.  The Story of the Little Red Sleigh
+    II.  The Crystal City and the Traveller
+   III.  The Clock Tinker
+    IV.  The Uphill Road
+     V.  At the Sign o' the Dial
+    VI.  A Certain Rich Man
+   VII.  Darrel of the Blessed Isles
+  VIII.  Dust of Diamonds in the Hour-glass
+    IX.  Drove and Drovers
+     X.  An Odd Meeting
+    XI.  The Old Rag Doll
+   XII.  The Santa Claus of Cedar Hill
+  XIII.  A Christmas Adventure
+   XIV.  A Day at the Linley Schoolhouse
+    XV.  The Tinker at Linley School
+   XVI.  A Rustic Museum
+  XVII.  An Event in the Rustic Museum
+ XVIII.  A Day of Difficulties
+   XIX.  Amusement and Learning
+    XX.  At the Theatre of the Woods
+   XXI.  Robin's Inn
+  XXII.  Comedies of Field and Dooryard
+ XXIII.  A New Problem
+  XXIV.  Beginning the Book of Trouble
+   XXV.  The Spider Snares
+  XXVI.  The Coming of the Cars
+ XXVII.  The Rare and Costly Cup
+XXVIII.  Darrel at Robin's Inn
+  XXIX.  Again the Uphill Road
+   XXX.  Evidence
+  XXXI.  A Man Greater than his Trouble
+ XXXII.  The Return of Thurst Tilly
+XXXIII.  The White Guard
+ XXXIV.  More Evidence
+  XXXV.  At the Sign of the Golden Spool
+ XXXVI.  The Law's Approval
+XXXVII.  The Return of Santa Claus
+
+
+
+
+DARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES
+
+Prelude
+
+Yonder up in the hills are men and women, white-haired, who love to
+tell of that time when the woods came to the door-step and God's
+cattle fed on the growing corn.  Where, long ago, they sowed their
+youth and strength, they see their sons reaping, but now, bent with
+age, they have ceased to gather save in the far fields of memory.
+Every day they go down the long, well-trodden path and come back
+with hearts full.  They are as children plucking the meadows of
+June.  Sit with them awhile, and they will gather for you the
+unfading flowers of joy and love--good sir! the world is full of
+them.  And should they mention Trove or a certain clock tinker that
+travelled from door to door in the olden time, send your horse to
+the stable and God-speed them!--it is a long tale, and you may
+listen far into the night.
+
+"See the big pines there in the dale yonder?" some one will ask.
+"Well, Theron Allen lived there, an' across the pond, that's where
+the moss trail came out and where you see the cow-path--that's near
+the track of the little red sleigh."
+
+Then--the tale and its odd procession coming out of the far past.
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+The Story of the Little Red Sleigh
+
+
+It was in 1835, about mid-winter, when Brier Dale was a narrow
+clearing, and the horizon well up in the sky and to anywhere a
+day's journey.
+
+Down by the shore of the pond, there, Allen built his house.
+To-day, under thickets of tansy, one may see the rotting logs, and
+there are hollyhocks and catnip in the old garden.  He was from
+Middlebury, they say, and came west--he and his wife--in '29.  From
+the top of the hill above Allen's, of a clear day, one could look
+far across the tree-tops, over distant settlements that were as
+blue patches in the green canopy of the forest, over hill and dale
+to the smoky chasm of the St. Lawrence thirty miles north.  The
+Allens had not a child; they settled with no thought of school or
+neighbour.  They brought a cow with them and a big collie whose
+back had been scarred by a lynx.  He was good company and a brave
+hunter, this dog; and one day--it was February, four years after
+their coming, and the snow lay deep--he left the dale and not even
+a track behind him.  Far and wide they went searching, but saw no
+sign of him.  Near a month later, one night, past twelve o'clock,
+they heard his bark in the distance.  Allen rose and lit a candle
+and opened the door.  They could hear him plainer, and now, mingled
+with his barking, a faint tinkle of bells.
+
+It had begun to thaw, and a cold rain was drumming on roof and
+window.
+
+"He's crossing the pond," said Allen, as he listened.  "He's
+dragging some heavy thing over the ice."
+
+Soon he leaped in at the door, the little red sleigh bouncing after
+him.  The dog was in shafts and harness.  Over the sleigh was a
+tiny cover of sail-cloth shaped like that of a prairie schooner.
+Bouncing over the door-step had waked its traveller, and there was
+a loud voice of complaint in the little cavern of sail-cloth.
+Peering in, they saw only the long fur of a gray wolf.  Beneath it
+a very small boy lay struggling with straps that held him down.
+Allen loosed them and took him out of the sleigh, a ragged but
+handsome youngster with red cheeks and blue eyes and light, curly
+hair.  He was near four years of age then, but big and strong as
+any boy of five.  He stood rubbing his eyes a minute, and the dog
+came over and licked his face, showing fondness acquired they knew
+not where.  Mrs. Allen took the boy in her lap and petted him, but
+he was afraid--like a wild fawn that has just been captured--and
+broke away and took refuge under the bed.  A long time she sat by
+her bedside with the candle, showing him trinkets and trying to
+coax him out.  He ceased to cry when she held before him a big,
+shiny locket of silver, and soon his little hand came out to grasp
+it.  Presently she began to reach his confidence with sugar.  There
+was a moment of silence, then strange words came out of his
+hiding-place.  "Anah jouhan" was all they could make of them, and
+they remembered always that odd combination of sounds.  They gave
+him food, which he ate with eager haste.  Then a moment of silence
+and an imperative call for more in some strange tongue.  When at
+last he came out of his hiding-place, he fled from the woman.  This
+time he sought refuge between the knees of Allen, where soon his
+fear gave way to curiosity, and he began to feel her face and gown.
+By and by he fell asleep.
+
+They searched the sleigh and shook out the robe and blanket,
+finding only a pair of warm bricks.
+
+A Frenchman worked for the Allens that winter, and the name, Trove,
+was of his invention.
+
+And so came Sidney Trove, his mind in strange fetters, travelling
+out of the land of mystery, in a winter night, to Brier Dale.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+The Crystal City and the Traveller
+
+The wind, veering, came bitter cold; the rain hardened to hail; the
+clouds, changed to brittle nets of frost, and shaken to shreds by
+the rough wind, fell hissing in a scatter of snow.  Next morning
+when Allen opened his door the wind was gone, the sky clear.  Brier
+Pond, lately covered with clear ice, lay under a blanket of snow.
+He hurried across the pond, his dog following.  Near the far shore
+was a bare spot on the ice cut by one of the sleigh-runners.  Up in
+the woods, opposite, was the Moss Trail.  Sunlight fell on the
+hills above him.  He halted, looking up at the tree-tops.  Twig,
+branch, and trunk glowed with the fire of diamonds through a lacy
+necking of hoar frost.  Every tree had put on a jacket of ice and
+become as a fountain of prismatic hues.  Here and there a dead pine
+rose like a spire of crystal; domes of deep-coloured glass and
+towers of jasper were as the landmarks of a city.  Allen climbed
+the shore, walking slowly.  He could see no track of sleigh or dog
+or any living thing.  A frosted, icy tangle of branches arched the
+trail--a gateway of this great, crystal city of the woods.  He
+entered, listening as he walked.  Branches of hazel and dogwood
+were like jets of water breaking into clear, halted drops and foamy
+spray above him.  He went on, looking up at this long sky-window of
+the woods.  In the deep silence he could hear his heart beating.
+
+"Sport," .said he to the dog, "show me the way;" but the dog only
+wagged his tail.
+
+Allen returned to the house.
+
+"Wife," said he, "look at the woods yonder.  They are like the city
+of holy promise.  'Behold I will lay thy stones with fair colours
+and thy foundations with sapphires, and I will make thy windows of
+agate.'"
+
+"Did you find the track of the little sleigh?" said she.
+
+"No," he answered, "nor will any man, for all paths are hidden."
+
+"Theron--may we keep the boy?" she inquired.
+
+"I think it is the will of God," said Allen.
+
+The boy grew and throve in mind and body.  For a time he prattled
+in a language none who saw him were able to comprehend.  But he
+learned English quickly and soon forgot the jargon of his babyhood.
+The shadows of mystery that fell over his coming lengthened far
+into his life and were deepened by others that fell across them.
+Before he could have told the story, all memory of whom he left or
+whence he came had been swept away.  It was a house of riddles
+where Allen dwelt--a rude thing of logs and ladders and a low roof
+and two rooms.  Yet one ladder led high to glories no pen may
+describe.  The Allens, with this rude shelter, found delight in
+dreams of an eternal home whose splendour and luxury would have
+made them miserable here below.  What a riddle was this!  And then,
+as to the boy Sid, there was the riddle of his coming, and again
+that of his character, which latter was, indeed, not easy to solve.
+There were few books and no learning in that home.  For three
+winters Trove tramped a trail to the schoolhouse two miles away,
+and had no further schooling until he was a big, blond boy of
+fifteen, with red cheeks, and eyes large, blue, and discerning, and
+hands hardened to the axe helve.  He had then discovered the beauty
+of the woods and begun to study the wild folk that live in holes
+and thickets.  He had a fine face.  You would have called him
+handsome, but not they among whom he lived.  With them handsome was
+as handsome did, and the face of a man, if it were cleanly, was
+never a proper cause of blame or compliment.  But there was that in
+his soul, which even now had waked the mother's wonder and set
+forth a riddle none were able to solve.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+The Clock Tinker
+
+The harvesting was over in Brier Dale.  It was near dinner-time,
+and Allen, Trove, and the two hired men were trying feats in the
+dooryard.  Trove, then a boy of fifteen, had outdone them all at
+the jumping.  A stranger came along, riding a big mare with a young
+filly at her side.  He was a tall, spare man, past middle age, with
+a red, smooth-shaven face and long, gray hair that fell to his
+rolling collar.  He turned in at the gate.  A little beyond it his
+mare halted for a mouthful of grass.  The stranger unslung a strap
+that held a satchel to his side and hung it on the pommel.
+
+"Go and ask what we can do for him," Allen whispered to the boy.
+
+Trove went down the drive, looking up at him curiously.
+
+"What can I do for you?" he inquired.
+
+"Give me thy youth," said the stranger, quickly, his gray eyes
+twinkling under silvered brows.
+
+The boy, now smiling, made no answer.
+
+"No?" said the man, as he came on slowly.  "Well, then, were thy
+wit as good as thy legs it would be o' some use to me."
+
+The words were spoken with dignity in a deep, kindly tone.  They
+were also faintly salted with Irish brogue.
+
+He approached the men, all eyes fixed upon him with a look of
+inquiry.
+
+"Have ye ever seen a drunken sailor on a mast?" he inquired of
+Allen,
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, sor," said the stranger, dismounting slowly, "I am not that.
+Let me consider--have ye ever seen a cocoanut on a plum tree?"
+
+"I believe not," said Allen, laughing.
+
+"Well, sor, that is more like me.  'Tis long since I rode a horse,
+an' am out o' place in the saddle."
+
+He stood erect with dignity, a smile deepening the many lines in
+his face.
+
+"Can I do anything for you?" Allen asked.
+
+"Ay--cure me o' poverty--have ye any clocks to mend?"
+
+"Clocks! Are you a tinker?" said Allen.
+
+"I am, sor, an' at thy service.  Could beauty, me lord, have better
+commerce than with honesty?"
+
+They all surveyed him with curiosity and amusement as he tied the
+mare.
+
+All had begun to laugh.  His words came rapidly on a quick
+undercurrent of good nature.  A clock sounded the stroke of midday.
+
+"What, ho! The clock," said he, looking at his watch.  "Thy time
+hath a lagging foot, Marry, were I that slow, sor, I'd never get to
+Heaven."
+
+"Mother," said Allen, going to the doorstep, "here is a tinker, and
+he says the clock is slow."
+
+"It seems to be out of order." said his wife, coming to the step.
+
+"Seems, madam, nay, it is," said the stranger.  "Did ye mind the
+stroke of it?"
+
+"No," said she.
+
+"Marry, 'twas like the call of a dying man."
+
+Allen thought a moment as he whittled.
+
+"Had I such a stroke on me I'd--I'd think I was parralyzed," the
+stranger added.
+
+"You'd better fix it then," said Allen.
+
+"Thou art wise, good man," said the stranger.  "Mind the two hands
+on the clock an' keep them to their pace or they'll beckon thee to
+poverty."
+
+The clock was brought to the door-step and all gathered about him
+as he went to work.
+
+"Ye know a power o' scripter," said one of the hired men.
+
+"Scripter," said the tinker, laughing.  "I do, sor, an' much of it
+according to the good Saint William.  Have ye never read
+Shakespeare?"
+
+None who sat before him knew anything of the immortal bard.
+
+"He writ a book 'bout Dan'l Boone an' the Injuns," a hired man
+ventured.
+
+"'Angels an' ministers o' grace defend us!'" the tinker exclaimed,
+
+Trove laughed.
+
+"I'll give ye a riddle," said the tinker, turning to him.
+
+"How is it the clock can keep a sober face?"
+
+"It has no ears," Trove answered.
+
+"Right," said the old tinker, smiling.  "Thou art a knowing youth.
+Read Shakespeare, boy--a little of him three times a day for the
+mind's sake.  I've travelled far in lonely places and needed no
+other company."
+
+"Ever in India?" Trove inquired.  He had been reading of that far
+land.
+
+"I was, sor," the stranger continued, rubbing a wheel.  "I was five
+years in India, sor, an' part o' the time fighting as hard as ever
+a man could fight."
+
+"Fighting!" said Trove, much interested.
+
+"I was, sor," he asserted, oiling a pinion of the old clock.
+
+"On which side?"
+
+"Inside an' outside."
+
+"With natives?"
+
+"I did, sor; three kinds o' them,--fever, fleas, an' the divvle."
+
+"Give us some more Shakespeare," said the boy, smiling.
+
+The tinker rubbed his spectacles thoughtfully, and, as he resumed
+his work, a sounding flood of tragic utterance came out of him--the
+great soliloquies of Hamlet and Macbeth and Richard III and Lear
+and Antony, all said with spirit and appreciation.  The job
+finished, they bade him put up for dinner.
+
+"A fine colt!" said Allen, as they were on their way to the stable.
+
+"It is, sor," said the tinker, "a most excellent breed o' horses."
+
+"Where from?"
+
+"The grandsire from the desert of Arabia, where Allah created the
+horse out o' the south wind.  See the slender flanks of the
+Barbary?  See her eye?"
+
+He seemed to talk in that odd strain for the mere joy of it, and
+there was in his voice the God-given vanity of bird or poet.
+
+He had caught the filly by her little plume and stood patting her
+forehead.
+
+"A wonderful thing, sor, is the horse's eye," he continued.  "A
+glance! an' they know if ye be kind or cruel.  Sweet Phyllis!  Her
+eyelids are as bows; her lashes like the beard o' the corn.  Have
+ye ever heard the three prayers o' the horse?"
+
+"No," said Allen.
+
+"Well, three times a day, sor, he prays, so they say, in the
+desert.  In the morning he thinks a prayer like this, 'O Allah!
+make me beloved o' me master.'  At noon, 'Do well by me master that
+he may do well by me.'  At even, 'O Allah! grant, at last, I may
+bear me master into Paradise.'
+
+"An' the Arab, sor, he looks for a hard ride an' many jumps in the
+last journey, an' is kind to him all the days of his life, sor, so
+he may be able to make it."
+
+For a moment he led her up and down at a quick trot, her dainty
+feet touching the earth lightly as a fawn's.
+
+"Thou'rt made for the hot leagues o' the great sand sea," said he,
+patting her head.  "Ah! thy neck shall be as the bowsprit; thy dust
+as the flying spray."
+
+"In one thing you are like Isaiah," said Allen, as he whittled.
+"The Lord God hath given thee the tongue of the learned."
+
+"An' if he grant me the power to speak a word in season to him that
+is weary, I shall be content," said the tinker.
+
+Dinner over, they came out of doors.  The stranger stood filling
+his pipe.  Something in his talk and manner had gone deep into the
+soul of the boy, who now whispered a moment with his father.
+
+"Would you sell the filly?" said Allen.  "My boy would like to own
+her."
+
+"What, ho, the boy! the beautiful boy!  An' would ye love her,
+boy?" the tinker asked.
+
+"Yes, sir," the boy answered quickly,
+
+"An' put a ribbon in her forelock, an' a coat o' silk on her back,
+an', mind ye, a man o' kindness in the saddle?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Then take thy horse, an' Allah grant thou be successful on her as
+many times as there be hairs in her skin."
+
+"And the price?" said Allen.
+
+"Name it, an' I'll call thee just."
+
+The business over, the tinker called to Trove, who had led the
+filly to her stall,--
+
+"You, there, strike the tents.  Bring me the mare.  This very day
+she may bear me to forgiveness."
+
+Trove brought the mare.
+
+"Remember," said the old man, turning as he rode away, "in the day
+o' the last judgment God 'll mind the look o' thy horse."
+
+He rode on a few steps and halted, turning in the saddle.
+
+"Thou, too, Phyllis," he called.  "God 'll mind the look o' thy
+master; see that ye bring him safe."
+
+The little filly began to rear and call, the mother to answer.  For
+days she called and trembled, with wet eyes, listening for the
+voice that still answered, though out of hearing, far over the
+hills.  And Trove, too, was lonely, and there was a kind of longing
+in his heart for the music in that voice of the stranger.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+The Uphill Road
+
+For Trove it was a day of sowing.  The strange old tinker had
+filled his heart with a new joy and a new desire.  Next morning he
+got a ride to Hillsborough--fourteen miles--and came back, reading,
+as he walked, a small, green book, its thin pages covered thick
+with execrably fine printing, its title "The Works of Shakespeare."
+He read the book industriously and with keen pleasure.  Allen
+complained, shortly, that Shakespeare and the filly had interfered
+with the potatoes and the corn.
+
+The filly ceased to take food and sickened for a time after the dam
+left her.  Trove lay in the stall nights and gave her milk
+sweetened to her liking.  She grew strong and playful, and forgot
+her sorrow, and began to follow him like a dog on his errands up
+and down the farm.  Trove went to school in the autumn--"Select
+school," it was called.  A two-mile journey it was, by trail, but a
+full three by the wagon road.  He learned only a poor lesson the
+first day, for, on coming in sight of the schoolhouse, he heard a
+rush of feet behind him and saw his filly charging down the trail.
+He had to go back with her and lose the day, a thought dreadful to
+him, for now hope was high, and school days few and precious.  At
+first he was angry.  Then he sat among the ferns, covering his face
+and sobbing with sore resentment.  The little filly stood over him
+and rubbed her silky muzzle on his neck, and kicked up her heels in
+play as he pushed her back.  Next morning he put her behind a
+fence, but she went over it with the ease of a wild deer and came
+bounding after him.  When, at last, she was shut in the box-stall
+he could hear her calling, half a mile away, and it made his heart
+sore.  Soon after, a moose treed him on the trail and held him
+there for quite half a day.  Later he had to help thrash and was
+laid up with the measles.  Then came rain and flooded flats that
+turned him off the trail.  Years after he used to say that work and
+weather, and sickness and distance, and even the beasts of the
+field and wood, resisted him in the way of learning.
+
+He went to school at Hillsborough that winter.  His time, which
+Allen gave him in the summer, had yielded some forty-five dollars.
+He hired a room at thirty-five cents a week.  Mary Allen bought him
+a small stove and sent to him, in the sleigh, dishes, a kettle,
+chair, bed, pillow, and quilt, and a supply of candles.
+
+She surveyed him proudly, as he was going away that morning in
+December,
+
+"Folks may call ye han'some," she said.  "They'd like to make fool
+of ye, but you go on 'bout yer business an' act as if ye didn't
+hear."
+
+He had a figure awkward, as yet, but fast shaping to comeliness.
+Long, light hair covered the tops of his ears and fell to his
+collar.  His ruddy cheeks were a bit paler that morning; the curve
+in his lips a little drawn; his blue eyes had begun to fill and the
+dimple in his chin to quiver, slightly, as he kissed her who had
+been as a mother to him.  But he went away laughing.
+
+Many have seen the record in his diary of those lank and busy days.
+The Saturday of his first week at school he wrote as follows:--
+
+
+"Father brought me a small load of wood and a sack of potatoes
+yesterday, so, after this, I shall be able to live cheaper.  My
+expenses this week have been as follows:--
+
+  Rent                     35 cents
+  Corn meal                14   "
+  Milk                     20   "
+  Bread                     8   "
+  Beef bone                 5   "
+  Honey                     5   "
+  Four potatoes, about      1   "
+                           --
+                           88 cents.
+
+"Two boys who have a room on the same floor got through the week
+for 75 cents apiece, but they are both undersized and don't eat as
+hearty.  This week I was tempted by the sight of honey and was fool
+enough to buy a little which I didn't need.  I have some meal left
+and hope next week to get through for 80 cents.  I wish I could
+have a decent necktie, but conscience doth make cowards of us all.
+I have committed half the first act of 'Julius Caesar.'"
+
+
+And yet, with pudding and milk and beef bone and four potatoes and
+"Julius Caesar" the boy was cheerful.
+
+"Don't like meat any more--it's mostly poor stuff anyway," he said
+to his father, who had come to see him.
+
+"Sorry--I brought down a piece o' venison," said Allen.
+
+"Well, there's two kinds o' meat," said the boy; "what ye can have,
+that's good, an' what ye can't have, that ain't worth havin'."
+
+He got a job in the mill for every Saturday at 75 cents a day, and
+soon thereafter was able to have a necktie and a pair of fine
+boots, and a barber, now and then, to control the length of his
+hair.
+
+Trove burnt the candles freely and was able but never brilliant in
+his work that year, owing, as all who knew him agreed, to great
+modesty and small confidence.  He was a kindly, big-hearted fellow,
+and had wit and a knowledge of animals and of woodcraft that made
+him excellent company.  That schoolboy diary has been of great
+service to all with a wish to understand him.  On a faded leaf in
+the old book one may read as follows:--
+
+
+"I have received letters in the handwriting of girls, unsigned.
+They think they are in love with me and say foolish things.  I know
+what they're up to.  They're the kind my mother spoke of--the kind
+that set their traps for a fool, and when he's caught they use him
+for a thing to laugh at.  They're not going to catch me.
+
+"Expenses for seven days have been $1.14.  Clint McCormick spent 60
+cents to take his girl to a show and I had to help him through the
+week.  I told him he ought to love Caesar less and Rome more."
+
+
+Then follows the odd entry without which it is doubtful if the
+history of Sidney Trove could ever have been written.  At least
+only a guess would have been possible, where now is certainty.  And
+here is the entry:--
+
+
+"Since leaving home the men of the dark have been very troublesome.
+They wake me about every other night and sometimes I wonder what
+they mean."
+
+
+Now an odd thing had developed in the mystery of the boy.  Even
+before he could distinguish between reality and its shadow that we
+see in dreams, he used often to start up with a loud cry of fear in
+the night.  When a small boy he used to explain it briefly by
+saying, "the men in the dark."  Later he used to say, "the men
+outdoors in the dark."  At ten years of age he went off on a three
+days' journey with the Allens.  They put up in a tavern that had
+many rooms and stairways and large windows.  It was a while after
+his return of an evening, before candle-light, when a gray curtain
+of dusk had dimmed the windows, that he first told the story, soon
+oft repeated and familiar, of "the men in the dark"--at least he
+went as far as he knew.
+
+"I dream," he was wont to say in after life, "that I am listening
+in the still night alone--I am always alone.  I hear a sound in the
+silence, of what I cannot be sure.  I discover then, or seem to,
+that I stand in a dark room and tremble, with great fear, of what I
+do not know.  I walk along softly in bare feet--I am so fearful of
+making a noise.  I am feeling, feeling, my hands out in the dark.
+Presently they touch a wall and I follow it and then I discover
+that I am going downstairs.  It is a long journey.  At last I am in
+a room where I can see windows, and, beyond, the dim light of the
+moon.  Now I seem to be wrapped in fearful silence.  Stealthily I
+go near the door.  Its upper half is glass, and beyond it I can see
+the dark forms of men.  One is peering through with face upon the
+pane; I know the other is trying the lock, but I hear no sound.  I
+am in a silence like that of the grave.  I try to speak.  My lips
+move, but, try as I may, no sound comes out of them.  A sharp
+terror is pricking into me, and I flinch as if it were a
+knife-blade.  Well, sir, that is a thing I cannot understand.  You
+know me--I am not a coward.  If I were really in a like scene fear
+would be the least of my emotions; but in the dream I tremble and
+am afraid.  Slowly, silently, the door opens, the men of the dark
+enter, wall and windows begin to reel.  I hear a quick, loud cry,
+rending the silence and falling into a roar like that of flooding
+waters.  Then I wake, and my dream is ended--for that night."
+
+Now men have had more thrilling and remarkable dreams, but that of
+the boy Trove was as a link in a chain, lengthening with his life,
+and ever binding him to some event far beyond the reach of his
+memory.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+At the Sign o' the Dial
+
+It was Sunday and a clear, frosty morning of midwinter.  Trove had
+risen early and was walking out on a long pike that divided the
+village of Hillsborough and cut the waste of snow, winding over
+hills and dipping into valleys, from Lake Champlain to Lake
+Ontario.  The air was cold but full of magic sun-fire.  All things
+were aglow--the frosty roadway, the white fields, the hoary forest,
+and the mind of the beholder.  Trove halted, looking off at the far
+hills.  Then he heard a step behind him and, as he turned, saw a
+tall man approaching at a quick pace.  The latter had no overcoat.
+A knit muffler covered his throat, and a satchel hung from a strap
+on his shoulder.
+
+"What ho, boy!" said he, shivering.  "'I'll follow thee a month,
+devise with thee where thou shalt rest, that thou may'st hear of
+us, an' we o' thee.'  What o' thy people an' the filly?"
+
+"All well," said Trove, who was delighted to see the clock tinker,
+of whom he had thought often.  "And what of you?"
+
+"Like an old clock, sor--a weak spring an' a bit slow.  But, praise
+God!  I've yet a merry gong in me.   An' what think you, sor, I've
+travelled sixty miles an' tinkered forty clocks in the week gone."
+
+"I think you yourself will need tinkering."
+
+"Ah, but I thank the good God, here is me home," the old man
+remarked wearily.
+
+"I'm going to school here," said Trove, "and hope I may see you
+often."
+
+"Indeed, boy, we'll have many a blessed hour," said the tinker.
+"Come to me shop; we'll talk, meditate, explore, an' I'll see what
+o'clock it is in thy country."
+
+They were now in the village, and, halfway down its main
+thoroughfare, went up a street of gloom and narrowness between
+dingy workshops.  At one of them, shaky, and gray with the stain of
+years, they halted.  The two lower windows in front were dim with
+dirt and cobwebs.  A board above them was the rude sign of Sam
+Bassett, carpenter.  On the side of the old shop was a flight of
+sagging, rickety stairs.  At the height of a man's head an old
+brass dial was nailed to the gray boards.  Roughly lettered in
+lampblack beneath it were the words, "Clocks Mended."  They climbed
+the shaky stairs to a landing, supported by long braces, and
+whereon was a broad door, with latch and keyhole in its weathered
+timber.
+
+"All bow at this door," said the old tinker, as he put his long
+iron key in the lock.  "It's respect for their own heads, not for
+mine," he continued, his hand on the eaves that overhung below the
+level of the door-top.
+
+They entered a loft, open to the peak and shingles, with a window
+in each end.  Clocks, dials, pendulums, and tiny cog-wheels of wood
+and brass were on a long bench by the street window.  Thereon,
+also, were a vice and tools.  The room was cleanly, with a crude
+homelikeness about it.  Chromos and illustrated papers had been
+pasted on the rough, board walls.
+
+"On me life, it is cold," said the tinker, opening a small stove
+and beginning to whittle shavings, "'Cold as a dead man's nose.'
+Be seated, an' try--try to be happy."
+
+There was an old rocker and two small chairs in the room.
+
+"I do not feel the cold," said Trove, taking one of them.
+
+"Belike, good youth, thou hast the rose of summer in thy cheeks,"
+said the old man.
+
+"And no need of an overcoat," the boy answered, removing the one he
+wore and passing it to the tinker.  "I wish you to keep it, sir."
+
+"Wherefore, boy?  'Twould best serve me on thy back."
+
+"Please take it," said Trove.  "I cannot bear to think of you
+shivering in the cold.  Take it, and make me happy."
+
+"Well, if it keep me warm, an' thee happy, it will be a wonderful
+coat," said the old man, wiping his gray eyes.
+
+Then he rose and filled the stove with wood and sat down, peering
+at Trove between the upper rim of his spectacles and the feathery
+arches of silvered hair upon his brows.
+
+"Thy coat hath warmed me heart already--thanks to the good God!"
+said he, fervently.  "Why so kind?"
+
+"If I am kind, it is because I must be," said the boy.  "Who were
+my father and mother, I never knew.  If I meet a man who is in
+need, I say to myself, 'He may be my father or my brother, I must
+be good to him;' and if it is a woman, I cannot help thinking that,
+maybe, she is my mother or my sister.  So I should have to be kind
+to all the people in the world if I were to meet them."
+
+"Noble suspicion! by the faith o' me fathers!" said the old man,
+thoughtfully, rubbing his long nose.  "An' have ye thought further
+in the matter?  Have ye seen whither it goes?"
+
+"I fear not."
+
+"Well, sor, under the ancient law, ye reap as ye have sown, but
+more abundantly.  I gave me coat to one that needed it more, an' by
+the goodness o' God I have reaped another an' two friends.  Hold to
+thy course, boy, thou shalt have friends an' know their value.  An'
+then thou shalt say, 'I'll be kind to this man because he may be a
+friend;' an' love shall increase in thee, an' around thee, an'
+bring happiness.  Ah, boy! in the business o' the soul, men pay
+thee better than they owe.  Kindness shall bring friendship, an'
+friendship shall bring love, an' love shall bring happiness, an'
+that, sor, that is the approval o' God.  What speculation hath such
+profit?  Hast thou learned to think?"
+
+"I hope I have," said the boy.
+
+"Prithee--think a thought for me.  What is the first law o' life?"
+
+There was a moment of silence.
+
+"Thy pardon, boy," said the venerable tinker, filling a clay pipe
+and stretching himself on a lounge.  "Thou art not long out o' thy
+clouts.  It is, 'Thou shalt learn to think an' obey.' Consider how
+man and beast are bound by it.  Very well--think thy way up.  Hast
+thou any fear?"
+
+The old man was feeling his gray hair, thoughtfully.
+
+"Only the fear o' God," said the boy, after a moment of hesitation.
+
+"Well, on me word, I am full sorry," said the tinker.  "Though mind
+ye, boy, fear is an excellent good thing, an' has done a work in
+the world.  But, hear me, a man had two horses the same age, size,
+shape, an' colour, an' one went for fear o' the whip, an' the other
+went as well without a whip in the wagon.  Now, tell me, which was
+the better horse?"
+
+"The one that needed no whip."
+
+"Very well!" said the old man, with emphasis.  "A man had two sons,
+an' one obeyed him for fear o' the whip, an' the other, because he
+loved his father, an' could not bear to grieve him.  Tell me again,
+boy, which was the better son?"
+
+"The one that loved him," said the boy.
+
+"Very well! very well!" said the old man, loudly.  "A man had two
+neighbours, an' one stole not his sheep for fear o' the law, an'
+the other, sor, he stole them not, because he loved his neighbour.
+Now which was the better man?"
+
+"The man that loved him."
+
+"Very well! very well! and again very well!" said the tinker,
+louder than before.  "There were two kings, an' one was feared, an'
+the other, he was beloved; which was the better king?"
+
+"The one that was beloved."
+
+"Very well! and three times again very well!" said the old man,
+warmly.  "An' the good God is he not greater an' more to be loved
+than all kings?  Fear, boy, that is the whip o' destiny driving the
+dumb herd.  To all that fear I say 'tis well, have fear, but pray
+that love may conquer it.  To all that love I say, fear only lest
+ye lose the great treasure.  Love is the best thing, an' with too
+much fear it sickens.  Always keep it with thee--a little is a
+goodly property an' its revenoo is happiness.  Therefore, be happy,
+boy--try ever to be happy."
+
+There was a moment of silence broken by the sound of a church bell.
+
+"To thy prayers," said the clock tinker, rising, "an' I'll to mine.
+Dine with me at five, good youth, an' all me retinoo--maids,
+warders, grooms, attendants--shall be at thy service."
+
+"I'll be glad to come," said the boy, smiling at his odd host.
+
+"An' see thou hast hunger."
+
+"Good morning, Mr. ---- ?" the boy hesitated.
+
+"Darrel--Roderick Darrel--" said the old man, "that's me name, sor,
+an' ye'll find me here at the Sign o' the Dial."
+
+A wind came shrieking over the hills, and long before evening the
+little town lay dusky in a scud of snow mist.  The old stairs were
+quivering in the storm as Trove climbed them.
+
+"Welcome, good youth," said the clock tinker, shaking the boy's
+hand as he came in.  "Ho there! me servitors.  Let the feast be
+spread," he called in a loud voice, stepping quickly to the stove
+that held an upper deck of wood, whereon were dishes.  "Right Hand
+bring the meat an' Left Hand the potatoes an' Quick Foot give us
+thy help here."
+
+He suited his action to the words, placing a platter of ham and
+eggs in the centre of a small table and surrounding it with hot
+roast potatoes, a pot of tea, new biscuit, and a plate of honey.
+
+"Ho!  Wit an' Happiness, attend upon us here," said he, making
+ready to sit down.
+
+Then, as if he had forgotten something, he hurried to the door and
+opened it.
+
+"Care, thou skeleton, go hence, and thou, Poverty, go also, and see
+thou return not before cock-crow," said he, imperatively.
+
+"You have many servants," said Trove.
+
+"An' how may one have a castle without servants?  Forsooth, boy,
+horses an' hounds, an' lords an' ladies have to be attended to.
+But the retinoo is that run down ye'd think me home a hospital.
+Wit is a creeping dotard, and Happiness he is in poor health an'
+can barely drag himself to me table, an' Hope is a tippler, an'
+Right Hand is getting the palsy.  Alack! me best servant left me a
+long time ago."
+
+"And who was he?"
+
+"Youth! lovely, beautiful Youth! but let us be happy.  I would not
+have him back--foolish, inconstant Youth! dreaming dreams an'
+seeing visions.  God love ye, boy! what is thy dream?"
+
+This rallying style of talk, in which the clock tinker indulged so
+freely, afforded his young friend no little amusement.  His tongue
+had long obeyed the lilt of classic diction; his thought came easy
+in Elizabethan phrase.  The slight Celtic brogue served to enhance
+the piquancy of his talk.  Moreover he was really a man of wit and
+imagination.
+
+"Once," said the boy, after a little hesitation, "I thought I
+should try to be a statesman, but now I am sure I would rather
+write books."
+
+"An' what kind o' books, pray?"
+
+"Tales."
+
+"An' thy merchandise be truth, capital!" exclaimed the tinker.
+"Hast thou an ear for tales?"
+
+"I'm very fond of them."
+
+"Marry, I'll tell thee a true tale, not for thy ear only but for
+thy soul, an' some day, boy, 'twill give thee occupation for thy
+wits."
+
+"I'd love to hear it," said the boy.
+
+The pendulums were ever swinging like the legs of a procession
+trooping through the loft, some with quick steps, some with slow.
+Now came a sound as of drums beating.  It was for the hour of
+eight, and when it stopped the tinker began.
+
+"Once upon a time," said he, as they rose from the table and the
+old man went for his pipe, "'twas long ago, an' I had then the rose
+o' youth upon me, a man was tempted o' the devil an' stole money--a
+large sum--an' made off with it.  These hands o' mine used to serve
+him those days, an' I remember he was a man comely an' well set up,
+an', I think, he had honour an' a good heart in him."
+
+The old man paused.
+
+"I should not think it possible," said Trove, who was at the age of
+certainty in his opinions and had long been trained to the
+uncompromising thought of the Puritan.  "A man who steals can have
+no honour in him."
+
+"Ho!  Charity," said the clock tinker, turning as if to address one
+behind him.  "Sweet Charity! attend upon this boy.  Mayhap, sor,"
+he continued meekly.  "God hath blessed me with little knowledge o'
+what is possible.  But I speak of a time before guilt had sored
+him.  He was officer of a great bank--let us say--in Boston.  Some
+thought him rich, but he lived high an' princely, an' I take it,
+sor, his income was no greater than his needs.  It was a proud race
+he belonged to--grand people they were, all o' them--with houses
+an' lands an' many servants.  His wife was dead, sor, an' he'd one
+child--a little lad o' two years, an' beautiful.  One day the boy
+went out with his nurse, an' where further nobody knew.  He never
+came back.  Up an' down, over an' across they looked for him, night
+an' day, but were no wiser, A month went by an' not a sight or sign
+o' him, an' their hope failed.  One day the father he got a
+note,--I remember reading it in the papers, sor,--an' it was a call
+for ransom money--one hundred thousand dollars."
+
+"Kidnapped!" Trove exclaimed with much interest.
+
+"He was, sor," the clock tinker resumed.  "The father he was up to
+his neck in trouble, then, for he was unable to raise the money.
+He had quarrelled with an older brother whose help would have been
+sufficient.  Well, God save us all! 'twas the old story o' pride
+an' bitterness.  He sought no help o' him.  A year an' a half
+passes an' a gusty night o' midwinter the bank burns.  Books,
+papers, everything is destroyed.  Now the poor man has lost his
+occupation.  A week more an' his good name is gone; a month an'
+he's homeless.  A whisper goes down the long path o' gossip.  Was
+he a thief an' had he burned the record of his crime?  The scene
+changes, an' let me count the swift, relentless years."
+
+The old man paused a moment, looking up thoughtfully.
+
+"Well, say ten or mayhap a dozen passed--or more or less it matters
+little.  Boy an' man, where were they?  O the sad world, sor!  To
+all that knew them they were as people buried in their graves.
+Think o' this drowning in the flood o' years--the stately ships
+sunk an' rotting in oblivion; some word of it, sor, may well go
+into thy book."
+
+The tinker paused a moment, lighting his pipe, and after a puff or
+two went on with the tale.
+
+"It is a winter day in a great city--there are buildings an' crowds
+an' busy streets an' sleet'in the bitter wind.  I am there,--an' me
+path is one o' many crossing each other like--well, sor, like lines
+on a slate, if thou were to make ten thousand o' them an' both eyes
+shut.  I am walking slowly, an' lo! there is the banker.  I meet
+him face to face--an ill-clad, haggard, cold, forgotten creature.
+I speak to him.
+
+"'The blessed Lord have mercy on thee,' I said.
+
+"'For meeting thee?' said the poor man.  'What is thy name?'
+
+"'Roderick Darrel.'
+
+"'An' I,' said he, sadly, 'am one o' the lost in hell.  Art thou
+the devil?'
+
+"'Nay, this hand o' mine hath opened thy door an' blacked thy boots
+for thee often,' said I.  'Dost thou not remember?'
+
+"'Dimly--it was a long time ago,' he answered.
+
+"We said more, sor, but that is no part o' the story.  Very well!
+I went with him to his lodgings,--a little cold room in a
+garret,--an' there alone with me he gave account of himself.  He
+had shovelled, an' dug, an' lifted, an' run errands until his
+strength was low an' the weight of his hand a burden.  What hope
+for him--what way to earn a living!
+
+"'Have courage, man,' I said to him.  'Thou shalt learn to mend
+clocks.  It's light an' decent work, an' one may live by it an' see
+much o' the world.'
+
+"There was an old clock, sor, in a heap o' rubbish that lay in a
+corner.  I took it apart, and soon he saw the office of each wheel
+an' pinion an' the infirmity that stopped them an' the surgery to
+make them sound.  I tarried long in the great city, an' every
+evening we were together in the little room.  I bought him a kit o'
+tools an' some brass, an' we would shatter the clockworks an' build
+them up again until he had skill, sor, to make or mend.
+
+"'Me good friend,' said he, one evening after we had been a long
+time at work, 'I wish thou could'st teach me how to mend a broken
+life.  For God's sake, help me!  I am fainting under a great
+burden.'
+
+"'What can I do?' said I to him.
+
+"Then, sor, he went over his story with me from beginning to end.
+It was an impressive, a sacred confidence.  Ah, boy, it would be
+dishonour to tell thee his name, but his story, that I may tell
+thee, changing the detail, so it may never add a straw to his
+burden.  I shall quote him in substance only, an' follow the long
+habit o' me own tongue.
+
+"'Well, ye remember how me son was taken,' said he.  'I could not
+raise the ransom, try as I would.  Now, large sums were in me
+keeping an' I fell.  I remember that day.  Ah! man, the devil
+seemed to whisper to me.  But, God forgive! it was for love that I
+fell.  Little by little I began to take the money I must have an'
+cover its absence.   I said to meself, some time I'll pay it
+back--that ancient sophistry o' the devil.  When me thieving had
+gone far, an' near its goal, the bank burned.  As God's me witness
+I'd no hand in that.  I weighed the chances an' expected to go to
+prison--well, say for ten years, at least.  I must suffer in order
+to save the boy, an' was ready for the sacrifice.  Free again, I
+would help him to return the money.  That burning o' the records
+shut off the prison, but opened the fire o' hell upon me.  Half a
+year had gone by, an' not a word from the kidnappers.  I took a
+note to the place appointed,--a hollow log in the woods, a bit east
+of a certain bridge on the public highway twenty miles out o' the
+city,--but no answer,--not a word,--not a line up to this moment.
+They must have relinquished hope an' put the boy to death.
+
+"'In that old trunk there under the bed is a dusty, moulding,
+cursed heap o' money done up in brown paper an' tied with a string.
+It is a hundred thousand dollars, an' the price o' me soul.'
+
+"'An' thou in rags an' a garret,' said I.
+
+"'An' I in rags an' hell,' said he, sor, looking down at himself.
+
+"He drew out the trunk an' showed me the money, stacks of it,
+dirty, an' stinking o' damp mould.
+
+"'There it is,' said he, 'every dollar I stole is there.  I brought
+it with me an' over these hundreds o' miles I could hear the tongue
+o' gossip.  Every night as I lay down I could hear the whispering
+of all the people I ever knew.  I could see them shake their heads.
+Then came this locket o' gold.'
+
+"A beautiful, shiny thing it was, an' he took out of it a little
+strand o' white hair an' read these words cut in the gleaming
+case:--
+
+  "'Here are silver an' gold,
+  The one for a day o' remembrance between thee an' dishonour,
+  The other for a day o' plenty between thee an' want.'
+
+"It was an odd thought an' worth keeping, an' often I have repeated
+the words.  The silvered hair, that was for remembrance; an' the
+gold he might sell and turn it into a day o' plenty.
+
+"'In the locket was a letter,' said the poor man.  'Here it is,'
+an' he held it in the light o' the candle.  'See, it is signed
+"mother."'
+
+"An' he read from the letter words o' sorrow an' bitter shame, an'
+firm confidence in his honour,
+
+"'It ground me to the very dust,' he went on.  'I put the money in
+that bundle, every dollar.  I could not return it, an' so confirm
+the disgrace o' her an' all the rest.  I could not use it, for if I
+lived in comfort they would ask--all o' them--whence came his
+money?  For their sake I must walk in poverty all me days.  An' I
+went to work at heavy toil, sor, as became a poor man.  As God's me
+judge I felt a pride in rags an' the horny hand.'"
+
+The tinker paused a moment in which all the pendulums seemed to
+quicken pace, tick lapping upon tick, as if trying to get ahead of
+each other.
+
+"Think of it, boy," Darrel continued.  "A pride in rags an'
+poverty.  Bring that into thy book an' let thy best thinking bear
+upon it.  Show us how patch an' tatter were for the poor man as
+badges of honour an' success.
+
+"'I thought to burn the money,' me host went on.  'But no, that
+would have robbed me o' one great possibility--that o' restoring
+it.  Some time, when they were dead, maybe, an' I could suffer
+alone, I would restore it, or, at least, I might see a way to turn
+it into good works.  So I could not be quit o' the money.  Day an'
+night these slow an' heavy years it has been me companion, cursing
+an' accusing me.
+
+"'I lie here o' nights thinking.  In that heap o' money I seem to
+hear the sighs an' sobs o' the poor people that toiled to earn it.
+I feel their sweat upon me, an' God! this heart o' mine is crowded
+to bursting with the despair o' hundreds.  An', betimes, I hear the
+cry o' murder in the cursed heap as if there were some had blood
+upon it.  An' then I dream it has caught fire beneath me an' I am
+burning raw in the flame.'"
+
+The tinker paused again, crossing the room and watching the swing
+of a pendulum.
+
+"Boy, boy," said he, returning to his chair, "think' o' that
+complaining, immovable heap lying there like the blood of a murder.
+An' thy reader must feel the toil an' sweat an' misery an' despair
+that is in a great sum, an' how it all presses on the heart o' him
+that gets it wrongfully.
+
+"'Well, sor,' the poor fellow continued, 'now an' then I met those
+had known me, an' reports o' me poverty went home.  An' those dear
+to me sent money, the sight o' which filled me with a mighty
+sickness, an' I sent it back to them.  Long ago, thank God! they
+ceased to think me a thief, but only crazy.  Tell me, man, what
+shall I do with the money?  There be those living I have to
+consider, an' those dead, an' those unborn.'
+
+"'Hide it,' said I, 'an' go to thy work an' God give thee counsel.'"
+
+Man and boy rose from the table and drew up to the little stove.
+
+"Now, boy," said the clock tinker, leaning toward him with knitted
+brows, "consider this poor thief who suffered so for his friends.
+Think o' these good words, 'Greater love hath no man than this,
+that he lay down his life for his friends.'  If thou should'st ever
+write of it, thy problem will be to reckon the good an' evil, an'
+give each a careful estimate an' him his proper rank!"
+
+"What a sad tale!" said the boy, thoughtfully.  "It's terrible to
+think he may be my father."
+
+"I'd have no worry o' that, sor," said the clock tinker.  "There be
+ten thousand--ay, more--who know not their fathers.  An', moreover,
+'twas long, long ago."
+
+"Please tell me when was the boy taken," said Trove.
+
+"Time, or name, or place, I cannot tell thee, lest I betray him,"
+said the old man, "Neither is necessary to thy tale.  Keep it with
+thee a while; thou art young yet an' close inshore.  Wait until ye
+sound the further deep.  Then, sor, write, if God give thee power,
+and think chiefly o' them in peril an' about to dash their feet
+upon the stones."
+
+For a moment the clocks' ticking was like the voice of many ripples
+washing the shore of the Infinite.  A new life had begun for Trove,
+and they were cutting it into seconds.  He looked up at them and
+rose quickly and stood a moment, his thumb on the door-latch.
+Outside they could hear the rush and scatter of the snow.
+
+"Poor youth!" said the old man.  "Thou hast no coat--take mine.
+Take it, I say.  It will give thee comfort an' me happiness."
+
+He would hear no refusal, and again the coat changed owners, giving
+happiness to the old and comfort to the new.
+
+Then Trove went down the rickety stairs and away in the darkness.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+A Certain Rick Man
+
+Riley Brooke had a tongue for gossip, an ear for evil report, an
+eye for rascals.  Every day new suspicions took root in him, while
+others grew and came to great size and were as hard to conceal as
+pumpkins.  He had meanness enough to equip all he knew, and gave it
+with a lavish tongue.  In his opinion Hillsborough came within one
+of having as many rascals in it as there were people.  He had tried
+to bring them severally to justice by vain appeals to the law,
+having sued for every cause in the books, but chiefly for trespass
+and damages, real and exemplary.  He was a money-lender, shaving
+notes or taking them for larger sums than he lent, with chattel
+mortgages for security.  Foreclosure and sale were a perennial
+source of profit to him.  He was tall and well past middle age,
+with a short, gray beard, a look of severity, a stoop in his
+shoulders, and a third wife whom nobody, within the knowledge of
+the townfolk, had ever seen.  If he had no other to gossip with, he
+provided imaginary company and talked to his own ears.  He thought
+himself a most powerful and agile man, boasting often that he still
+kept the vigour of his youth.  On his errands in the village he
+often broke into an awkward gallop, like a child at play.  When he
+slackened pace it was to shake his head solemnly, as if something
+had reminded him of the wickedness of the world.
+
+"If I dared tell all I knew," he would whisper suggestively, and
+then proceed to tell much more than he could possibly have known.
+Any one of many may have started his tongue, but the shortcomings
+of one Ezekiel Swackhammer were for him an ever present help and
+provocation.  If there were nothing new to talk about, there was
+always Swackhammer.  Poor Swackhammer had done everything he ought
+not to have done.  The good God himself was the only being that had
+the approval of old Riley Brooke.  It was curious--that turning of
+his tongue from the slander of men to the praise of God.  And of
+the goodness of the Almighty he was quite as sure as of the badness
+of men.  Assurance of his own salvation had come to him one day
+when he was shearing sheep, and when, as he related often, finding
+himself on his knees to shear, he remained to pray.  Sundays and
+every Wednesday evening he wore a stove-pipe hat and a long frock
+coat of antique and rusty aspect.  On his way to church--with
+hospitality even for the like of him, thank God!--he walked slowly
+with head bent until, remembering his great agility and strength,
+he began to run, giving a varied exhibition of skips and jumps
+terminating in a sort of gallop.  Once in the sacred house he
+looked to right and left accusingly, and aloft with encouraging
+applause.  His God was one of wrath, vengeance, and destruction;
+his hell the destination of his enemies.  They who resented the
+screw of his avarice, and pulled their thumbs away; they who
+treated him with contempt, and whose faults, compared to his own,
+were as a mound to a mountain--they were all to burn with
+everlasting fire, while he, on account of that happy thought the
+day of the sheep-shearing, was to sit forever with the angels in
+heaven.
+
+"Ye're going t' heaven, I hear," said Darrel, who had repaired a
+clock for him, and heard complaint of his small fee.
+
+"I am," was the spirited reply.
+
+"God speed ye!" said the tinker, as he went away.
+
+In such disfavour was the poor man, that all would have been glad
+to have him go anywhere, so he left Hillsborough.
+
+One day in the Christmas holidays, a boy came to the door of Riley
+Brooke, with a buck-saw on his arm.
+
+"I'm looking for work," said the boy, "and I'd be glad of the
+chance to saw your wood."
+
+"How much a cord?" was the loud inquiry.
+
+"Forty cents."
+
+"Too much," said Brooke.  "How much a day?"
+
+"Six shillings."
+
+"Too much," said the old man, snappishly.  "I used to git six
+dollars a month, when I was your age, an' rise at four o'clock in
+the mornin' an' work till bedtime.   You boys now-days are a lazy
+good-fer-nothin' lot.  What's yer name?"
+
+"Sidney Trove."
+
+"Don't want ye."
+
+"Well, mister," said the boy, who was much in need of money, "I'll
+saw your wood for anything you've a mind to give me."
+
+"I'll give ye fifty cents a day," said the old man.
+
+Trove hesitated.  The sum was barely half what he could earn, but
+he had given his promise, and fell to.  Riley Brooke spent half the
+day watching and urging him to faster work.  More than once the boy
+was near quitting, but kept his good nature and a strong pace.
+When, at last, Brooke went away, Trove heard a sly movement of the
+blinds, and knew that other eyes were on the watch.  He spent three
+days at the job--laming, wearisome days, after so long an absence
+from heavy toil.
+
+"Wal, I suppose y& want money," Brooke snapped, as the boy came to
+the door.  "How much?"
+
+"One dollar and a half."
+
+"Too much, too much; I won't pay it."
+
+"That was the sum agreed upon."
+
+"Don't care, ye hain't earned no dollar 'n a half.  Here, take that
+an' clear out;" having said which, Brooke tossed some money at the
+boy and slammed the door in his face.  Trove counted the money--it
+was a dollar and a quarter.  He was sorely tempted to open the door
+and fling it back at him, but wisely kept his patience and walked
+away.  It was the day before Christmas.  Trove had planned to walk
+home that evening, but a storm had come, drifting the snow deep,
+and he had to forego the visit.  After supper he went to the Sign
+of the Dial.  The tinker was at home in his odd little shop and
+gave him a hearty welcome.  Trove sat by the fire, and told of the
+sawing for Riley Brooke.
+
+"God rest him!" said the tinker, thoughtfully puffing his pipe.
+"What would happen, think ye, if a man like him were let into
+heaven?"
+
+"I cannot imagine," said the boy.
+
+"Well, for one thing," said the tinker, "he'd begin to look for
+chattels, an' I do fear me there'd soon be many without harps."
+
+"What is one to do with a man like that?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Only this," said the tinker; "put him in thy book.  He'll make
+good history.  But, sor, for company he's damnably poor."
+
+"It's a new way to use men," said Trove.
+
+"Nay, an old way--a very old way.  Often God makes an example o'
+rare malevolence an' seems to say, 'Look, despise, and be anything
+but this.'  Like Judas and Herod he is an excellent figure in a
+book.  Put him in thine, boy."
+
+"And credit him with full payment?" the boy asked.
+
+"Long ago, praise God, there was a great teacher," said the old
+man.  "It is a day to think of Him.  Return good for evil--those
+were His words.  We've never tried it, an' I'd like to see how it
+may work.  The trial would be amusing if it bore no better fruit."
+
+"What do you propose?"
+
+"Well, say we take him a gift with our best wishes," said the
+tinker.
+
+"If I can afford it," the boy replied.
+
+The tinker answered quickly: "Oh, I've always a little for a
+Christmas, an' I'll buy the gifts.  Ah, boy, let's away for the
+gifts.  We'll--we'll punish him with kindness."
+
+They went together and bought a pair of mittens and a warm muffler
+for Riley Brooke and walked to his door with them and rapped upon
+it.  Brooke came to the door with a candle.
+
+"What d'ye want?" he demanded.
+
+"To wish you Merry Christmas and present you gifts," said Trove.
+
+The old man raised his candle, surveying them with surprise and
+curiosity.
+
+"What gifts?" he inquired in a milder tone.
+
+"Well," said the boy, "we've brought you mittens and a muffler."
+
+"Ha! ha! Yer consciences have smote ye," said Brooke, "Glory to God
+who brings the sinner to repentance!"
+
+"And fills the bitter cup o' the ungrateful," said the tinker.  And
+they went away.
+
+"I'd like to bring one other gift," said Darrel.
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"God forgive me!  A rope to hang him.  But mind thee, boy, we are
+trying the law o' the great teacher, and let us see if we can learn
+to love this man."
+
+"Love Riley Brooke?" said Trove, doubtfully.
+
+"A great achievement, I grant thee," said the tinker.  "For if we
+can love him, we shall be able to love anybody.  Let us try and see
+what comes of it."
+
+A man was waiting for Darrel at the foot of the old stairs--a tall
+man, poorly dressed, whom Trove had not seen before, and whom, now,
+he was not able to see clearly in the darkness.
+
+"The mare is ready," said Darrel.  "Tis a dark night."
+
+He to whom the tinker had spoken made no answer.
+
+"Good night," said the tinker, turning.  "A Merry Christmas to
+thee, boy, an' peace an' plenty."
+
+"I have peace, and you have given me plenty to think about," said
+Trove.
+
+On his way home the boy thought of the stranger at the stairs,
+wondering if he were the other tinker of whom Darrel had told him.
+At his lodging he found a new pair of boots with only the Christmas
+greeting on a card.
+
+"Well," said Trove, already merrier than most of far better
+fortune, "he must have been somebody that knew my needs."
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+Darrel of the Blessed Isles
+
+The clock tinker was off in the snow paths every other week.  In
+more than a hundred homes, scattered far along road lines of the
+great valley, he set the pace of the pendulums.  Every winter the
+mare was rented for easy driving and Darrel made his journeys
+afoot.  Twice a day Trove passed the little shop, and if there were
+a chalk mark on the dial, he bounded upstairs to greet his friend.
+Sometimes he brought another boy into the rare atmosphere of the
+clock shop--one, mayhap, who needed some counsel of the wise old
+man.
+
+Spring had come again.  Every day sowers walked the hills and
+valleys around Hillsborough, their hands swinging with a godlike
+gesture that summoned the dead to rise; everywhere was the odour of
+broken field or garden.  Night had come again, after a day of magic
+sunlight, and soon after eight o'clock Trove was at the door of the
+tinker with a schoolmate.
+
+"How are you?" said Trove, as Darrel opened the door.
+
+"Better for the sight o' you," said the old man, promptly.  "Enter
+Sidney Trove and another young gentleman."
+
+The boys took the two chairs offered them in silence.
+
+"Kind sor," the tinker added, turning to Trove, "thou hast thy cue;
+give us the lines."
+
+"Pardon me," said the boy.  "Mr. Darrel, my friend Richard Kent."
+
+"Of the Academy?" said Darrel, as he held to the hand of Kent.
+
+"Of the Academy," said Trove.
+
+"An', I make no doubt, o' good hope," the tinker added.  "Let me
+stop one o' the clocks--so I may not forget the hour o' meeting a
+new friend."
+
+Darrel crossed the room and stopped a pendulum.
+
+"He would like to join this night-school of ours," Trove answered.
+
+"Would he?" said the tinker.  "Well, it is one o' hard lessons.
+When ye come t' multiply love by experience, an' subtract vanity
+an' add peace, an' square the remainder, an' then divide by the
+number o' days in thy life--it is a pretty problem, an' the result
+may be much or little, an' ye reach it--"
+
+He paused a moment, thoughtfully puffing the smoke.
+
+"Not in this term o' school," he added impressively.
+
+All were silent a little time.
+
+"Where have you been?" Trove inquired presently.
+
+"Home," said the old man.
+
+There was a puzzled look on Trove's face.
+
+"Home?" he repeated with a voice of inquiry.
+
+"I have, sor," the clock tinker went on.  "This poor shelter is not
+me home--it's only for a night now an' then.  I've a grand house
+an' many servants an' a garden, sor, where there be flowers--lovely
+flowers--an' sunlight an' noble music.  Believe me, boy, 'tis
+enough to make one think o' heaven."
+
+"I did not know of it," said Trove.
+
+"Know ye not there is a country in easy reach of us, with fair
+fields an' proud cities an' many people an' all delights, boy, all
+delights?  There I hope thou shalt found a city thyself an' build
+it well so nothing shall overthrow it--fire, nor flood, nor the
+slow siege o' years."
+
+"Where?" Trove inquired eagerly.
+
+"In the Blessed Isles, boy, in the Blessed Isles.  Imagine the
+infinite sea o' time that is behind us.  Stand high an' look back
+over its dead level.  King an' empire an' all their striving
+multitudes are sunk in the mighty deep.  But thou shalt see rising
+out of it the Blessed Isles of imagination.  Green--forever green
+are they--and scattered far into the dim distance.  Look! there is
+the city o' Shakespeare--Norman towers and battlements and Gothic
+arches looming above the sea.  Go there an' look at the people as
+they come an' go.  Mingle with them an' find good
+company--merry-hearted folk a-plenty, an' God knows I love the
+merry-hearted!  Talk with them, an' they will teach thee wisdom.
+Hard by is the Isle o' Milton, an' beyond are many--it would take
+thee years to visit them.  Ah, sor, half me time I live in the
+Blessed Isles.  What is thy affliction, boy?"
+
+He turned to Kent--a boy whose hard luck was proverbial, and whose
+left arm was in a sling.
+
+"Broke it wrestling," said the boy.
+
+"Kent has bad luck," said Trove.  "Last year he broke his leg."
+
+"Obey the law, or thou shalt break the bone o' thy neck," said
+Darrel, quickly.
+
+"I do obey the law," said Trent.
+
+"Ay--the written law," said the clock tinker, "an' small credit to
+thee.  But the law o' thine own discovery,--the law that is for
+thyself an' no other,--hast thou ne'er thought of it?  Ill luck is
+the penalty o' law-breaking.  Therefore study the law that is for
+thyself.  Already I have discovered one for thee, an' it is, 'I
+have not limberness enough in me bones, so I must put them in no
+unnecessary peril.'  Listen, I'll read thee me own code."
+
+The clock tinker rose and got his Shakespeare, ragged from long
+use, and read from a fly-leaf, his code of private law, to wit:--
+
+"Walk at least four miles a day.
+
+"Eat no pork and be at peace with thy liver.
+
+"Measure thy words and cure a habit of exaggeration.
+
+"Thine eyes are faulty--therefore, going up or down, look well to
+thy steps.
+
+"Beware of ardent spirits, for the curse that is in thy blood.  It
+will turn thy heart to stone.
+
+"In giving, remember Darrel.
+
+"Bandy no words with any man.
+
+"Play at no game of chance.
+
+"Think o' these things an' forget thyself."
+
+"Now there is the law that is for me alone," Darrel continued,
+looking up at the boys.  "Others may eat pork or taste the red cup,
+or dally with hazards an' suffer no great harm--not I.  Good
+youths, remember, ill luck is for him only that is ignorant,
+neglectful, or defiant o' private law."
+
+"But suppose your house fall upon you," Trove suggested.
+
+"I speak not o' common perils," said the tinker.  "But
+enough--let's up with the sail.  Heave ho! an' away for the Blessed
+Isles.  Which shall it be?"
+
+He turned to a rude shelf, whereon were books,--near a score,--some
+worn to rags.
+
+"What if it be yon fair Isle o' Milton?" he inquired, lifting an
+old volume.
+
+"Let's to the Isle o' Milton," Trove answered.
+
+"Well, go to one o' the clocks there, an' set it back," said the
+tinker.
+
+"How much?" Trove inquired with a puzzled look.
+
+"Well, a matter o' two hundred years," said Darrel, who was now
+turning the leaves.  "List ye, boy, we're up to the shore an' hard
+by the city gates.  How sweet the air o' this enchanted isle!
+
+  "'And west winds with musky wing
+  Down the cedarn alleys fling
+  Nard and cassia's balmy smells.'"
+
+He quoted thoughtfully, turning the leaves.  Then he read the
+shorter poems,--a score of them,--his voice sounding the noble
+music of the lines.  It was revelation for those raw youths and led
+them high.  They forgot the passing of the hours and till near
+midnight were as those gone to a strange country.  And they long
+remembered that night with Darrel of the Blessed Isles.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+Dust of Diamonds in the Hour-glass
+
+The axe of Theron Allen had opened the doors of the wilderness.
+One by one the great trees fell thundering and were devoured by
+fire.  Now sheep and cattle were grazing on the bare hills.  Around
+the house he left a thicket of fir trees that howled ever as the
+wind blew, as if "because the mighty were spoiled."   Neighbours
+had come near; every summer great rugs of grain, vari-hued, lay
+over hill and dale.
+
+Allen bad prospered, and begun to speculate in cattle.  Every year
+late in April he went to Canada for a drove and sent them south--a
+great caravan that filled the road for half a mile or more,
+tramping wearily under a cloud of dust.  He sold a few here and
+there, as the drove went on--a far journey, often, to the sale of
+the last lot.
+
+The drove came along one morning about the middle of May, 1847.
+Trove met them at the four corners on Caraway Pike.  Then about
+sixteen years of age, he made his first long journey into the world
+with Allen's drove.  He had his time that summer and fifty cents
+for driving.  It was an odd business, and for the boy full of new
+things.
+
+A man went ahead in a buckboard wagon that bore provisions.  One
+worked in the middle and two behind.  Trove was at the heels of the
+first section.  It was easy work after the cattle got used to the
+road and a bit leg weary.  They stopped them for water at the
+creeks and rivers; slowed them down to browse or graze awhile at
+noontime; and when the sun was low, if they were yet in a land of
+fences, he of the horse and wagon hurried on to get pasturage for
+the night.
+
+That first day some of the leaders had begun to wander and make
+trouble.  For that reason Trove was walking beside the buckboard in
+front of the drove.
+
+"We'll stop to-night on Cedar Hill," said the boss, about
+mid-afternoon.  "Martha Vaughn has got the best pasture and the
+prettiest girl in this part o' the country.  If you don't fall in
+love with that girl, you ought t' be licked."
+
+Now Trove had no very high opinion of girls.  Up there in Brier
+Dale he had seen little of them.  At the red schoolhouse, even,
+they were few and far from his ideal.  And they were a foolish lot
+there in Hillsborough, it seemed to him--all save two or three who
+were, he owned, very sweet and beautiful; but he had seen how they
+tempted other boys to extravagance, and was content with a sly
+glance at them now and then.
+
+"I don't ever expect to fall in love," said Trove, confidently.
+
+"Wal, love is a thing that always takes ye by surprise," the other
+answered.  "Mrs. Vaughn is a widow, an' we generally stop there the
+first day out.  She's a poor woman, an' it gives her a lift."
+
+They came shortly to the little weather-stained house of the widow.
+As they approached, a girl, with arms bare to the elbow, stood
+looking at them, her hand shading her eyes.
+
+"Co' boss!  Co' boss!  Co' boss!" she was calling, in a sweet,
+girlish treble.
+
+Trove came up to the gate, and presently her big, dark eyes were
+looking into his own.  That very moment he trembled before them as
+a reed shaken by the wind.  Long after then, he said that something
+in her voice had first appealed to him.  Her soft eyes were,
+indeed, of those that quicken the hearts of men.  It is doubtful if
+there were, in all the world, a lovelier thing than that wild
+flower of girlhood up there in the hills.  She was no dream of
+romance, dear reader.  In one of the public buildings of a certain
+capital her portrait has been hanging these forty years, and wins,
+from all who pass it, the homage of a long look.  But Trove said,
+often, that she was never quite so lovely as that day she stood
+calling the cows--her shapely, brown face aglow with the light of
+youth, her dark hair curling on either side as it fell to her
+shoulders.
+
+"Good day," said he, a little embarrassed.
+
+"Good day," said she, coolly, turning toward the house.
+
+Trove was now in the midst of the cattle.  Suddenly a dog rushed
+upon them, and they took fright.  For a moment the boy was in
+danger of being trampled, but leaped quickly to the backs of the
+cows and rode to safety.  After supper the men sat talking in the
+stable door, beyond which, on the hay, they were to sleep that
+night.  But Trove stood a long time with the girl, whose name was
+Polly, at the little gate of the widow.
+
+They seemed to meet there by accident.  For a moment they were
+afraid of each other.  After a little hesitation Polly picked a
+sprig of lilac.  He could see a tremble in her hand as she gave it
+to him, and he felt his own blushes.
+
+"Couldn't you say something?" she whispered with a smile.
+
+"I--I've been trying to think of something," he stammered.
+
+"Anything would do," said the girl, laughing, as she retreated a
+step or two and stood with an elbow leaning on the board fence.
+She had on her best gown.
+
+It was a curious interview, the words of small account, the
+silences full of that power which has been the very light of the
+world.  If there were only some way of reporting what followed the
+petty words,--swift arrows of the eye, lips trembling with the
+peril of unuttered thought, faces lighting with sweet discovery or
+darkening with doubt,--well, the author would have better
+confidence.
+
+Their glances met--the boy hesitated.
+
+"I--don't think you look quite as lovely in that dress," he
+ventured.
+
+A shadow of disappointment came into her face, and she turned away.
+The boy was embarrassed.  He had taken a misstep.  She turned
+impatiently and gave him a glance from head to foot.
+
+"But you're lovely enough now," he ventured again.
+
+There was a quick movement of her lips, a flicker of contempt in
+her eyes.  It seemed an age before she answered him.
+
+"Flatterer!" said she, presently, looking down and jabbing the
+fence top with a pin.  "I suppose you think I'm very homely."
+
+"I always mean what I say."
+
+"Then you'd better be careful--you might spoil me."  She smiled
+faintly, turning her face away.
+
+"How so?"
+
+"Don't you know," said she, seriously, "that when a girl thinks
+she's beautiful she's spoiled?"
+
+Their blushes had begun to fade; their words to come easier.
+
+"Guess I'm spoilt, too," said the boy, looking away thoughtfully.
+"I don't know what to say--but sometime, maybe, you will know me
+better and believe me."  He spoke with some dignity.
+
+"I know who you are," the girl answered, coming nearer and looking
+into his eyes.  "You're the boy that came out of the woods in a
+little red sleigh."
+
+"How did you know?" Trove inquired; for he was not aware that any
+outside his own home knew it.
+
+"A man told us that came with the cattle last year.  And he said
+you must belong to very grand folks."
+
+"And how did he know that?"
+
+"By your looks."
+
+"By my looks?"
+
+"Yes, I--I suppose he thought you didn't look like other boys
+around here." She was now plying the pin very attentively.
+
+"I must be a very curious-looking boy."
+
+"Oh, not very," said she, looking at him thoughtfully.  "I--I--well
+I shall not tell you what I think," She spoke decisively.
+
+She had begun to blush again.
+
+Their eyes met, and they both looked away, smiling.  Then a moment
+of silence.
+
+"Don't you like brown?" She was now looking down at her dress, with
+a little show of trouble in her eyes.
+
+"I liked the brown of your arms," he answered.
+
+The pin stopped; there was a puzzled look in her face.
+
+"I'm afraid it's a very homely dress, anyway," said she, looking
+down upon it, as she moved her foot impatiently.
+
+Her mother came out of doors.  "Polly," said she, "you'd better go
+over to the post-office."
+
+"May I go with her?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Ask Polly," said the widow Vaughn, laughing.
+
+"May I?" he asked.
+
+Polly turned away smiling.  "If you care to," said she, in a low
+voice.
+
+"You must hurry and not be after dark," said the widow.
+
+They went away, but only the moments hurried.  They that read here,
+though their heads be gray and their hearts heavy, will understand;
+for they will remember some little space of time, with seconds
+flashing as they went, like dust of diamonds in the hour-glass.
+
+"Don't you remember how you came in the little red sleigh?" she
+asked presently.
+
+"No."
+
+"I think it's very grand," said she.  "It's so much like a story."
+
+"Do you read stories?"
+
+"All I can get.  I've been reading 'Greytower.'"
+
+"I read it last winter," said the boy.  "What did you like best in
+it?"
+
+"I'm ashamed to tell you," said she, with a quick glance at him.
+
+"Please tell me."
+
+"Oh, the love scenes, of course," said she, looking down with a
+sigh, and a little hesitation.
+
+"He was a fine lover."
+
+"I've something in my eye," said she, stopping.
+
+"Perhaps I can get it," said he; "let me try."
+
+"I'm afraid you'll hurt me," said she, looking up with a smile.
+
+"I'll be careful."
+
+He lifted her face a little, his fingers beneath her pretty chin.
+Then, taking her long, dark lashes between thumb and finger, he
+opened the lids.
+
+"You are hurting," said she, soberly; and now the lashes were
+trying to pull free.
+
+"I can see it," said he.
+
+"It must be a bear--you look so frightened."
+
+"It's nothing to be afraid of," said the boy.
+
+"Well, your hands tremble," said she, laughing.
+
+"There," he answered, removing a speck of dust with his
+handkerchief.
+
+"It is gone now, thank you," said Polly, winking.
+
+She stood close to him, and as she spoke her lips trembled.  He
+could delay no longer with a subject knocking at the gate of speech.
+
+"Do you believe in love at first sight?" he asked.
+
+She turned, looking up at him seriously.  Her lips parted in a
+smile that showed her white teeth.  Then her glance fell.  "I shall
+not tell you that," said she, in a half whisper.
+
+"I hope we shall meet again," he said,
+
+"Do you?" said she, glancing up at him shyly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, if I were you and wanted to see a girl,--I'd--I'd come and
+see her."
+
+"What if you didn't know whether she was willing or not?" he asked.
+
+"I'd take my chances," said she, soberly.
+
+There were pauses in which their souls went far beyond their words
+and seemed to embrace each other fondly with arms of the spirit
+invisible and resistless.  And whatever was to come, in that hour
+the great priest of Love in the white robe of innocence had made
+them one.  The air about them was full of strange delight, They
+were in deep dusk as they neared the house.  For one moment of
+long-remembered joy she let him put his arm about her waist, but
+when he kissed her cheek she drew herself away.
+
+They walked a little time in silence.
+
+"I am no flirt," she whispered presently.  Neither spoke for a
+moment.
+
+Then she seemed to feel and pity his emotion.  Something slowed the
+feet of both.
+
+"There," she whispered; "you may kiss my hand if you care to."
+
+He kissed the pretty hand that was offered to him, and her whisper
+seemed to ring in the dusky silence like the dying rhythm of a bell.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+Drove and Drovers
+
+A little after daybreak they went on with the cows.   For half a
+mile or more until the little house had sunk below the hill crest
+Trove was looking backward.  Now and ever after he was to think and
+tarry also in the road of life and look behind him for the golden
+towers of memory.  The drovers saw a change in Trove and flung at
+him with their stock of rusty, ancestral witticisms.  But Thurst
+Tilly had a way of saying and doing quite his own,
+
+"Never see any one knocked so flat as you was," said he.  "Ye
+didn't know enough t' keep ahead o' the cattle.  I declare I
+thought they'd trample ye 'fore ye could git yer eye unsot."
+
+Trove made no answer.
+
+"That air gal had a mighty power in her eye," Thurst went on.
+"When I see her totin' you off las' night I says t' the boys, says
+I, 'Sid is goin' t' git stepped on.  He ain't never goin' t' be the
+same boy ag'in.'"
+
+The boy held his peace, and for days neither ridicule nor
+excitement--save only for the time they lasted--were able to bring
+him out of his dream.
+
+That night they came to wild country, where men and cattle lay down
+to rest by the roadway--a thing Trove enjoyed.  In the wagon were
+bread and butter and boiled eggs and tea and doughnuts and cake and
+dried herring.  The men built fires and made tea and ate their
+suppers, and sang, as the night fell, those olden ballads of the
+frontier--"Barbara Allen," "Bonaparte's Dream," or the "Drover's
+Daughter."
+
+For days they were driving in the wild country.  At bedtime each
+wound himself in a blanket and lay down to rest, beneath a rude
+lean-to if it were raining, but mostly under the stars.  On this
+journey Trove got his habit of sleeping, out-of-doors in fair
+weather.  After it, save in midwinter, walls seemed to weary and
+roofs to smother him.  The drove began to low at daybreak, and soon
+they were all cropping the grass or browsing in the briers.  Then
+the milking, and breakfast over a camp fire, and soon after sunrise
+they were all tramping in the road again.
+
+It was a pleasant journey--the waysides glowing with the blue of
+violets, the green of tender grass, the thick-sown, starry gold of
+dandelions.  Wild fowl crossed the sky in wedge and battalion,
+their videttes out, their lines now firm, now wheeling in a long
+curve to take the path of the wind.  Every thicket was a fount of
+song that fell to silence when darkness came and the low chant of
+the marshes.
+
+When they came into settled country below the big woods they began
+selling.  At length the drove was reduced to one section; Trove
+following with the helper named Thurston Tilly, familiarly known as
+"Thurst."
+
+He was a tall, heavy, good-natured man, distinguished for fat,
+happiness, and singular aptitudes.  He had lifted a barrel of salt
+by the chimes and put it on a wagon; once he had eaten two mince
+pies at a meal; again he had put his heel six inches above his head
+on a barn door, and, any time, he could wiggle one ear or both or
+whistle on his thumb.  At every lodging place he had left a feeling
+of dread and relief as well as a perennial topic of conversation.
+At every inn he added something to his stock of fat and happiness.
+Then, often, he seemed to be overloaded with the latter and would
+sit and shake his head and roar with laughter, now and then giving
+out a wild yell.  He had a story of which no one had ever heard the
+finish.  He began it often, but, somehow, never got to the end.  He
+always clung to the lapel of his hearer's coat as if in fear of
+losing him, and never tried his tale but once on the same pair of
+ears.  Having got his inspiration he went in quest of his hearer,
+and having hitched him, as it were, by laying hold of his elbow or
+coat collar, began the tale.  It was like pouring molasses on a
+level place--it moved slowly and spread and got nowhere in
+particular.  At first his manner was slow, dignified, and
+confidential, changing to fit his emotion.  He whispered, he
+shouted, he laughed, he looked sorrowful, he nudged the stranger in
+his abdomen, he glared upon him, eye close to eye, he shook him by
+the shoulder, and slowly wore him out.  Some endured long and were
+patient, but soon or late all began to back and dodge, and finally
+broke away, and seeing the hand of the narrator reach for them,
+dodged quickly and, being pursued, ran.  Often this odd chase took
+them around trees and stumps and buildings, the stranger escaping,
+frequently, through some friendly door which he could lock or hold
+fast.  Then Thurst, knocking loudly, gave out a wild yell or two,
+peered in at the nearest window, and came at last to his chair,
+sorrowful and much out of breath, his tale unfinished.  There was
+in the man a saving element of good nature, and no one ever got
+angry with him.  At each new attempt be showed a grimmer
+determination to finish, but even there, in a land of strong and
+patient men, not one, they used to say, had ever the endurance to
+hear the end of that unfinished tale.
+
+It was not easy to dispose of cattle in the southern counties that
+year, but they found a better market as they bore west, and were
+across the border of Ohio when the last of the drove were sold.
+That done, Trove and Thurst Tilly took the main road to Cleveland,
+whence they were to return home by steamboat.
+
+It led them into woods and by stumpy fields and pine-odoured
+hamlets.  The first day of their walk was rainy, and they went up a
+toteway into thick timber and built a fire and kept dry and warm
+until the rain ceased.  That evening they fell in with emigrants on
+their way to the far west.
+
+The latter were camped on the edge of a wood, near the roadway, and
+cooking supper as the two came along.  Being far from a town, Trove
+and Tilly were glad to accept the hospitality of the travellers.
+
+They had come to the great highway of travel from east to west.
+Every day it was cut by wagons of the mover overloaded with Lares
+and Penates, with old and young, enduring hardships and the loss of
+home and old acquaintance for hope of better fortune.
+
+A man and wife and three boys were the party, travelling with two
+wagons.  They were bound for Iowa and, being heavy loaded, were
+having a hard time.  All sat on a heap of boughs in the firelight
+after supper.
+
+"It's a long, long road to Iowa, father," said the woman.
+
+"It'll soon be over," said he, with a tone of encouragement.
+
+"I've been thinking all day of the lilacs and the old house," said
+she.
+
+They looked in silence at the fire a moment.
+
+"We're a bit homesick," said the man, turning to Trove, "an' no
+wonder.  It's been hard travelling, an' we've broke down every few
+miles.  But we'll have better luck the rest o' the journey."
+
+Evidently his cheerful courage had been all that kept them going.
+
+"Lost all we had in the great fire of '35," said he, thoughtfully.
+"I went to bed a rich man, but when I rose in the morning I had not
+enough to pay a week's board.  Everything had been swept away."
+
+"A merchant?" Trove inquired.
+
+"A partner in the great Star Mill on East River," said the man.  "I
+could have got a fortune for my share--at least a hundred thousand
+dollars--and I had worked hard for it."
+
+"And were you not able to succeed again?"
+
+"No," said the traveller, sadly, shaking his head.  "If some time
+you have to lose all you possess.  God grant you still have youth
+and a strong arm.  I tried--that is all--I tried."
+
+The boy looked up at him, his heart touched.  The man was near
+sixty years of age; his face had deep lines in it; his voice the
+dull ring of loss, and failure, and small hope.  The woman covered
+her face and began to sob.
+
+"There, mother," said the man, touching her head; "we'd better
+forget.  I'll never speak of that again--never.  We're going to
+seek our fortune.  Away in the great west we'll seek our fortune."
+
+His effort to be cheerful was perhaps the richest colour of that
+odd scene there in the still woods and the firelight.
+
+"We're going to take a farm in the most beautiful country in the
+world.  It's easy to make money there."
+
+"If you've no objection I'd like to go with you," said Thurst
+Tilly.  "I'm a good farmer."
+
+"Can you drive a team?" said the man.
+
+"Drove horses all my life," said Thurst; whereupon they made a
+bargain.
+
+Trove and Tilly went away to the brook for water while the
+travellers went to bed in their big, covered wagon.  Trove lay down
+with his blanket on the boughs, reading over the indelible record
+of that day.  And he said, often, as he thought of it, years after,
+that the saddest thing in all the world is a man of broken courage.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+An Odd Meeting
+
+They were up betimes in the morning, and Trove ate hastily from his
+own store and bade them all good-by and made off, for he had yet a
+long road to travel.
+
+That day Trove fell in with a great, awkward country boy, slouching
+along the road on his way to Cleveland.  He was an odd figure, with
+thick hair of the shade of tow that burst out from under a slouch
+hat and muffled his neck behind; his coat was thread-bare and a bit
+too large; his trousers of satinet fell loosely far enough to break
+joints with each bootleg; the dusty cowhide gave his feet a lonely
+and arid look.  He carried a bundle tied to a stick that lay on his
+left shoulder.  They met near a corner, nodded, and walked on a
+while together in silence.  For a little time they surveyed each
+other curiously.  Then each began to quicken the pace.
+
+"Maybe you think you can walk the fastest," said he of the long
+hair.
+
+They were going a hot pace, their free arms flying.  Trove bent to
+his work stubbornly.  They both began to tire and slow up.  The big
+boy looked across at the other and laughed loudly.
+
+"Wouldn't give up if ye broke a leg, would ye?" said he.
+
+"Not if I could swing it," said Trove.
+
+"Goin' t' Cleveland?"
+
+"Yes; are you?"
+
+"Yes.  I'm goin' t' be a sailor," said the strange boy.
+
+"Goin' off on the ocean?" Trove inquired with deep interest.
+
+"Yes; 'round the world, maybe.  Then I'll come back an' go t'
+school--if I don't git wrecked like Robi'son Crusoe."
+
+"My stars!" said Trove, with a look of awe.
+
+"Like t' go?" the other inquired.
+
+"Guess I would!"
+
+"Better stay t' home; it's a hard life." This with an air of
+parental wisdom.
+
+"I've read 'Robi'son Crusoe,'" said Trove, as if it were some
+excuse.
+
+"So 've I; an' Grimshaw's 'Napoleon,' an' Weems's 'Life o' Marion,'
+an' 'The Pirates' Book,' an' the Bible."
+
+"I've got half through the Bible," said Trove.
+
+"Who slew Absolum?" the other inquired doubtfully.
+
+Trove remembered the circumstances, but couldn't recall the name.
+
+They sat down to rest and eat luncheon.
+
+"You going to be a statesman?" Trove inquired.
+
+"No; once I thought I'd try t' go t' Congress, but I guess I'd
+rather go t' sea.  What you goin' t' be?"
+
+"I shall try to be an author," said Trove.
+
+"Why, if I was you, I'd go into politics," said the other.  "Ye
+might be President some day, no telling.  Do ye know how t' chop er
+hoe er swing a scythe?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Wal, then, if ye don't ever git t' be President, ye won't have t'
+starve.  I saw an author one day."
+
+"You did?"
+
+"He was an awful-lookin' cuss," said the other, with a nod of
+affirmation.
+
+The strange boy took another bite of bread and butter.
+
+"Wrote dime novels an' drank whisky an' wore a bearskin vest," he
+added presently.
+
+"Do you know the Declaration of Independence?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I do," said the strange boy, and gave it word for word.
+
+They chatted and tried tricks and spent a happy hour there by the
+roadside.  It was an hour of pure democracy--neither knew even the
+name of the other so far.
+
+They got to Cleveland late in the afternoon.
+
+"Now keep yer hand on yer wallet," said the strange boy, as they
+were coming into the city.  "I've got three dollars an'
+seventy-five cents in mine, an' I don't propose t' have it took
+away from me."
+
+Trove went to a tavern, the other to stay with friends.  Near noon
+next day both boys met on the wharf, where Trove was to board a
+steamboat.
+
+"Got a job?" Trove inquired.
+
+"No," said the other, with a look of dejection.  "I tried, an' they
+cursed an' damned me awful.  I got away as quick as I could.  Dunno
+but I'll have t' go back an' try t' be a statesman er something o'
+that kind.  Guess it's easier than goin' t' sea.  Give me yer name
+an' address, an' maybe I'll write ye a letter."
+
+Trove complied.
+
+"Please give me yours," said he.
+
+"It's James Abram Garfield, Orange, O.," said the other.
+
+Then they spoke a long good-by.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+The Old Rag Doll
+
+The second week of September Trove went down the hills again to
+school, with food and furniture beside him in the great wagon.  He
+had not been happy since he got home.  Word of that evening with
+the pretty "Vaughn girl" had come to the ears of Allen.
+
+"You're too young for that, boy," said he, the day Trove came.
+"You must promise me one thing--that you'll keep away from her
+until you are eighteen."
+
+In every conviction Allen was like the hills about him--there were
+small changes on the surface, but underneath they were ever the
+same rock-boned, firm, unmoving hills.
+
+"But I'm in love with her," said the boy, with dignity. "It is more
+than I can bear.  I tell you, sir, that I regard the young lady
+with--with deep affection."  He had often a dignity of phrase and
+manner beyond his years.
+
+"Then it will last," said Allen.  "You're only a boy, and for a
+while I know what is best for you."
+
+Trove had to promise, and, as that keen edge of his feeling wore
+away, doubted no more the wisdom of his father.  He wrote Polly a
+letter, quaint with boyish chivalry and frankness--one of a package
+that has lain these many years in old ribbons and the scent of
+lavender.
+
+He went to the Sign of the Dial as soon as he got to Hillsborough
+that day.  Darrel was at home, and a happy time it was, wherein
+each gave account of the summer.  A stranger sat working at the
+small bench.  Darrel gave him no heed, chatting as if they were
+quite alone.
+
+"And what is the news in Hillsborough?" said Trove, his part of the
+story finished.
+
+"Have ye not heard?" said Darrel, in a whisper.  "Parson Hammond
+hath swapped horses."
+
+Trove began to laugh.
+
+"Nay, that is not all," said the tinker, his pipe in hand.  "Deacon
+Swackhammer hath smitten the head o' Brooke.  Oh, sor, 'twas a
+comedy.   Brooke gave him an ill-sounding word.  Swackhammer
+removed his coat an' flung it down.  'Deacon, lie there,' said he.
+Then each began, as it were, to bruise the head o' the serpent.
+Brooke--poor man!--he got the worst of it.  An' sad to tell! his
+wife died the very next day."
+
+"Of what?" Trove inquired,
+
+"Marry, I do not know; it may have been joy," said the tinker,
+lighting his pipe.  "Ah, sor, Brooke is tough.  He smites the
+helping hand an' sickens the heart o' kindness.  I offered him help
+an' sympathy, an' he made it all bitter with suspicion o' me.  I
+turned away, an' said I to meself, 'Darrel, thy head is soft--a
+babe could brain thee with a lady's fan.'"
+
+Darrel puffed his pipe in silence a little time.
+
+"Every one hates Brooke," said Trove.
+
+"Once," said Darrel, presently, "a young painter met a small animal
+with a striped back, in the woods.  They exchanged compliments an'
+suddenly the painter ran, shaking his head.  As he came near his
+own people, they all began to flee before him.  He followed them
+for days, an' every animal in the woods ran as he came near.  By
+an' by he stopped to rest.  Then he looked down at himself an'
+spat, sneeringly.  When, after weeks o' travel, he was at length
+admitted to the company of his kind, they sat in judgment on him.
+
+"'Tell us,' said one, 'what evil hath befallen thee?'
+
+"'Alas!' said the poor cat, 'I met a little creature with a striped
+back.'
+
+"'A little creature! an' thee so put about?' said another, with
+great contempt.
+
+"'Ay; but he hath a mighty talent,' said the sad painter.  'Let him
+but stand before thee, an' he hath spoiled the earth, an' its
+people, an' thou would'st even flee from thyself.  But in fleeing
+thou shalt think thyself on the way to hell.'"
+
+For a moment Darrel shook with silent laughter.  Then he rose and
+put his pipe on the shelf.
+
+"Well, I'd another chance to try the good law on him," said Darrel,
+presently.  "In July he fell sick o' fever, an' I delayed me trip
+to nurse him.  At length, when he was nearly well, an' I had come
+to his home one evening, the widow Glover met me at his door.
+
+"'If ye expect money fer comin' here, ye better go on 'bout yer
+business,' Brooke shouted from the bedroom.  'I don't need ye any
+more, an' I'll send ye a bushel o' potatoes by 'n by.  Good day.'
+
+"Not a word o' thanks!" the tinker exclaimed.  "Wrath o' God!  I
+fear there is but one thing would soften him."
+
+"And what is that?"
+
+"A club," said Darrel.  "But God forgive me!  I must put away
+anger.  Soon it went about that Brooke was to marry the widow.  All
+were delighted, for each party would be in the nature of a
+punishment.  God's justice!  they did deserve each other."
+
+Darrel shook with happiness, and relighted his pipe.
+
+"Mayhap ye've seen the dear lady," Darrel went on.  "She is large,
+bony, quarrelsome--a weaver of some fifty years--neither amiable
+nor fair to look upon.  Every one knows her--a survivor o' two
+husbands an' many a battle o' high words.
+
+"'Is it a case o' foreclosure, Brooke?' says I to him one day in
+the road.
+
+"'No, sor,' he snaps out; 'I had a little mortgage on her
+furniture, but I'm going t' marry her for a helpmeet.  She is a
+great worker an' neat an' savin'.'
+
+"'An' headstrong,' says I. 'Ye must have patience with her.'
+
+"'I can manage her,' said Brooke.   'The first morning after we are
+married I always say to my wife, "Here's the breeches; now if ye
+want 'em, take 'em, an' I'll put on the dress."'
+
+"He looked wise, then, as if 'twere a great argument.
+
+"'Always?' says I.  'God bless thee, 'tis an odd habit.'
+
+"Well, the boast o' Brooke went from one to another an' at last to
+the widow's ear.  They say a look o' firmness an' resolution came
+into her face, an' late in August they were married of an evening
+at the home o' Brooke.  Well, about then, I had been having
+trouble."
+
+"Trouble?" said Trove.
+
+"It was another's trouble--that of a client o' mine, a poor woman
+out in the country.  Brooke had a mortgage on her cattle, an' she
+could not pay, an' I undertook to help her.  I had some money due
+me, but was unable to put me hand on it.  That day before the
+wedding I went to the old sinner.
+
+"'Brooke, I came to see about the Martha Vaughn mortgage,' says I."
+
+"Martha Vaughn!" said Trove, turning quickly.
+
+"Yes, one o' God's people," said the tinker.
+
+"Ye may have seen her?"
+
+"I have seen her," said Trove.
+
+"'At ten o'clock to-morrow I shall foreclose,' says Brooke, waving
+his fist.
+
+"'Give her a little time--till the day after to-morrow,--man, it is
+not much to ask,' says I.
+
+"'Not an hour,' says he; an' I came away."
+
+Darrel rose and put on his glasses and brought a newspaper and gave
+it to the boy.
+
+"Read that," said he, his finger on the story, "an' see what came
+of it."
+
+The article was entitled "A Rag Doll--The Story of a Money-lender
+whose Name, let us say, is Brown."
+
+After some account of the marriage and of bride and groom, the
+story went on as follows:--
+
+
+"At midnight the charivari was heard--a noisy beating of pans and
+pots in the door-yard of the unhappy groom, who flung sticks of
+wood from the window, and who finally dispersed the crowd with an
+old shotgun.  Bright and early next day came the milkman--a veteran
+of the war of 1812--who, agreeably with his custom, sounded the
+call of boots and saddles on his battered bugle at Brown's door.
+But none came to open it.   The noon hour passed with no sign of
+life in the old house.
+
+"'Suthin' hes happened over there,' said his nearest neighbour,
+peering out of the window.  'Mebbe they've fit an' disabled each
+other.'
+
+"'You'd better go an' rap on the door,' said his wife.
+
+"He started, halting at his gate and looking over at the house of
+mystery.  While he stood there, the door of the money-lender opened
+a little, and a head came out beckoning for help.  He hurried to
+the door, that swung open as he came near it.
+
+"'Heavens!' said he,  'What is the matter?'
+
+"Brown stood behind the door, in a gown of figured calico, his feet
+bare, his shock of gray hair dishevelled.  The gown was a poor fit,
+stopping just below the knees.
+
+"'That woman!' he gasped, sinking into a chair and making an angry
+gesture with his fist.  'That woman has got every pair o' breeches
+in the house.'
+
+"His wife appeared in the rusty, familiar garments of the
+money-lender.
+
+"'He tried to humble me this morning,' said she, 'an' I humbled
+him.  He began to order me around, an' I told him I wouldn't hev
+it.  "Then," says he, "you better put on the breeches an' I'll put
+on the dress."  "Very well," says I, and grabbed the breeches, an'
+give him the dress.   I know ye, Brown; ye'll never abuse me.'
+
+"'I'll get a divorce--I'll have the law on ye,' said the old man,
+angrily, as he walked the floor in his gown of calico.
+
+"'Go on,' said she.  'Go to the lawyer now.'
+
+"'Will ye git me a pair o' breeches?'
+
+"'No; I took yer offer, an' ye can't have 'em 'til ye've done the
+work that goes with the dress.  Come, now, I want my dinner.'
+
+"'I can't find a stitch in the house,' said he, turning to his
+neighbour.  'I wish ye'd bring me some clothes.'
+
+"The caller made no reply, but came away smiling, and told of
+Brown's dilemma.
+
+"'It's good for him,' said the neighbour's wife.  'Don't ye take
+him any clothes.  He's bullied three wives to death, an' now I'm
+glad he's got a wife that can bully him.'
+
+"Brown waited long, but no help arrived.  The wife was firm and he
+very hungry.  She called him 'wife'--a title not calculated to
+soothe a man of his agility and vigour.  He galloped across the
+room at her, yelling as he brandished a poker.  She quickly took it
+away and drove him into a corner.  He had taken up the poker and
+now seemed likely to perish by it.  Then, going to the stove with
+this odd weapon, she stuck its end in the fire, and Brown had no
+sooner flung a wash-basin across the room at her head than she ran
+after him with the hot poker.  Then, calling for help, he ran
+around the stove and out of doors like a wild man, his dress of
+calico and his long hair flying in the breeze.  Pedestrians halted,
+men and women came out of their homes.  The bare feet of the
+money-lender were flying with great energy.
+
+"'She's druv him crazy,' a man shouted.
+
+"'An' knocked the socks off him,' said another.
+
+"'Must have been tryin' t' make him into a rag doll,' was the
+comment of a third.
+
+"'Brown, if yer goin' t' be a womern,' said one, as they surrounded
+him, 'ye'd ought to put on a longer dress.  Yer enough t' scare a
+hoss.'
+
+"Brown was inarticulate with anger.
+
+"A number of men judging him insane, seized and returned him to his
+punishment.  They heard the unhappy story with loud laughter.
+
+"'You'd better give up an' go to the kitchen.  Brown,' said one of
+them; and there are those who maintain that he got the dinner
+before he got the trousers."
+
+
+"Well, God be praised!" said Darrel, when Trove had finished
+reading the story; "Brooke was unable to foreclose that day, an'
+the next was Sunday, an' bright an' early on Monday morning I paid
+the debt."
+
+"Mrs.  Vaughn has a daughter," said Trove, blushing.
+
+"Ay; an' she hath a pretty redness in her lip," said Darrel,
+quickly, "an' a merry flash in her eye.  Thou hast yet far to go,
+boy.  Look not upon her now, or she will trip thee.  By an' by,
+boy, by an' by."
+
+There was an odd trait in Darrel.  In familiar talk he often made
+use of "ye"--a shortened you--in speaking to those of old
+acquaintance.  But when there was man or topic to rouse him into
+higher dignity it was more often "thee" or "thou" with him.  Trove
+made no answer and shortly went away.
+
+In certain court records one may read of the celebrated suit for
+divorce which enlivened the winter of that year in the north
+country.  It is enough to quote the ringing words of one Colonel
+Jenkins, who addressed the judge as follows:--
+
+
+"Picture to yourself, sir, this venerable man, waking from his
+dream of happiness to be robbed of his trousers--the very insignia
+of his manhood.  Picture him, sir, sitting in calico and despair,
+mingled with hunger and humiliation.  Think of him being addressed
+as 'wife.'  Being called 'wife,' sir, by this woman he had taken to
+his heart and home.  That, your Honour, was ingratitude sharper
+than a serpent's tooth.  Picture him driven from his fireside in
+skirts,--the very drapery of humiliation,--skirts, your Honour,
+that came barely to the knees and left his nether limbs exposed to
+the autumnal breeze and the ridicule of the unthinking.  Sir, it is
+for you to say how far the widow may go in her oppression.  If such
+conduct is permitted, in God's name, who is safe?"
+
+"May it please your Honour," said the opposing lawyer, "having
+looked upon these pictures of the learned counsel, it is for you to
+judge whether you ever saw any that gave you greater joy.  They are
+above all art, your Honour.  In the galleries of memory there are
+none like them--none so charming, so delightful.  If I were to die
+to-morrow, sir, I should thank God that my last hour came not until
+I had seen these pictures of Colonel Jenkins; and it may be sir,
+that my happiness would even delay the hand of death.  My only
+regret is that mine is the great misfortune of having failed to
+witness the event they portray.  Sir, you have a great
+responsibility, for you have to judge whether human law may
+interfere with the working of divine justice.  It was the decree of
+fate, your Honour, following his own word and action, that this man
+should become as a rag doll in the hands of a termagant.  I submit
+to you that Providence, in the memory of the living, has done no
+better job."
+
+
+A tumult of applause stopped him, and he sat down.
+
+Brooke was defeated promptly, and known ever after as "The Old Rag
+Doll."
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+The Santa Claus of Cedar Hill
+
+Christmas Eve had come and the year of 1850.  For two weeks snow
+had rushed over the creaking gable of the forest above Martha
+Vaughn's, to pile in drifts or go hissing down the long hillside.
+A freezing blast had driven it to the roots of the stubble and sown
+it deep and rolled it into ridges and whirled it into heaps and
+mounds, or flung it far in long waves that seemed to plunge, as if
+part of a white sea, and break over fence and roof and chimney in
+their downrush.  Candle and firelight filtered through frosty panes
+and glowed, dimly, under dark fathoms of the snow sheet now flying
+full of voices.  Mrs. Vaughn opened her door a moment to peer out.
+A great horned owl flashed across the light beam with a snap and
+rustle of wings and a cry "oo-oo-oo," lonely, like that, as if it
+were the spirit of darkness and the cold wind.  Mrs. Vaughn
+started, turning quickly and closing the door.
+
+"Ugh! what a sound," said Polly.  "It reminds me of a ghost story."
+
+"Well," said the widow, "that thing belongs to the only family o'
+real ghosts in the world."
+
+"What was it?" said a small boy.  There were Polly and three
+children about the fireplace.
+
+"An air cat," said she, shivering, her back to the fire.  "They go
+'round at night in a great sheet o' feathers an' rustle it, an' I
+declare they do cry lonesome.  Got terrible claws, too!"
+
+"Ever hurt folks?" one of the boys inquired.
+
+"No; but they're just like some kinds o' people--ye want to let 'em
+alone.  Any one that'll shake hands with an owl would be fool
+enough to eat fish-hooks.  They're not made for friendship--those
+owls."
+
+"What are they made for?" another voice inquired.
+
+"Just to kill," said she, patting a boy's head tenderly.  "They're
+Death flying round at night--the angel o' Death for rats an'
+rabbits an' birds an' other little creatures.  Once,--oh, many
+years ago,--it seemed so everything was made to kill.  Men were
+like beasts o' prey, most of 'em; an' they're not all gone yet.
+Went around day an' night killing.  I declare they must have had
+claws.  Then came the Prince o' Peace."
+
+"What did he do to 'em, mother?" said Paul--a boy of seven.
+
+"Well, he began to cut their claws for one thing," said the mother.
+"Taught 'em to love an' not to kill.  Shall I read you the
+story--how he came in a manger?"
+
+"B'lieve I'd rather hear about Injuns," said the boy.
+
+"We shall hear about them too," the mother added.  "They're like
+folks o' the olden time.  They make a terrible fuss; but they've
+got to hold still an' have their claws cut."
+
+Presently she sat down by a table, where there were candles, and
+began reading aloud from a county paper.  She read anecdotes of
+men, remarkable for their success and piety, and an account of
+Indian fighting, interrupted, as a red man lifted his tomahawk to
+slay, by the rattle of an arrow on the buttery door.
+
+It was off the cross-gun of young Paul.  He had seen everything in
+the story and had taken aim at the said Indian just in the nick of
+time.
+
+She read, also, the old sweet story of the coming of the Christ
+Child.
+
+"Some say it was a night like this," said she, as the story ended.
+
+Paul had listened, his thin, sober face glowing.
+
+"I'll bet Santa Claus was good to him," said he.  "Brought him
+sleds an' candy an' nuts an' raisins an' new boots an' everything."
+
+"Why do you think so?" asked his mother, who was now reading
+intently.
+
+"'Cos he was a good boy.  He wouldn't cry if he had to fill the
+wood box; would he, mother?"
+
+That query held a hidden rebuke for his brother Tom.
+
+"I do not know, but I do not think he was ever saucy or spoke a bad
+word."
+
+"Huh!" said Tom, reflectively; "then I guess he never had no
+mustard plaster put on him."
+
+The widow bade him hush.
+
+"Er never had nuthin' done to him, neither," the boy continued,
+rocking vigorously in his little chair.
+
+"Mustn't speak so of Christ," the mother added.
+
+"Wal," said Paul, rising, "I guess I'll hang up my stockin's."
+
+"One'll do, Paul," said his sister Polly, with a knowing air.
+
+"No, 'twon't," the boy insisted.  "They ain't half 's big as yours.
+I'm goin' t' try it, anyway, an' see what he'll do to 'em."
+
+He drew off his stockings and pinned them carefully to the braces
+on the back of a chair.
+
+"Well, my son," said Mrs. Vaughn, looking over the top of her
+paper, "it's bad weather; Santa Claus may not be able to get here."
+
+"Oh, yes, he can," said the boy, confidently, but with a little
+quiver of alarm in his voice.  "I'm sure he'll come.  He has a team
+of reindeers.  'An' the deeper the snow the faster they go.'"
+
+Soon the others bared their feet and hung their stockings on four
+chairs in a row beside the first.
+
+Then they all got on the bed in the corner and pulled a quilt over
+them to wait for Santa Claus.  The mother went on with her reading
+as they chattered.
+
+Sleep hushed them presently.  But for the crackling of the fire,
+and the push and whistle of the wind, that room had become as a
+peaceful, silent cave under the storm.
+
+The widow rose stealthily and opened a bureau drawer.  The row of
+limp stockings began to look cheerful and animated.  Little
+packages fell to their toes, and the shortest began to reach for
+the floor.  But while they were fat in the foot they were still
+very lean in the leg.
+
+Her apron empty, Mrs. Vaughn took her knitting to the fire, and
+before she began to ply the needles, looked thoughtfully at her
+hands.  They had been soft and shapely before the days of toil.  A
+frail but comely woman she was, with pale face, and dark eyes, and
+hair prematurely white.
+
+She had come west--a girl of nineteen--with her young husband, full
+of high hopes.  That was twenty-one years ago, and the new land had
+poorly kept its promise.
+
+And the children--"How many have you?" a caller had once inquired.
+"Listen," said she, "hear 'em, an' you'd say there were fifteen,
+but count 'em an' they're only four."
+
+The low, weathered house and sixty acres were mortgaged.  Even the
+wilderness had not wholly signed off its claim.  Every year it
+exacted tribute, the foxes taking a share of her poultry, and the
+wild deer feeding on her grain.
+
+A little beggar of a dog, that now lay in the firelight, had
+offered himself one day, with cheerful confidence, and been
+accepted.  Small, affectionate, cowardly, irresponsible, and
+yellow, he was in the nature of a luxury, as the widow had once
+said.  He had a slim nose, no longer than a man's thumb, and ever
+busy.  He was a most prudent animal, and the first day found a
+small opening in the foundation of the barn through which he betook
+himself always at any sign of danger.  He soon buried his bones
+there, and was ready for a siege if, perchance, it came.   One blow
+or even a harsh word sent him to his refuge in hot haste.  He had
+learned early that the ways of hired men were full of violence and
+peril.  Hospitality and affection had won his confidence but never
+deprived him of his caution.
+
+Presently there came a heavy step and a quick pull at the
+latch-string.  An odd figure entered in a swirl of snow--a real
+Santa Claus, the mystery and blessing of Cedar Hill.  For five
+years, every Christmas Eve, in good or bad weather, he had come to
+four little houses on the Hill, where, indeed, his coming had been
+as a Godsend.  Whence he came and who he might be none had been
+able to guess.  He never spoke in his official capacity, and no
+citizen of Faraway had such a beard or figure as this man.  Now his
+fur coat, his beard, and eyebrows were hoary with snow and frost.
+Icicles hung from his mustache around the short clay pipe of
+tradition.  He lowered a great sack and brushed the snow off it.
+He had borne it high on his back, with a strap at each shoulder.
+
+The sack was now about half full of things.  He took out three big
+bundles and laid them on the table.  They were evidently for the
+widow herself, who quickly stepped to the bedside.
+
+"Come, children," she whispered, rousing them; "here is Santa
+Claus."
+
+They scrambled down, rubbing their eyes.  Polly took the hands of
+the two small boys and led them near him.  Paul drew his hand away
+and stood spellbound, eyes and mouth open.  He watched every motion
+of the good Saint, who had come to that chair that held the little
+stockings.  Santa Claus put a pair of boots on it.  They were
+copper-toed, with gorgeous front pieces of red morocco at the top
+of the leg.  Then, as if he had some relish of a joke, he took them
+up, looked them over thoughtfully, and put them in the sack again,
+whereupon the boy Paul burst into tears.  Old Santa Claus, shaking
+with silent laughter, replaced them in the chair quickly,
+
+As if to lighten the boy's heart he opened a box and took out a
+mouth-organ.  He held it so the light sparkled on its shiny side.
+Then he put his pipe in his pocket and began to dance and play
+lively music.  Step and tune quickened.  The bulky figure was
+flying up and down above a great clatter of big boots, his head
+wagging to keep time.  The oldest children were laughing, and the
+boy Paul, he began to smile in the midst of a great sob that shook
+him to the toes.  The player stopped suddenly, stuffed the
+instrument in a stocking, and went on with his work.  Presently he
+uncovered a stick of candy long as a man's arm.  There were spiral
+stripes of red from end to end of it.  He used it for a fiddle-bow,
+whistling with terrific energy and sawing the air.  Then he put
+shawls and tippets and boots and various little packages on the
+other chairs.
+
+At last he drew out of the sack a sheet of pasteboard, with string
+attached, and hung it on the wall.  It bore the simple message,
+rudely lettered in black, as follows:--
+
+  "Mery Crismus.  And Children i have the
+  honnor to remane, Yours Respec'fully
+    SANDY CLAUS."
+
+His work done, he swung the pack to his shoulders and made off as
+they all broke the silence with a hearty "Thank you, Santa Claus!"
+
+They listened a moment, as he went away with a loud and merry laugh
+sounding above the roar of the wind.  It was the voice of a big and
+gentle heart, but gave no other clew.  In a moment cries of
+delight, and a rustle of wrappings, filled the room.  As on wings
+of the bitter wind, joy and good fortune had come to them, and, in
+that little house, had drifted deep as the snow without.
+
+The children went to their beds with slow feet and quick pulses.
+Paul begged for the sacred privilege of wearing his new boots to
+bed, but compromised on having them beside his pillow.  The boys
+went to sleep at last, with all their treasures heaped about them.
+Tom shortly rolled upon the little jumping-jack, that broke away
+and butted him in the face with a loud squawk.  It roused the boy,
+who promptly set up a defence in which the stuffed hen lost her
+tail-feathers and the jumping-jack was violently put out of bed.
+When the mother came to see what had happened, order had been
+restored--the boys were both sleeping.
+
+It was an odd little room under bare shingles above stairs.  Great
+chests, filled with relics of another time and country, sat against
+the walls.  Here and there a bunch of herbs or a few ears of corn,
+their husks braided, hung on the bare rafters.  The aroma of the
+summer fields--of peppermint, catnip, and lobelia--haunted it.
+Chimney and stovepipe tempered the cold.  A crack in the gable end
+let in a sift of snow that had been heaping up a lonely little
+drift on the bare floor.  The widow covered the boys tenderly and
+took their treasures off the bed, all save the little wooden
+monkey, which, as if frightened by the melee, had hidden far under
+the clothes.  She went below stairs to the fire, which every cold
+day was well fed until after midnight, and began to enjoy the sight
+of her own gifts.  They were a haunch of venison, a sack of flour,
+a shawl, and mittens.  A small package had fallen to the floor.  It
+was neatly bound with wrappings of blue paper.  Under the last
+layer was a little box, the words "For Polly" on its cover.  It
+held a locket of wrought gold that outshone the light of the
+candles.  She touched a spring, and the case opened.  Inside was a
+lock of hair, white as her own.  There were three lines cut in the
+glowing metal, and she read them over and over again:--
+
+  "Here are silver and gold,
+  The one for a day of remembrance between thee and dishonour,
+  The other for a day of plenty between thee and want."
+
+She went to her bed, presently, where the girl lay sleeping, and,
+lifting dark masses of her hair, kissed a ruddy cheek.  Then the
+widow stood a moment, wiping her eyes.
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+A Christmas Adventure
+
+Long before daylight one could hear the slowing of the wind.  Its
+caravan now reaching eastward to mid-ocean was nearly passed.
+Scattered gusts hurried on like weary and belated followers.  Then,
+suddenly, came a silence in which one might have heard the dust of
+their feet falling, their shouts receding in the far woodland.  The
+sun rose in a clear sky above the patched and ragged canopy of the
+woods--a weary multitude now resting in the still air.
+
+The children were up looking for tracks of reindeer and breaking
+paths in the snow.  Sunlight glimmered in far-flung jewels of the
+Frost King.  They lay deep, clinking as the foot sank in them.  At
+the Vaughn home it was an eventful day.  Santa Claus--well, he is
+the great Captain that leads us to the farther gate of childhood
+and surrenders the golden key.  Many ways are beyond the gate, some
+steep and thorny; and some who pass it turn back with bleeding feet
+and wet eyes, but the gate opens not again for any that have
+passed.  Tom had got the key and begun to try it.  Santa Claus had
+winked at him with a snaring eye, like that of his aunt when she
+had sugar in her pocket, and Tom thought it very foolish.  The boy
+had even felt of his greatcoat and got a good look at his boots and
+trousers.  Moreover, when he put his pipe away, Tom saw him take a
+chew of tobacco--an abhorrent thing if he were to believe his
+mother.
+
+"Mother," said he, "I never knew Santa Claus chewed tobacco."
+
+"Well, mebbe he was Santa Claus's hired man," said she.
+
+"Might 'a' had the toothache," Paul suggested, for Lew Allen, who
+worked for them in the summer time, had an habitual toothache,
+relieved many times a day by chewing tobacco.
+
+Tom sat looking into the fire a moment.
+
+Then he spoke of a matter Paul and he had discussed secretly.
+
+"Joe Bellus he tol' me Santa Claus was only somebody rigged up t'
+fool folks, an' hadn't no reindeers at all."
+
+The mother turned away, her wits groping for an answer.
+
+"Hadn't ought 'a' told mother, Tom," said Paul, with a little
+quiver of reproach and pity.  "'Tain't so, anyway--we know 'tain't
+so."
+
+He was looking into his mother's face.
+
+"Tain't so," Paul repeated with unshaken confidence.
+
+"Mus'n't believe all ye hear," said the widow, who now turned to
+the doubting Thomas.
+
+And that very moment Tom was come to the last gate of childhood,
+whereon are the black and necessary words, "Mus'n't believe all ye
+hear."
+
+The boys in their new boots were on the track of a painter.  They
+treed him, presently, at the foot of the stairs.
+
+"How'll we kill him?" one of them inquired.
+
+"Just walk around the tree once," said the mother, "an' you'll
+scare him to death.  Why don't ye grease your boots?"
+
+"'Fraid it'll take the screak out of 'em," said Paul, looking down
+thoughtfully at his own pair.
+
+"Well," said she, "you'll have me treed if you keep on.  No hunter
+would have boots like that.  A loud foot makes a still gun."
+
+That was her unfailing method of control--the appeal to
+intelligence.  Polly sat singing, thoughtfully, the locket in her
+hand.  She had kissed the sacred thing and hung it by a ribbon to
+her neck and bathed her eyes in the golden light of it and begun to
+feel the subtle pathos in its odd message.  She was thinking of the
+handsome boy who came along that far May-day with the drove, and
+who lately had returned to be her teacher at Linley School.  Now,
+he had so much dignity and learning, she liked him not half so well
+and felt he had no longer any care for her.  She blushed to think
+how she had wept over his letter and kissed it every day for weeks.
+Her dream was interrupted, presently, by the call of her brother
+Tom.  Having cut the frost on a window-pane, he stood peering out.
+A man was approaching in the near field.  His figure showed to the
+boot-top, mounting hills of snow, and sank out of sight in the deep
+hollows.  It looked as if he were walking on a rough sea.  In a
+moment he came striding over the dooryard fence on a pair of
+snowshoes.
+
+"It's Mr. Trove, the teacher," said Polly, who quickly began to
+shake her curls.
+
+As the door swung open all greeted the young man.  Loosening his
+snow-shoes, he flung them on the step and came in, a foxtail
+dangling from his fur cap.
+
+He shook hands with Polly and her mother, and lifted Paul to the
+ceiling.  "Hello, young man!" said he.  "If one is four, how many
+are two?"
+
+"If you're speaking of new boots," said the widow, "one is at least
+fifteen."
+
+The school teacher made no reply, but stood a moment looking down
+at the boy.
+
+"It's a cold day," said Polly.
+
+"I like it," said the teacher, lifting his broad shoulders and
+smiting them with his hands.  "God has been house cleaning.  The
+dome of the sky is all swept and dusted.  There isn't a cobweb
+anywhere.  Santa Claus come?"
+
+"Yes," said the younger children, who made a rush for their gifts
+and laid them on chairs before him.
+
+"Grand old chap!" said he, staring thoughtfully at the flannel cat
+in his hands.  "Any idea who it is?"
+
+"Can't make out," said Mrs. Vaughn; "very singular man."
+
+"Generous, too," the teacher added.  "That's the best cat I ever
+saw, Tom.  If I had my way, the cats would all be made of flannel.
+Miss Polly, what did you get?"
+
+"This," said Polly, handing him the locket.
+
+"Beautiful!" said he, turning it in his hand.  "Anything inside?"
+
+Polly showed him how to open it.  He sat a moment or more looking
+at the graven gold.
+
+"Strange!" said he, presently, surveying the wrought cases,
+
+Mrs. Vaughn was now at his elbow.
+
+"Strange?" she inquired.
+
+"Well, long ago," said he, "I heard of one like it.  Some time it
+may solve the mystery of your Santa Claus."
+
+An ear of the teacher had begun to swell and redden.
+
+"Should have pulled my cap down," said he, as the widow spoke of
+it.  "Frost-bitten years ago, and if I'm out long in the cold, I
+begin to feel it."
+
+"Must be very painful," said Polly, as indeed it was.
+
+"No," said he, with a little squint as he touched the aching
+member.  "It's good--I rather like it.  I wouldn't take anything
+for that ear.  It--it--" He hesitated, as if trying to recall the
+advantages of a chilled ear.  "Well, I shouldn't know I had any
+ears if it weren't for that one.  Come, Paul, put on your cap an'
+mittens.  We'll take a sack and get some green boughs for your
+mother."
+
+He put on snow-shoes, wrapped the boy snugly in a shawl, and,
+seating him on a snowboat, made off, hauling it with a rope over
+white banks and hollows toward the big timber.  The dog, Bony, came
+along with them, wallowing to his ears and barking merrily.  Since
+morning the sun had begun to warm the air, and a light breeze had
+risen.  The boy sat bracing on a rope fastened before and looped
+around him.  As they went along he was oversown with sparkling
+crystals.  They made his cheeks tingle, and almost took his breath
+as he went plunging into steep hollows.  Often he tipped over and
+sank in the white deep.  Then Trove hauled him out, brushed him a
+little, and set him back on the boat again.  Snow lay deep and
+level in the woods--a big, white carpet, seamed with tiny tracks
+and figured with light and shadow.  Trove stopped a moment, looking
+up at the forest roof.  They could hear a baying of hounds in the
+far valley.  Down the dingle near them a dead leaf was drumming on
+a bough--a clock of the wood telling the flight of seconds.  Above,
+they could hear the low creak of brace and rafter and great waves
+of the upper deep sweeping over and breaking with a loud wash on
+reefs of evergreen.  The little people of this odd winter land had
+begun to make roads from tree to tree and from thicket to thicket.
+A partridge had broken out of her cave, and they followed the track
+of her snow-shoes down the side-hill to a little brook.  Under its
+ice roof they could hear the tinkling water.  Above them the brook
+fell from a rock shelf, narrow and high as a man's head.  The fall
+was muted to a low murmur under its vault of ice.
+
+"Come, Paul," said Trove, as he lifted the small boy; "here's a
+castle of King Frost.  There are thousands in his family, and he's
+many castles.  Building new ones every day somewhere.  Goes north
+in the spring, and when he moves out they begin to rot and tumble."
+
+He cleared a space for the boy to stand upon.  Then he brushed away
+the snow blanket flung loosely over the vault of ice.  A wonderful
+bit of masonry stood exposed.  Near its centre were two columns,
+large and rugose, each tapering to a capital and cornice.  Between
+them was a deep lattice of crystal.  Some bars were clear, some
+yellow as amber, and all were powdered over with snow, ivory-white.
+Under its upper part they could see a grille of frostwork,
+close-wrought, glistening, and white.  It was the inner gate of the
+castle, and each ray of light, before entering, had to pay a toll
+of its warmth.  On either side was a rough wall of ice, with here
+and there a barred window.  The snow cleared away, they could hear
+the song of falling water.  The teacher put his ear to the ice
+wall.  Then he called the boy.
+
+"Listen," said he; "it's the castle bell." Indeed, the whole
+structure rang like a bell, if one put his ear down to hear it.
+
+"See!" said he, presently, stirring a heap of tiny crystals in his
+palm.  "Here are the bricks he builds with, and the water of the
+brook is his mortar."
+
+Near the bank was an opening partly covered with snow.  It led to a
+cavern behind the ice curtain under the rock floor of the brook
+above.
+
+The teacher took off his snow-shoes.  In a moment they had crawled
+through and were crouching on a frosty bed of pebbles.  A warm glow
+lit the long curtain of ice.  Beams of sunlight fell through
+windows oddly mullioned with icicles and filtered in at the lattice
+of crystal.  They jewelled the grille of frostwork and flung a
+sprinkle of gold on the falling water.  The breath of the
+waterfall, rising out of bubbles, filled its castle with the very
+wine of life.  The narrow hall rang with its music.
+
+"See the splendour of a king's home," said the teacher, his eyes
+brimming.
+
+The boy, young as he was, had seen and felt the beauty and mystery
+of the place, and never forgot it.
+
+"See how it sifts the sunlight to take the warmth out of it," the
+teacher continued.  "Warmth is poison to the King, and every ray of
+light is twisted and turned upside down to see if he has any in his
+pocket."
+
+They could now hear a loud baying on the hill above.
+
+As they turned to listen, a young fox leaped in at the hole and, as
+he saw them, checked a foot in the air.  He was panting, his tongue
+out, and blood was dripping from his long fur at the shoulder.  He
+turned, stilling his breath a little as the hounds came near.  Then
+he trembled,--a pitiful sight,--for he was near spent and between
+two perils.
+
+"Come--poor fellow!" said the teacher, stroking him gently.
+
+The fox ran aside, shaking with fear, his foot lifted appealingly.
+With a quick movement the teacher caught him by the nape of his
+neck and thrust him into the sack.  The leader now had his nose in
+the hole.
+
+"Back there!" Trove shouted, kicking at him.
+
+In a moment he had rolled a heavy stone to the hole and made it too
+small for the hounds to enter.    Half a dozen of them were now
+baying outside.
+
+"We'll give him air," said the teacher, as he cut a hole in the
+sack and tied it.  "Don't know how we'll get him out of here alive.
+They'd be all over me like a pack of wolves."
+
+He stood a moment thinking.  Bony had wriggled away from Paul and
+begun to bark loudly.
+
+"I've an idea," said the teacher, as he cut the foxtail from his
+cap.  Then he rubbed it in the blood and spittle of the fox and
+tied it to the stub tail of Bony.  The dog's four feet were scented
+in the same manner.  The smell of them irked him sorely.  His hair
+rose, and his head fell with a sense of injury.  He made a rush at
+his new tail and was rudely stopped.
+
+"He's fresh, and they'll not be able to catch him," said the young
+man, as Paul protested.  "Wouldn't hurt anything but the tail if
+they did."
+
+Then breaking the ice curtain, as far from the hole as possible, he
+gave Bony a spank and flung him out on the snow above with a loud
+"go home."  The pack saw him and scrambled up the bank in full cry.
+He had turned for a glance at his new tail, but seeing the pack
+rush at him started up the hillside with a yelp of fear and the
+energy of a wildcat.  When the two came out of the cavern they saw
+him leaping like a rabbit in the snow, his hair on end, his brush
+flying, and the hounds in full pursuit.
+
+"My stars!  See that dog run," said the teacher, laughing, as he
+put on his snow-shoes.  "He don't intend to be caught with such a
+tail and smell on him."
+
+He put the sack over his shoulder.
+
+"All aboard, Paul," said he; "now we can go home in peace."
+
+Coming down out of the woods, they saw a pack of hounds digging at
+one side of the stable.  Bony had gone to his refuge under the barn
+floor.
+
+As he entered, one of them had evidently caught hold of his new
+tail, and the pack had torn it in shreds.  Two hunters came along
+shortly, and, after a talk with the teacher, took their dogs away.
+But for three days Bony came not forth and was seen no more of men,
+save only when he crept to the hole for a lap of water and to seize
+a doughnut from the hand of Paul, whereupon he retired promptly.
+
+"He ain't going to take any chances," said the widow, laughing.
+
+When at last he came forth, it was with a soft step and new
+resolutions.  And a while later, when Trove heard Darrel say that
+caution was the only friend of weakness, he understood him
+perfectly.
+
+"Not every brush has a fox on it," said the widow, and the words
+went from lip to lip until they were a maxim of those country-folk.
+
+And Trove was to think of it when he himself was like the poor dog
+that wore a fox's tail.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+A Day at the Linley Schoolhouse
+
+A remarkable figure was young Sidney Trove, the new teacher in
+District No. 1.  He was nearing nineteen years of age that winter.
+
+"I like that," he said to the trustee, who had been telling him of
+the unruly boys--great, hulking fellows that made trouble every
+winter term.  "Trouble--it's a grand thing I--but I'm not selfish,
+and if I find any, I'll agree to divide it with the boys.  I don't
+know but I'll be generous and let them have the most of it.  If
+they put me out of the schoolhouse, I'll have learned something."
+
+The trustee looked at the six feet and two inches of bone and
+muscle that sat lounging in a chair--looked from end to end of it.
+
+"What's that?" he inquired, smiling.
+
+"That I've no business there," said young Mr. Trove.
+
+"I guess you'll dew," said the trustee.  "Make 'em toe the line;
+that's all I got t' say."
+
+"And all I've got to do is my best--I don't promise any more," the
+other answered modestly, as he rose to leave.
+
+Linley School was at the four corners in Pleasant Valley,--a low,
+frame structure, small and weathered gray.  Windows, with no shade,
+or shutter, were set, two on a side, in perfect apposition.  A
+passing traveller could see through them to the rocky pasture
+beyond.  Who came there for knowledge, though a fool, was dubbed a
+"scholar."  It was a word sharply etched in the dialect of that
+region.  If one were to say _skollur-r-r_, he might come near it.
+Every winter morning the scholar entered a little vestibule which
+was part of the woodshed.  He passed an ash barrel and the odour of
+drying wood, hung cap and coat On a peg in the closet, lifted the
+latch of a pine door, and came into the schoolroom.  If before
+nine, it would be noisy with shout and laughter, the buzz of
+tongues, the tread of running feet.  Big girls, in neat aprons,
+would be gossiping at the stove hearth; small boys would be chasing
+each other up and down aisles and leaping the whittled desks of
+pine; little girls, in checked flannel, or homespun, would be
+circling in a song play; big boys would be trying feats of strength
+that ended in loud laughter.  So it was, the first morning of that
+winter term in 1850.  A tall youth stood by the window.  Suddenly
+he gave a loud "sh--h--h!" Running feet fell silently and halted;
+words begun with a shout ended in a whisper.  A boy making
+caricatures at the blackboard dropped his chalk, that now fell
+noisily.  A whisper, heavy with awe and expectation, flew hissing
+from lip to lip--"The teacher!"  There came a tramping in the
+vestibule, the door-latch jumped with a loud rattle, and in came
+Sidney Trove.  All eyes were turned upon him.  A look of rectitude,
+dovelike and too good to be true, came over many faces.
+
+"Good morning!" said the young man, removing his cap, coat, and
+overshoes.  Some nodded, dumb with timidity.  Only a few little
+ones had the bravery to speak up, as they gave back the words in a
+tone that would have fitted a golden text.  He came to the roaring
+stove and stood a moment, warming his hands.  A group of the big
+boys were in a corner whispering.  Two were sturdy and quite six
+feet tall,--the Beach boys.
+
+"Big as a bull moose," one whispered,
+
+"An' stouter," said another.
+
+The teacher took a pencil from his pocket and tapped the desk.
+
+"Please take your seats," said he.
+
+All obeyed.  Then he went around with the roll and took their
+names, of which there were thirty-four.
+
+"I believe I know your name," said Trove, smiling, as he came to
+Polly Vaughn.
+
+"I believe you do," said she, glancing up at him, with half a smile
+and a little move in her lips that seemed to ask, "How could you
+forget me?"
+
+Then the teacher, knowing the peril of her eyes, became very
+dignified as he glanced over the books she had brought to school.
+He knew it was going to be a hard day.  For a little, he wondered
+if he had not been foolish, after all, in trying a job so difficult
+and so perilous.  If he should be thrown out of school, he felt
+sure it would ruin him--he could never look Polly in the face
+again.  As he turned to begin the work of teaching, it seemed to
+him a case of do or die, and he felt the strength of an ox in his
+heavy muscles.
+
+The big boys had settled themselves in a back corner side by
+side--a situation too favourable for mischief.  He asked them to
+take other seats.  They complied sullenly and with hesitation.  He
+looked over books, organized the school in classes, and started one
+of them on its way.  It was the primer class, including a half
+dozen very small boys and girls.  They shouted each word in the
+reading lesson, laboured in silence with another, and gave voice
+again with unabated energy.  In their pursuit of learning they
+bayed like hounds.  Their work began upon this ancient and
+informing legend, written to indicate the shout and skip of the
+youthful student:--
+
+The--sun--is--up--and--it--is--day--day?--day.
+
+"You're afraid," the teacher began after a little.  "Come up here
+close to me."
+
+They came to his chair and stood about him.  Some were confident,
+others hung back suspicious and untamed.
+
+"We're going to be friends," said he, in a low, gentle voice.  He
+took from his pocket a lot of cards and gave one to each.
+
+"Here's a story," he continued.  "See--I put it in plain print for
+you with pen and ink.  It's all about a bear and a boy, and is in
+ten parts.  Here's the first chapter.  Take it home with you
+to-night--"
+
+He stopped suddenly.  He had turned in his chair and could see none
+of the boys.  He did not move, but slowly took off a pair of
+glasses he had been wearing.
+
+"Joe Beach," said he, coolly, "come out here on the floor."
+
+There was a moment of dead silence.  That big youth--the terror of
+Linley School--was now red and dumb with amazement.  His deviltry
+had begun, but how had the teacher seen it with his back turned?
+
+"I'll think it over," said the boy, sullenly.
+
+The teacher laid down his book, calmly, walked to the seat of the
+young rebel, took him by the collar and the back of the neck, tore
+him out of the place where his hands and feet were clinging like
+the roots of a tree, dragged him roughly to the aisle and over the
+floor space, taking part of the seat along, and stood him to the
+wall with a bang that shook the windows.  There was no halting--it
+was all over in half a minute.
+
+"You'll please remain there," said he, coolly, "until I tell you to
+sit down."
+
+He turned his back on the bully, walked slowly to his chair, and
+opened his book again.
+
+"Take it home with you to-night," said he, continuing his talk to
+the primer class.  "Spell it over, so you won't have to stop long
+between words.  All who read it well to-morrow will get another
+chapter."
+
+They began to study at home.  Wonder grew, and pleasure came with
+labour as the tale went on.
+
+He dismissed the primer readers, calling the first class in
+geography.  As they took their places he repaired the broken seat,
+a part of which had been torn off the nails.  The fallen rebel
+stood leaning, his back to the school.  He had expected help, but
+the reserve force had failed him.
+
+"Joe Beach--you may take your seat," said the teacher, in a kind of
+parenthetical tone.
+
+"Geography starts at home," he continued, beginning the recitation.
+"Who can tell me where is the Linley schoolhouse?"
+
+A dozen hands went up.
+
+"You tell," said he to one.
+
+"It's here," was the answer.
+
+"Where's here?"
+
+A boy looked thoughtful.
+
+"Nex' t' Joe Linley's cow-pastur'," he ventured presently,
+
+"Will you tell us?" the teacher asked, looking at a bright-eyed
+girl.
+
+"In Faraway, New York," said she, glibly.
+
+"Tom Linley, I'll take that," said the teacher, in a lazy tone.  He
+was looking down at his book.  Where he sat, facing the class, he
+could see none of the boys without turning.  But he had not turned.
+To the wonder of all, up he spoke as Tom Linley was handing a slip
+of paper to Joe Beach.  There was a little pause.  The young man
+hesitated, rose, and walked nervously down the aisle.
+
+"Thank you," said the teacher, as he took the message and flung it
+on the fire, unread.  "Faraway, New York;" he continued on his way
+to the blackboard as if nothing had happened.
+
+He drew a circle, indicating the four points of the compass on it.
+Then he mapped the town of Faraway and others, east, west, north,
+and south of it.  So he made a map of the county and bade them copy
+it.  Around the county in succeeding lessons he built a map of the
+state.  Others in the middle group were added, the structure
+growing, day by day, until they had mapped the hemisphere.
+
+At the Linley schoolhouse something had happened.  Cunning no
+sooner showed its head than it was bruised like a serpent, brawny
+muscles had been easily outdone, boldness had grown timid, conceit
+had begun to ebb.  A serious look had settled upon all faces.
+Every scholar had learned one thing, learned it well and
+quickly--it was to be no playroom.
+
+There was a recess of one hour at noon.  All went for their dinner
+pails and sat quietly, eating bread and butter followed by
+doughnuts, apples, and pie.
+
+The young men had walked to the road.  Nothing had been said.  They
+drew near each other.  Tom Linley looked up at Joe Beach.  In his
+face one might have seen a cloud of sympathy that had its silver
+lining of amusement.
+
+"Powerful?" Tom inquired, soberly.
+
+"What?" said Joe.
+
+"Powerful?" Tom repeated.
+
+"Powerful! Jiminy crimps!" said Joe, significantly.
+
+"Why didn't ye kick him?"
+
+"Kick him?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Kick _him_?
+
+"Kick _him_."
+
+"Huh! dunno," said Joe, with a look of sadness turning into
+contempt.
+
+"Scairt?" the other inquired.
+
+"Scairt?  Na--a--w," said Joe, scornfully.
+
+"What was ye, then?"
+
+"Parr'lyzed--seems so."
+
+There was an outbreak of laughter.
+
+"You was goin' t' help," said Joe, addressing Tom Linley.
+
+A moment of silence followed.
+
+"_You_ was goin' t' help," the fallen bully repeated, with large
+emphasis on the pronoun.
+
+"Help?" Tom inquired, sparring for wind as it were.
+
+"Yes, help."
+
+"You was licked 'fore I had time."
+
+"Didn't dast--that's what's the matter--didn't dast," said big Joe,
+with a tone of irreparable injury.
+
+"Wouldn't 'a' been nigh ye fer a millyun dollars," said Tom,
+soberly.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"'Twant safe; that's why."
+
+"'Fraid o' him! ye coward!"
+
+"No; 'fraid o' you."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"'Cos if one o' yer feet had hit a feller when ye come up ag'in
+that wall," Tom answered slowly, "there wouldn't 'a' been nuthin'
+left uv him."
+
+All laughed loudly.
+
+Then there was another silence.  Joe broke it after a moment of
+deep thought.
+
+"Like t' know how he seen me," said he.
+
+"'Tis cur'us," said another.
+
+"Guess he's one o' them preformers like they have at the circus--"
+was the opinion of Sam Beach.  "See one take a pig out o' his hat
+las' summer."
+
+"'Tain't fair 'n' square," said Tom Linley; "not jest eggzac'ly."
+
+"Gosh!  B'lieve I'll run away," said Joe, after a pause.  "Ain' no
+fun here for me."
+
+"Better not," said Archer Town; "not if ye know when yer well off."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Wal, he'd see ye wherever ye was an' do suthin' to ye," said
+Archer.  "Prob'ly he's heard all we been sayin' here."
+
+"Wal, I ain't said nuthin' I'm 'shamed of," said Sam Beach,
+thoughtfully.
+
+A bell rang, and all hurried to the schoolhouse.  The afternoon was
+uneventful.  Those rough-edged, brawny fellows had become serious.
+Hope had died in their breasts, and now they looked as if they had
+come to its funeral.  They began to examine their books as one
+looks at a bitter draught before drinking it.  In every subject the
+teacher took a new way not likely to be hard upon tender feet.  For
+each lesson he had a method of his own.  He angled for the interest
+of the class and caught it.  With some a term of school had been as
+a long sickness, lengthened by the medicine of books and the
+surgery of the beech rod.  They had resented it with ingenious
+deviltry.   The confusion of the teacher and some incidental fun
+were its only compensations.  The young man gave his best thought
+to the correction of this mental attitude.  Four o'clock came at
+last--the work of the day was over.  Weary with its tension all sat
+waiting the teacher's word.  For a little he stood facing them.
+
+"Tom Linley and Joe Beach," said he, in a low voice, "will you wait
+a moment after the others have gone?  School's dismissed."
+
+There was a rush of feet and a rattle of dinner pails.  All were
+eager to get home with the story of that day--save the two it had
+brought to shame.  They sat quietly as the others went away.  A
+deep silence fell in that little room.  Of a sudden it had become a
+lonely place.
+
+The teacher damped the fire and put on his overshoes.
+
+"Boys," said he, drawing a big silver watch, "hear that watch
+ticking.  It tells the flight of seconds.  You are--eighteen, did
+you say?  They turn boys into oxen here in this country; just a
+thing of bone and muscle, living to sweat and lift and groan.
+Maybe I can save you, but there's not a minute to lose.  With you
+it all depends on this term of school.  When it's done you'll
+either be ox or driver.  Play checkers?"
+
+Tom nodded.
+
+"I'll come over some evening, and we'll have a game.  Good night!"
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+The Tinker at Linley School
+
+Every seat was filled at the Linley School next morning.  The
+tinker had come to see Trove and sat behind the big desk as work
+began.
+
+"There are two kinds of people," said the teacher, after all were
+seated--"those that command--those that obey.  No man is fit to
+command until he has learned to obey--he will not know how.  The
+one great thing life has to teach you is--obey.  There was a young
+bear once that was bound to go his own way.  The old bear told him
+it wouldn't do to jump over a precipice, but, somehow, he couldn't
+believe it and jumped.  'Twas the last thing he ever did.  It's
+often so with the young.  Their own way is apt to be rather steep
+and to end suddenly.  There are laws everywhere,--we couldn't live
+without them,--laws of nature, God, and man.  Until we learn the
+law and how to obey it, we must go carefully and take the advice of
+older heads.  We couldn't run a school without laws in it--laws
+that I must obey as well as you.  I must teach, and you must learn.
+The two first laws of the school are teach and learn--you must help
+me to obey mine; I must help you to obey yours.  And we'll have as
+much fun as possible, but we must obey."
+
+Then Trove invited Darrel to address the school.
+
+"Dear children," the tinker began with a smile, "I mind ye're all
+looking me in the face, an' I do greatly fear ye.  I fear I may say
+something ye will remember, an' again I fear I may not.  For when I
+speak to the young--ah! then it seems to me God listens.  I heard
+the teacher speaking o' the law of obedience.  Which o' ye can tell
+me who is the great master--the one ye must never disobey?"
+
+"Yer father," said one of the boys.
+
+"Nay, me bright lad, one o' these days ye may lose father an'
+mother an' teacher an' friend.  Let me tell a story, an' then,
+mayhap, ye'll know the great master.  Once upon a time there was a
+young cub who thought his life a burden because he had to mind his
+mother.  By an' by a bullet killed her, an' he was left alone.  He
+wandered away, not knowing' what to do, and came near the land o'
+men.  Soon he met an old bear.
+
+"'Foolish cub!  Why go ye to the land o' men?' said the old bear.
+'Thy legs are not as long as me tail.  Go home an' obey thy mother.'
+
+"'But I've none to obey,' said the young bear; an' before he could
+turn, a ball came whizzing over a dingle an' ripped into his ham.
+The old bear had scented danger an' was already out o' the way.
+The cub made off limping, an' none too quickly.  They followed him
+all day, an' when night came he was the most weary an' bedraggled
+bear in the woods.  But he stopped the blood an' went away on a dry
+track in the morning.  He came to a patch o' huckleberries that day
+and began to help himself.  Then quick an' hard he got a cuff on
+the head that tore off an ear and knocked him into the bushes.
+When he rose there stood the old bear.  "'Ah, me young cub,' said
+he, 'ye'll have a master now.'
+
+"'An' no more need o' him,' said the young bear, shaking his bloody
+head.
+
+"'Nay, ye will prosper,' said the old bear.  'There are two ways o'
+learning,--by hearsay an' by knocks.  Much ye may learn by knocks,
+but they are painful.  There be two things every one has to
+learn,--respect for himself; respect for others.  Ye'll know,
+hereafter, in the land o' men a bear has to keep his nose up an'
+his ears open--because men hurt.  Ye'll know better, also, than to
+feed on the ground of another bear--because he hurts.  Now, were I
+a cub an' had none to obey, I'd obey meself.  Ye know what's right,
+do it; ye know what's wrong, do it not.'
+
+"'One thing is sure,' said the young bear, as he limped away; 'if I
+live, there'll not be a bear in the woods that'll take any better
+care of himself.'
+
+"Now the old bear knew what he was talking about.  He was, I
+maintain, a wise an' remarkable bear.  We learn to obey others, so
+that by an' by we may know how to obey ourselves.  The great master
+of each man is himself.  By words or by knocks ye will learn what
+is right, and ye must do it.  Dear children, ye must soon be yer
+own masters.  There be many cruel folk in the world, but ye have
+only one to fear--yerself.  Ah! ye shall find him a hard man, for,
+if he be much offended, he will make ye drink o' the cup o' fire.
+Learn to obey yerselves, an' God help ye."
+
+Thereafter, many began to look into their own hearts for that
+fearful master, and some discovered him.
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+A Rustic Museum
+
+That first week Sidney Trove went to board at the home of "the two
+old maids," a stone house on Jericho Road, with a front door
+rusting on idle hinges and blinds ever drawn.  It was a hundred
+feet or more from the highway, and in summer there were flowers
+along the path from its little gate and vines climbing to the upper
+windows.  In winter its garden was buried deep under the snow.  One
+family--the Vaughns--came once in awhile to see "the two old
+maids."  Few others ever saw them save from afar.  A dressmaker
+came once a year and made gowns for them, that were carefully hung
+in closets but never worn.  To many of their neighbours they were
+as dead as if they had been long in their graves.  Tales of their
+economy, of their odd habits, of their past, went over hill and
+dale to far places.  They had never boarded the teacher and were
+put in a panic when the trustee came to speak of it.
+
+"He's a grand young man," said he; "good company--and you'll enjoy
+it."
+
+They looked soberly at each other.  According to tradition, one was
+fifty-four the other fifty-five years of age.  An exclamation broke
+from the lips of one.  It sounded like the letter _y_ whispered
+quickly.
+
+"Y!" the other answered.
+
+"It might make a match," said Mr. Blount, the trustee, smiling.
+
+"Y!  Samuel Blount!" said the younger one, coming near and smiting
+him playfully on the elbow.  "You stop!"
+
+Miss Letitia began laughing silently.  They never laughed aloud.
+
+"If he didn't murder us," said Miss S'mantha, doubtfully.
+
+"Nonsense," said the trustee; "I'll answer for him."
+
+"Can't tell what men'll do," she persisted weakly.  "When I was in
+Albany with Alma Haskins, a man came 'long an' tried t' pass the
+time o' day with us.  We jes' looked t'other way an' didn't preten'
+t' hear him.  It's awful t' think what might 'a' happened."
+
+She wiped invisible tears with an embroidered handkerchief.  The
+dear lady had spent a good part of her life thinking of that narrow
+escape.
+
+"If he wa'n't too partic'lar," said Miss Letitia, who had been
+laughing at this maiden fear of her sister.
+
+"If he would mind his business, we--we might take him for one
+week," said Miss S'mantha.  She glanced inquiringly at her sister.
+
+Letitia and S'mantha Tower, "the two old maids," had but one near
+relative--Ezra Tower, a brother of the same neighbourhood.
+
+There were two kinds of people in Faraway,--those that Ezra Tower
+spoke to and those he didn't.  The latter were of the majority.  As
+a forswearer of communication he was unrivalled.  His imagination
+was a very slaughter-house, in which all who crossed him were
+slain.  If they were passing, he looked the other way and never
+even saw them again.  Since the probate of his father's will both
+sisters were of the number never spoken to.  He was a thin, tall,
+sullen, dry, and dusty man.  Dressed for church of a Sunday, he
+looked as if he had been stored a year in some neglected cellar.
+His broadcloth had a dingy aspect, his hair and beard and eyebrows
+the hue of a cobweb.  He had a voice slow and rusty, a look arid
+and unfruitful.  Indeed, it seemed as if the fires of hate and envy
+had burned him out.
+
+The two old maids, feeling the disgrace of it and fearing more,
+ceased to visit their neighbours or even to pass their own gate.
+Poor Miss S'mantha fell into the deadly mire of hypochondria.  She
+often thought herself very ill and sent abroad for every medicine
+advertised in the county paper.  She had ever a faint look and a
+thin, sickly voice.  She had the man-fear,--a deep distrust of
+men,--never ceasing to be on her guard.  In girlhood, she had been
+to Albany, Its splendour and the reckless conduct of one Alma
+Haskins, companion of her travels, had been ever since a day-long
+perennial topic of her conversation.  Miss Letitia was more
+amiable.  She had a playful, cheery heart in her, a mincing and
+precise manner, and a sweet voice.  What with the cleaning,
+dusting, and preserving, they were ever busy.  A fly, driven hither
+and thither, fell of exhaustion if not disabled with a broom.  They
+were two weeks getting ready for the teacher.  When, at last, he
+came that afternoon, supper was ready and they were nearly worn out.
+
+"Here he is!" one whispered suddenly from a window.  Then, with a
+last poke at her hair, Miss Letitia admitted the teacher.  They
+spoke their greeting in a half whisper and stood near, waiting
+timidly for his coat and cap.
+
+"No, thank you," said he, taking them to a nail.  "I can do my own
+hanging, as the man said when he committed suicide."
+
+Miss S'mantha looked suspicious and walked to the other side of the
+stove.  Impressed by the silence of the room, much exaggerated by
+the ticking of the clock, Sidney Trove sat a moment looking around
+him.   Daylight had begun to grow dim.  The table, with its cover
+of white linen, was a thing to give one joy.  A ruby tower of
+jelly, a snowy summit of frosted cake, a red pond of preserved
+berries, a mound of chicken pie, and a corduroy marsh of mince,
+steaming volcanoes of new biscuit, and a great heap of apple
+fritters, lay in a setting of blue china.  They stood a moment by
+the stove,--the two sisters,--both trembling in this unusual
+publicity.  Miss Letitia had her hand upon the teapot.
+
+"Our tea is ready," said she, presently, advancing to the table.
+She spoke in a low, gentle tone.
+
+"This is grand!" said he, sitting down with them.  "I tell you,
+we'll have fun before I leave here."
+
+They looked up at him and then at each other, Letitia laughing
+silently, S'mantha suspicious.  For many years fun had been a thing
+far from their thought.
+
+"Play checkers?" he inquired.
+
+"Afraid we couldn't," said Miss Letitia, answering for both.
+
+"Old Sledge?"
+
+She shook her head, smiling.
+
+"I don't wish to lead you into recklessness," the teacher remarked,
+"but I'm sure you wouldn't mind being happy."
+
+Miss S'mantha had a startled look.
+
+"In--in a--proper way," he added.  "Let's be joyful.  Perhaps we
+could play 'I spy.'"
+
+"Y!" they both exclaimed, laughing silently.
+
+"Never ate chicken pie like that," he added in all sincerity.  "If
+I were a poet, I'd indite an ode 'written after eating some of the
+excellent chicken pie of the Misses Tower.' I'm going to have some
+like it on my farm."
+
+In reaching to help himself he touched the teapot, withdrawing his
+hand quickly.
+
+"Burn ye?" said Miss S'mantha.
+
+"Yes; but I like it!" said he, a bit embarrassed.  "I often go
+and--and put my hand on a hot teapot if I'm having too much fun."
+
+They looked up at him, puzzled.
+
+"Ever slide down hill?" he inquired, looking from one to the other,
+after a bit of silence.
+
+"Oh, not since we were little!" said Miss Letitia, holding her
+biscuit daintily, after taking a bite none too big for a bird to
+manage.
+
+"Good fun!" said be.  "Whisk you back to childhood in a jiffy.
+Folks ought to slide down hill more'n they do.  It isn't a good
+idea to be always climbing."
+
+"'Fraid we couldn't stan' it," said Miss S'mantha, tentatively.
+Under all her man-fear and suspicion lay a furtive recklessness.
+
+"Y, no!" the other whispered, laughing silently.
+
+The pervading silence of that house came flooding in between
+sentences.  For a moment Trove could hear only the gurgle of
+pouring tea and the faint rattle of china softly handled.  When he
+felt as if the silence were drowning him, he began again:--
+
+"Life is nothing but a school.  I'm a teacher, and I deal in rules.
+If you want to kill misery, load your gun with pleasure."
+
+"Do you know of anything for indigestion?" said Miss S'mantha,
+charging her sickly voice with a firmness calculated to discourage
+any undue familiarity.
+
+"Just the thing--a sure cure!" said he, emphatically.
+
+"Come high?" she inquired.
+
+"No, it's cheap and plenty."
+
+"Where do you send?"
+
+"Oh!" said he; "you will have to go after it."
+
+"What is it called ?"
+
+"Fun," said the teacher, quickly; "and the place to find it is out
+of doors.  It grows everywhere on my farm.  I'd rather have a pair
+of skates than all the medicine this side of China."
+
+She set down her teacup and looked up at him.  She was beginning to
+think him a fairly safe and well-behaved man, although she would
+have been more comfortable if he had been shut in a cage.
+
+"If I had a pair o' skates," said she, faintly, with a look of
+inquiry at her sister, "I dunno but I'd try 'em."
+
+Miss Letitia began to laugh silently.
+
+"I'd begin with overshoes," said the teacher, "A pair of overshoes
+and a walk on the crust every morning before breakfast; increase
+the dose gradually."
+
+The two old maids were now more at ease with their guest.  His
+kindly manner and plentiful good spirits had begun to warm and
+cheer them.  Miss S'mantha even cherished a secret resolve to slide
+if the chance came.
+
+After tea Sidney Trove, against their protest, began to help with
+the dishes.  Miss S'mantha prudently managed to keep the stove
+between him and her.  A fire and candles were burning in the
+parlour.  He asked permission, however, to stay where he could talk
+with them.  Tunk Hosely, the man of all work, came in for his
+supper.  He was an odd character.  Some, with a finger on their
+foreheads, confided the opinion that he was "a little off."  All
+agreed he was no fool--in a tone that left it open to argument.  He
+had a small figure and a big squint.  His perpetual squint and
+bristly, short beard were a great injustice to him.  They gave him
+a look severer than he deserved.  A limp and leaning shoulder
+complete the inventory of external traits.  Having eaten, he set a
+candle in the old barn lantern.
+
+"Wal, mister," said he, when all was ready, "come out an' look at
+my hoss."
+
+The teacher went with him out under a sky bright with stars to the
+chill and gloomy stable.
+
+"Look at me," said Tunk, holding up the lantern as he turned about.
+"Gosh all fish-hooks!  I'm a wreck."
+
+"What's the matter?" Sidney Trove inquired.
+
+"All sunk in--right here," Tunk answered impressively, his hand to
+his chest.
+
+"How did it happen?"
+
+"Kicked by a boss; that's how it happened," was the significant
+answer.  "Lord! I'm all shucked over t' one side--can't ye see it?"
+
+"A list t' sta'b'rd--that's what they call it, I believe," said the
+teacher.
+
+"See how I limp," Tunk went on, striding to show his pace.  "Ain't
+it awful!"
+
+"How did that happen?"
+
+"Sprung my ex!" he answered, turning quickly with a significant
+look.  "Thrown from a sulky in a hoss race an' sprung my ex.  Lord!
+can't ye see it?"
+
+The teacher nodded, not knowing quite how to take him.
+
+"Had my knee unsot, too," he went on, lifting his knee as he turned
+the light upon it.  "Jes' put yer finger there," said he,
+indicating a slight protuberance.  "Lord! it's big as a bog spavin."
+
+He had planned to provoke a query, and it came.
+
+"How did you get it?"
+
+"Kicked ag'in," said Tunk, sadly.  "Heavens!  I've had my share o'
+bangin'.  Can't conquer a skittish hoss without sufferin' some--not
+allwus.  Now, here's a boss," he added, as they walked to a stall.
+"He ain't much t' look at, but--"
+
+He paused a moment as he neared the horse--a white and ancient
+palfrey.  He stood thoughtfully on "cocked ankles," every leg in a
+bandage, tail and mane braided,
+
+"Get ap, Prince," Tunk shouted, as he gave him a slap.  Prince
+moved aside, betraying evidence of age and infirmity.
+
+"But--" Tunk repeated with emphasis.
+
+"Ugly?" the teacher queried.
+
+"Ugly!" said Tunk, as if the word were all too feeble for the fact
+in hand.  "Reg'lar hell on wheels!--that's what he is.  Look out!
+don't git too nigh him.  He ain't no conscience--that hoss ain't."
+
+"Is he fast?"
+
+"Greased lightnin'!" said Tunk, shaking his head.  "Won
+twenty-seven races."
+
+"You're a good deal of a horseman, I take it." said the teacher.
+
+"Wal, some," said he, expectorating thoughtfully.  "But I don't
+have no chance here.  What d'ye 'spect of a man livin,' with them
+ol' maids ?"
+
+He seemed to have more contempt than his words would carry.
+
+"Every night they lock me upstairs," he continued with a look of
+injury; "they ain't fit fer nobody t' live with.  Ain't got no hoss
+but that dummed ol' plug."
+
+He had forgotten his enthusiasm of the preceding moment.  His
+intellect was a museum of freaks.  Therein, Vanity was the
+prodigious fat man, Memory the dwarf, and Veracity the living
+skeleton.  When Vanity rose to show himself, the others left the
+stage.
+
+Tunk's face had become suddenly thoughtful and morose.  In truth,
+he was an arrant and amusing humbug.  It has been said that
+children are all given to lying in some degree, but seeing the
+folly of it in good time, if, indeed, they are not convinced of its
+wickedness, train tongue and feeling into the way of truth.  The
+respect for truth that is the beginning of wisdom had not come to
+Tunk.  He continued to lie with the cheerful inconsistency of a
+child.  The' hero of his youth had been a certain driver of
+trotting horses, who had a limp and a leaning shoulder.  In Tunk,
+the limp and the leaning shoulder were an attainment that had come
+of no sudden wrench.  Such is the power of example, he admired,
+then imitated, and at last acquired them.  One cannot help thinking
+what graces of character and person a like persistency would have
+brought to him.  But Tunk had equipped himself with horsey heroism,
+adorning it to his own fancy.  He had never been kicked, he had
+never driven a race or been hurled from a sulky at full speed.
+Prince, that ancient palfrey, was the most harmless of all
+creatures, and would long since have been put out of misery but for
+the tender consideration of his owners.  And Tunk--well, they used
+to say of him, that if he had been truthful, he couldn't have been
+alive.
+
+"Sometime," Trove thought, "his folly may bring confusion upon wise
+heads."
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+An Event in the Rustic Museum
+
+Sidney Trove sat talking a while with Miss Letitia.  Miss S'mantha,
+unable longer to bear the unusual strain of danger and publicity,
+went away to bed soon after supper.  Tunk Hosely came in with a
+candle about nine.
+
+"Wal, mister," said he, "you ready t' go t' bed?"
+
+"I am," said Trove, and followed him to the cold hospitality of the
+spare room, a place of peril but beautifully clean.  There was a
+neat rag carpet on the floor, immaculate tidies on the bureau and
+wash table, and a spotless quilt of patchwork on the bed.  But,
+like the dungeon of mediaeval times, it was a place for sighs and
+reflection, not for rest.  Half an inch of frost on every
+window-pane glistened in the dim light of the candle.
+
+"As soon as they unlock my door, I'll come an' let ye out in the
+mornin'," Tunk whispered.
+
+"Are they going to lock me in?"
+
+"Wouldn't wonder," said Tunk, soberly.
+
+"What can ye 'spect from a couple o' dummed ol' maids like them?"
+
+There was a note of long suffering in his half-whispered tone,
+
+"Good night, mister," said he, with a look of dejection.  "Orter
+have a nightcap, er ye'll git hoar-frost on yer hair."
+
+Trove was all a-shiver in the time it took him to undress, and his
+breath came out of him in spreading shafts of steam.  Sheets of
+flannel and not less than half a dozen quilts and comfortables made
+a cover, under which the heat of his own blood warmed his body.  He
+became uncomfortably aware of the presence of his head and face,
+however.  He could hear stealthy movements beyond the door, and
+knew they were barricading it with furniture.  Long before daylight
+a hurried removal of the barricade awoke him.  Then he heard a rap
+at the door, and the excited voice of Tunk.
+
+"Say, mister! come here quick," it called.
+
+Sidney Trove leaped out of bed and into his trousers.  He hurried
+through the dark parlour, feeling his way around a clump of chairs
+and stumbling over a sofa.  The two old maids were at the kitchen
+door, both dressed, one holding a lighted candle.  Tunk Hosely
+stood by the door, buttoning suspenders with one hand and holding a
+musket in the other.   They were shivering and pale.  The room was
+now cold.
+
+"Hear that!" Tunk whispered, turning to the teacher.
+
+They all listened, hearing a low, weird cry outside the door.
+
+"Soun's t' me like a raccoon," Miss S'mantha whispered thoughtfully.
+
+"Or a lamb," said Miss Letitia.
+
+"Er a painter," Tunk ventured, his ear turning to catch the sound.
+
+"Let's open the door," said Sidney Trove, advancing.
+
+"Not me," said Tunk, firmly, raising his gun.
+
+Trove had not time to act before they heard a cry for help on the
+doorstep.  It was the voice of a young girl.  He opened the door,
+and there stood Mary Leblanc--a scholar of Linley School and the
+daughter of a poor Frenchman.   She came in lugging a baby wrapped
+in a big shawl, and both crying.
+
+"Oh, Miss Tower," said she; "pa has come out o' the woods drunk an'
+has threatened to kill the baby.  Ma wants to know if you'll keep
+it here to-night."
+
+The two old maids wrung their hands with astonishment and only said
+"y!"
+
+"Of course we'll keep it," said Trove, as he took the baby,
+
+"I must hurry back," said the girl, now turning with a look of
+relief.
+
+Tunk shied off and began to build a fire; Miss S'mantha sat down
+weeping, the girl ran away in the darkness, and Trove put the baby
+in Miss Letitia's arms.
+
+"I'll run over to Leblanc's cabin," said he, getting his cap and
+coat.  "They're having trouble over there."
+
+He left them and hurried off on his way to the little cabin.
+
+Loud cries of the baby rang in that abode of silence.   It began to
+kick and squirm with determined energy.  Poor Miss Letitia had the
+very look of panic in her face.  She clung to the fierce little
+creature, not knowing what to do.  Miss S'mantha lay back in a fit
+of hysterics.  Tunk advanced bravely, with brows knit, and stood
+looking down at the baby.
+
+"Lord! this is awful!" said he.  Then a thought struck him.  "I'll
+git some milk," he shouted, running into the buttery.
+
+The baby thrust the cup away, and it fell noisily, the milk
+streaming over a new rag carpet.
+
+"It's sick; I'm sure it's sick," said Miss Letitia, her voice
+trembling.  "S'mantha, can't you do something?"
+
+Miss S'mantha calmed herself a little and drew near.
+
+"Jes' like a wil'cat," said Tunk, thoughtfully.  "Powerful, too,"
+he added, with an effort to control one of the kicking legs.
+
+"What shall we do?" said Miss Letitia.
+
+"My sister had a baby once," said Tunk, approaching it doubtfully
+but with a studious look.
+
+He made a few passes with his hand in front of the baby's face.
+Then he gave it a little poke in the ribs, tentatively.  The effect
+was like adding insult to injury.
+
+"If 'twas mine," said Tunk, "which I'm glad it ain't--I'd rub a
+little o' that hoss liniment on his stummick,"
+
+The two old maids took the baby into their bedroom.  It was an hour
+later when Trove came back.  Tunk sat alone by the kitchen fire.
+There was yet a loud wail in the bedroom.
+
+"What's the news?" said Tunk, who met him at the door.
+
+"Drunk, that's all," said Trove.  "I took this bottle, sling-shot,
+and bar of iron away from him.  The woman thought I had better
+bring them with me and put them out of his way."
+
+He laid them on the floor in a corner.
+
+"I got him into bed," he continued, "and then hid the axe and came
+away.  I guess they're all right now.  When I left he had begun to
+snore."
+
+"Wal,--we ain't all right," said Tunk, pointing to the room.  "If
+you can conquer that thing, you'll do well.  Poor Miss Teeshy!" he
+added, shaking his head.
+
+"What's the matter with her?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Kicked in the stummick 'til she dunno where she is," said Tunk,
+gloomily.
+
+He pulled off his boots.
+
+"If she don't go lame t'morrer, I'll miss my guess," he added.
+"She looks a good deal like Deacon Haskins after he had milked the
+brindle cow."
+
+He leaned back, one foot upon the stove-hearth.  Shrill cries rang
+in the old house.
+
+"'Druther 'twould hev been a painter," said Tunk, sighing.
+
+"Why so?"
+
+"More used to 'em," said Tunk, sadly.
+
+They listened a while longer without speaking.
+
+"Ye can't drive it, ner coax it, ner scare it away, ner do nuthin'
+to it," said Tunk, presently.
+
+He rose and picked up the things Trove had brought with him.  "I'll
+take these to the barn," said he; "they'd have a fit--if they was
+t' see 'em.  What be they?"
+
+"I do not know what they are," said Trove.
+
+"Wal!" said Tunk.  "They're queer folks--them Frenchmen.  This
+looks like an iron bar broke in two in the middle."
+
+He got his lantern, picked up the bottle, the sling-shot, and the
+iron, and went away to the barn.
+
+Trove went to the bedroom door and rapped, and was admitted.  He
+went to work with the baby, and soon, to his joy, it lay asleep on
+the bed.  Then he left the room on tiptoe, and a bit weary.
+
+"A very full day!" he said to himself.
+
+"Teacher, counsellor, martyr, constable, nurse--I wonder what next!"
+
+And as he went to his room, he heard Miss S'mantha say to her
+sister, "I'm thankful it's not a boy, anyway."
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+A Day of Difficulties
+
+All were in their seats and the teacher had called a class.  Carlt
+Homer came in.
+
+"You're ten minutes late," said the teacher.
+
+"I have fifteen cows to milk," the boy answered.
+
+"Where do you live?"
+
+"'Bout a mile from here, on the Beach Plains."
+
+"What time do you begin milking?"
+
+"'Bout seven o'clock."
+
+"I'll go to-morrow morning and help you," said the teacher.  "We
+must be on time--that's a necessary law of the school."
+
+At a quarter before seven in the morning, Sidney Trove presented
+himself at the Homers'.  He had come to help with the milking, but
+found there were only five cows to milk.
+
+"Too bad your father lost so many cows--all in a day," said he.
+"It's a great pity.  Did you lose anything?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Have you felt to see?"
+
+The boy put his hand in his pocket.
+
+"Not there--it's an inside pocket, way inside o' you.  It's where
+you keep your honour and pride."
+
+"Wal," said the boy, his tears starting, "I'm 'fraid I have."
+
+"Enough said--good morning," the teacher answered as he went away.
+
+One morning a few days later the teacher opened his school with
+more remarks.
+
+"The other day," said he, "I spoke of a thing it was very necessary
+for us to learn.  What was it?"
+
+"To obey," said a youngster.
+
+"Obey what?" the teacher inquired.
+
+"Law," somebody ventured.
+
+"Correct; we're studying law--every one of us--the laws of grammar,
+of arithmetic, of reading, and so on.  We are learning to obey
+them.  Now I am going to ask you what is the greatest law in the
+world?"
+
+There was a moment of silence.  Then the teacher wrote these words
+in large letters on the blackboard; "Thou shalt not lie."
+
+"There is the law of laws," said the teacher, solemnly.  "Better
+never have been born than not learn to obey it.  If you always tell
+the truth, you needn't worry about any other law.  Words are like
+money--some are genuine, some are counterfeit.  If a man had a bag
+of counterfeit money and kept passing it, in a little while nobody
+would take his money.  I knew a man who said he killed four bears
+at one shot.   There's some that see too much when they're looking
+over their own gun-barrels.  Don't be one of that kind.  Don't ever
+kill too many bears at a shot."
+
+After that, in the Linley district, a man who lied was said to be
+killing too many bears at a shot.
+
+Good thoughts spread with slow but sure contagion.  There were some
+who understood the teacher.  His words went home and far with them,
+even to their graves, and how much farther who can say?  They went
+over the hills, indeed, to other neighbourhoods, and here they are,
+still travelling, and going now, it may be, to the remotest corners
+of the earth.  The big boys talked about this matter of lying and
+declared the teacher was right.
+
+"There's Tunk Hosely," said Sam Price.  "Nobody'd take his word for
+nuthin'."
+
+"'Less he was t' say he was a fool out an' out," another boy
+suggested.
+
+"Dunno as I'd b'lieve him then," said Sam.  "Fer I'd begin t' think
+he knew suthin'."
+
+A little girl came in, crying, one day.
+
+"What is the trouble?" said the teacher, tenderly, as he leaned
+over and put his arm around her.
+
+"My father is sick," said the child, sobbing.
+
+"Very sick?" the teacher inquired.
+
+For a moment she could not answer, but stood shaken with sobs.
+
+"The doctor says he can't live," said she, brokenly.
+
+A solemn stillness fell in the little schoolroom.  The teacher
+lifted the child and held her close to his broad breast a moment.
+
+"Be brave, little girl," said he, patting her head gently.
+"Doctors don't always know.  He may be better to-morrow."
+
+He took the child to her seat, and sat beside her and whispered a
+moment, his mouth close to her ear.  And what he said, none knew,
+save the girl herself, who ceased to cry in a moment but never
+ceased to remember it.
+
+A long time he sat, with his arm around her, questioning the
+classes.  He seemed to have taken his place between her and the
+dark shadow.
+
+Joe Beach had been making poor headway in arithmetic.
+
+"I'll come over this evening, and we'll see what's the trouble.
+It's all very easy," the teacher said.
+
+He worked three hours with the young man that evening, and filled
+him with high ambition after hauling him out of his difficulty.
+
+But of all difficulties the teacher had to deal with, Polly Vaughn
+was the greatest.  She was nearly perfect in all her studies, but a
+little mischievous and very dear to him.  "Pretty;" that is one
+thing all said of her there in Faraway, and they said also with a
+bitter twang that she loved to lie abed and read novels.  To Sidney
+Trove the word "pretty" was inadequate.  As to lying abed and
+reading novels, he was free to say that he believed in it.
+
+"We get very indignant about slavery in the south," he used to say;
+"but how about slavery on the northern farms?  I know people who
+rise at cock-crow and strain their sinews in heavy toil the
+livelong day, and spend the Sabbath trembling in the lonely shadow
+of the Valley of Death.  I know a man who whipped his boy till he
+bled because he ran away to go fishing.  It's all slavery, pure and
+simple."
+
+"In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread till thou return
+unto the ground," said Ezra Tower.
+
+"If God said it, he made slaves of us all," said young Trove.
+"When I look around here and see people wasted to the bone with
+sweat and toil, too weary often to eat the bread they have earned,
+when I see their children dying of consumption from excess of
+labour and pork fat, I forget the slaves of man and think only of
+these wretched slaves of God."
+
+But Polly was not of them the teacher pitied.  She was a bit
+discontented; but surely she was cheerful and well fed.  God gave
+her beauty, and the widow saw it, and put her own strength between
+the curse and the child.  Folly had her task every day, but Polly
+had her way, also, in too many things, and became a bit selfish, as
+might have been expected.  But there was something very sweet and
+fine about Polly.  They were plain clothes she wore, but nobody
+save herself and mother gave them any thought.  Who, seeing her
+big, laughing eyes, her finely modelled face, with cheeks pink and
+dimpled, her shapely, white teeth, her mass of dark hair, crowning
+a form tall and straight as an arrow, could see anything but the
+merry-hearted Polly?
+
+"Miss Vaughn, you will please remain a few moments after school,"
+said the teacher one day near four o'clock.  Twice she had been
+caught whispering that day, with the young girl who sat behind her.
+Trove had looked down, stroking his little mustache thoughtfully,
+and made no remark.  The girl had gone to work, then, her cheeks
+red with embarrassment.
+
+"I wish you'd do me a favour, Miss Polly," said the teacher, when
+they were alone.
+
+She blushed deeply, and sat looking down as she fussed with her
+handkerchief.  She was a bit frightened by the serious air of that
+big young man.
+
+"It isn't much," he went on.  "I'd like you to help me teach a
+little.  To-morrow morning I shall make a map on the blackboard,
+and while I am doing it I'd like you to conduct the school.  When
+you have finished with the primer class I'll be ready to take hold
+again."
+
+She had a puzzled look.
+
+"I thought you were going to punish me," she answered, smiling.
+
+"For what?" he inquired.
+
+"Whispering," said she.
+
+"Oh, yes!  But you have read Walter Scott, and you know ladies are
+to be honoured, not punished.  I shouldn't know how to do such a
+thing.  When you've become a teacher you'll see I'm right about
+whispering.  May I walk home with you?"
+
+Polly had then a very serious look.  She turned away, biting her
+lip, in a brief struggle for self-mastery.
+
+"If you care to," she whispered.
+
+They walked away in silence.
+
+"Do you dance?" she inquired presently.
+
+"No, save attendance on your pleasure," said he.  "Will you teach
+me?"
+
+"Is there anything I can teach you?" She looked up at him playfully.
+
+"Wisdom," said he, quickly, "and how to preserve blueberries, and
+make biscuit like those you gave us when I came to tea.  As to
+dancing, well--I fear 'I am not shaped for sportive tricks.'"
+
+"If you'll stay this evening," said she, "we'll have some more of
+my blueberries and biscuit, and then, if you care to, we'll try
+dancing."
+
+"You'll give me a lesson?" he asked eagerly.
+
+"If you'd care to have me."
+
+"Agreed; but first let us have the blueberries and biscuit," said
+he, heartily, as they entered the door.  "Hello, Mrs. Vaughn, I
+came over to help you eat supper.  I have it all planned.  Paul is
+to set the table, I'm to peel the potatoes and fry the pork, Polly
+is to make the biscuit and gravy and put the kettle on.  You are to
+sit by and look pleasant."
+
+"I insist on making the tea," said Mrs. Vaughn, with amusement.
+
+"Shall we let her make the tea?" he asked, looking thoughtfully at
+Polly.
+
+"Perhaps we'd better," said she, laughing.
+
+"All right; we'll let her make the tea--we don't have to drink it."
+
+"You," said the widow, "are like Governor Wright, who said to Mrs.
+Perkins, 'Madam, I will praise your tea, but hang me if I'll drink
+it.'"
+
+"I'm going to teach the primer class in the morning," said Polly,
+as she filled the tea-kettle.
+
+"Look out, young man," said Mrs. Vaughn, turning to the teacher.
+"In a short time she'll be thinking she can teach you."
+
+"I get my first lesson to-night," said the young man.  "She's to
+teach me dancing."
+
+"And you've no fear for your soul?"
+
+"I've more fear for my body," said he, glancing down upon his long
+figure.  "I've never lifted my feet save for the purpose of
+transportation.  I'd like to learn how to dance because Deacon
+Tower thinks it wicked and I've learned that happiness and sin mean
+the same thing in his vocabulary."
+
+"I fear you're a downward and backsliding youth," said the widow.
+
+"You know what Ezra Tower said of Ebenezer Fisher, that he was 'one
+o' them mush-heads that didn't believe in hell'?  Are you one o'
+that kind?"  Proclaimers of liberal thought were at work there in
+the north.
+
+"Since I met Deacon Tower I'm sure it's useful and necessary.  He's
+got to have some place for his enemies.  If it were not for hell,
+the deacon would be miserable here and, maybe, happy hereafter."
+
+"It's a great hope and comfort to him," said the widow, smiling.
+
+"Well, God save us all!" said Trove, who had now a liking for both
+the phrase and philosophy of Darrel.  They had taken chairs at the
+table.
+
+"Tom," said he, "we'll pause a moment, while you give us the fourth
+rule of syntax."
+
+"Correct," said he, heartily, as the last word was spoken.  "Now
+let us be happy."
+
+"Paul," said the teacher, as he finished eating, "what is the
+greatest of all laws?"
+
+"Thou shalt not lie," said the boy, promptly.
+
+"Correct," said Trove; "and in the full knowledge of the law, I
+declare that no better blueberries and biscuit ever passed my lips."
+
+Supper over, Polly disappeared, and young Mr. Trove helped with the
+dishes.  Soon Polly came back, glowing in her best gown and
+slippers.
+
+"Why, of all things!  What a foolish child!" said her mother.  For
+answer Polly waltzed up and down the room, singing gayly.
+
+She stopped before the glass and began to fuss with her ribbons.
+The teacher went to her side.
+
+"May I have the honour, Miss Vaughn," Said he, bowing politely.
+"Is that the way to do?"
+
+"You might say, 'Will you be my pardner,'" said she, mimicking the
+broad dialect of the region.
+
+"I'll sacrifice my dignity, but not my language," said he.  "Let us
+dance and be merry, for to-morrow we teach."
+
+"If you'll watch my feet, you'll see how I do it," said she; and
+lifting her skirt above her dainty ankles, glided across the floor
+on tiptoe, as lightly as a fawn at play.  But Sidney Trove was not
+a graceful creature.  The muscles on his lithe form, developed in
+the school of work or in feats of strength at which he had met no
+equal, were untrained in all graceful trickery.  He loved dancing
+and music and everything that increased the beauty and delight of
+life, but they filled him with a deep regret of his ignorance.
+
+"Hard work," said he, breathing heavily, "and I don't believe I'm
+having as much fun as you are."
+
+The small company of spectators had been laughing with amusement.
+
+"Reminds me of a story," said the teacher.  "'What are all the
+animals crying about?' said one elephant to another.  'Why, don't
+you know?--it's about the reindeer,' said the other elephant; 'he's
+dead.  Never saw anything so sad in my life.  He skipped so, and
+made a noise like that, and then he died.'  The elephant jumped up
+and down, trying the light skip of the reindeer and gave a great
+roar for the bleat of the dying animal,  'What,' said the first
+elephant, 'did he skip so, and cry that way?'  And he tried it.
+'No, not that way but this way,' said the other; and he went
+through it again.  By this time every animal in the show had begun
+to roar with laughter.  'What on earth are you doing?' said the
+rhinoceros.  'It's the way the reindeer died,' said one of the
+elephants.
+
+"'Never saw anything so funny,' said the rhinoceros; 'if the poor
+thing died that way, it's a pity he couldn't repeat the act.'
+
+"'This is terrible,' said the zebra, straining at his halter.  'The
+reindeer is dead, and the elephants have gone crazy.'"
+
+"Sidney Trove," said the teacher, as he was walking away that
+evening, "you'll have to look out for yourself.  You're a teacher
+and you ought to be a man--you must be a man or I'll have nothing
+more to do with you."
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+Amusement and Learning
+
+There was much doing that winter in the Linley district.  They were
+a month getting ready for the school "exhibition."  Every home in
+the valley and up Cedar Hill rang with loud declamations.   The
+impassioned utterances of James Otis, Daniel Webster, and Patrick
+Henry were heard in house, and field, and stable.  Every evening
+women were busy making costumes for a play, while the young
+rehearsed their parts.  Polly Vaughn, editor of a paper to be read
+that evening, searched the countryside for literary talent.  She
+found a young married woman, who had spent a year in the State
+Normal School, and who put her learning at the service of Polly, in
+a composition treating the subject of intemperance.  Miss Betsey
+Leech sent in what she called "a piece" entitled "Home."  Polly,
+herself, wrote an editorial on "Our Teacher," and there was hemming
+and hawing when she read it, declaring they all had learned much,
+even to love him.  Her mother helped her with the alphabetical
+rhymes, each a couplet of sentimental history, as, for example:--
+
+  "A is for Alson, a jolly young man,
+  He'll marry Miss Betsey, they say, if he can."
+
+They trimmed the little schoolhouse with evergreen and erected a
+small stage, where the teacher's desk had been.  Sheets were hung,
+for curtains, on a ten-foot rod.
+
+A while after dark one could hear a sound of sleigh-bells in the
+distance.  Away on drifted pike and crossroad the bells began to
+fling their music.  It seemed to come in rippling streams of sound
+through the still air, each with its own voice.  In half an hour
+countless echoes filled the space between them, and all were as one
+chorus, wherein, as it came near, one could distinguish song and
+laughter.
+
+Young people from afar came in cutters and by the sleigh load;
+those who lived near, afoot with lanterns.  They were a merry
+company, crowding the schoolhouse, laughing and whispering as they
+waited for the first exhibit.  Trove called them to order and made
+a few remarks.
+
+"Remember," said he, "this is not our exhibition.  It is only a
+sort of preparation for one we have planned.  In about twenty years
+the Linley School is to give an exhibition worth seeing.  It will
+be, I believe, an exhibition of happiness, ability, and success on
+the great stage of the world.  Then I hope to have on the programme
+speeches in Congress, in the pulpit, and at the bar.  You shall see
+in that play, if I mistake not, homes full of love and honour, men
+and women of fair fame.  It may be you shall see, then, some whose
+names are known and honoured of all men."
+
+Each performer quaked with fear, and both sympathy and approval
+were in the applause.  Miss Polly Vaughn was a rare picture of
+rustic beauty, her cheeks as red as her ribbons, her voice low and
+sweet.  Trove came out in the audience for a look at her as she
+read.  Ringing salvos of laughter greeted the play and stirred the
+sleigh-bells on the startled horses beyond the door.  The programme
+over, somebody called for Squire Town, a local pettifogger, who
+flung his soul and body into every cause.  He often sored his
+knuckles on the court table and racked his frame with the violence
+of his rhetoric.  He had a stock of impassioned remarks ready for
+all occasions.
+
+He rose, walked to the centre of the stage, looked sternly at the
+people, and addressed them as "Fellow Citizens."  He belaboured the
+small table; he rose on tiptoe and fell upon his heels; often he
+seemed to fling his words with a rapid jerk of his right arm as one
+hurls a pebble.  It was all in praise of his "young friend," the
+teacher, and the high talent of Linley School.
+
+The exhibition ended with this rare exhibit of eloquence.  Trove
+announced the organization of a singing-school for Monday evening
+of the next week, and then suppressed emotion burst into noise.
+The Linley school-house had become as a fount of merry sound in the
+still night; then the loud chorus of the bells, diminishing as they
+went away, and breaking into streams of music and dying faint in
+the far woodland.
+
+One Nelson Cartright--a jack of all trades they called him--was the
+singing-master.  He was noted far and wide for song and penmanship.
+Every year his intricate flourishes in black and white were on
+exhibition at the county fair.
+
+"Wal, sir," men used to say thoughtfully, "ye wouldn't think he
+knew beans.  Why, he's got a fist bigger'n a ham.  But I tell ye,
+let him take a pen, sir, and he'll draw a deer so nat'ral, sir,
+ye'd swear he could jump over a six-rail fence.  Why, it is
+wonderful!"
+
+Every winter he taught the arts of song and penmanship in the four
+districts from Jericho to Cedar Hill.  He sang a roaring bass and
+beat the time with dignity and precision.  For weeks he drilled the
+class on a bit of lyric melody, of which a passage is here given:--
+
+"One, two, three, ready, sing," he would say, his ruler cutting the
+air, and all began:--
+
+  Listen to the bird, and the maid, and the bumblebee,
+    Tra, la la la la, tra, la la la la,
+  Joyfully we'll sing the gladsome melody,
+    Tra, la, la, la, la.
+
+The singing-school added little to the knowledge or the
+cheerfulness of that neighbourhood.  It came to an end the last day
+of the winter term.  As usual, Trove went home with Polly.  It was
+a cold night, and as the crowd left them at the corners he put his
+arm around her.
+
+"School is over," said she, with a sigh, "and I'm sorry."
+
+"For me?" he inquired.
+
+"For myself," she answered, looking down at the snowy path.
+
+There came a little silence crowded with happy thoughts.
+
+"At first, I thought you very dreadful," she went on, looking up at
+him with a smile.  He could see her sweet face in the moonlight and
+was tempted to kiss it.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"You were so terrible," she answered.  "Poor Joe Beach!  It seemed
+as if he would go through the wall."
+
+"Well, something had to happen to him," said the teacher.
+
+"He likes, you now, and every one likes you here.  I wish we could
+have you always for a teacher."
+
+"I'd be willing to be your teacher, always, if I could only teach
+you what you have taught me."
+
+"Oh, dancing," said she, merrily; "that is nothing.  I'll give you
+all the lessons you like."
+
+"No, I shall not let you teach me that again," said he.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because your pretty feet trample on me."
+
+Then came another silence.
+
+"Don't you enjoy it?" she asked, looking off at the stars.
+
+"Too much." said he.  "First, I must teach you something--if I can."
+
+He was ready for a query, if it came, but she put him off.
+
+"I intend to be a grand lady," said she, "and, if you do not learn,
+you'll never be able to dance with me."
+
+"There'll be others to dance with you," said he.  "I have so much
+else to do."
+
+"Oh, you're always thinking about algebra and arithmetic and those
+dreadful things," said she.
+
+"No, I'm thinking now of something very different."
+
+"Grammar, I suppose," said she, looking down.
+
+"Do you remember the conjugations?"
+
+"Try me," said she.
+
+"Give me the first person singular, passive voice, present tense,
+of the verb to love."
+
+"I am loved," was her answer, as she looked away.
+
+"And don't you know--I love you," said he, quickly.
+
+"That is the active voice," said she, turning with a smile.
+
+"Polly," said he, "I love you as I could love no other in the
+world."
+
+He drew her close, and she looked up at him very soberly.
+
+"You love me?" she said in a half whisper.
+
+"With all my heart," he answered.  "I hope you will love me
+sometime."
+
+Their lips came together.
+
+"I do not ask you, now, to say that you love me," said the young
+man.  "You are young and do not know your own heart."
+
+She rose on tiptoe and fondly touched his cheek with her fingers.
+
+"But I do love you," she whispered.
+
+"I thank God you have told me, but I shall ask you for no promise.
+A year from now, then, dear, I shall ask you to promise that you
+will be my wife sometime."
+
+"Oh, let me promise now," she whispered.
+
+"Promise only that you will love me if you see none you love
+better."
+
+They were slowly nearing the door.  Suddenly she stopped, looking
+up at him.
+
+"Are you sure you love me?" she asked.
+
+"Yes," he whispered.
+
+"Sure?"
+
+"As sure as I am that I live."
+
+"And will love me always?"
+
+"Always," he answered.
+
+She drew his head down a little and put her lips to his ear.  "Then
+I shall love you always," she whispered.
+
+Mrs. Vaughn, was waiting for them at the fireside.  They sat
+talking a while.
+
+"You go off to bed, Polly," said the teacher, presently.  "I've
+something to say, and you're not to hear it."
+
+"I'll listen," said she, laughing.
+
+"Then we'll whisper," Trove answered.
+
+"That isn't fair," said she, with a look of injury, as she held the
+candle.  "Besides, you don't allow it yourself."
+
+"Polly ought to go away to school," said he, after Polly had gone
+above stairs.  "She's a bright girl."
+
+"And I so poor I'm always wondering what'll happen to-morrow," said
+Mrs. Vaughn.  "The farm has a mortgage, and it's more than I can do
+to pay the interest.  Some day I'll have to give it up."
+
+"Perhaps I can help you," said the young man, feeling the fur on
+his cap.
+
+There was an awkward silence.
+
+"Fact is," said the young man, a bit embarrassed, "fact is, I love
+Polly."
+
+In the silence that followed Trove could hear the tick of his watch.
+
+"Have ye spoken to her?" said the widow, with a serious look.
+
+"I've told her frankly to-night that I love her," said he.  "I
+couldn't help it, she was so sweet and beautiful."
+
+"If you couldn't help it, I don't see how I could," said she.  "But
+Polly's only a child.  She's a big girl, I know, but she's only
+eighteen."
+
+"I haven't asked her for any promise.  It wouldn't be fair.  She
+must have a chance to meet other young men, but, sometime, I hope
+she will be my wife."
+
+"Poor children!" said Mrs. Vaughn, "you don't either of you know
+what you're doing."
+
+He rose to go.
+
+"I was a little premature," he added, "but you mustn't blame me.
+Put yourself in my place.  If you were a young man and loved a girl
+as sweet as Polly and were walking home with her on a moonlit
+night--"
+
+"I presume there'd be more or less love-making," said the widow.
+"She is a pretty thing and has the way of a woman.  We were
+speaking of you the other day, and she said to me: 'He is
+ungrateful.  You can teach the primer class for him, and be so good
+that you feel perfectly miserable, and give him lessons in dancing,
+and put on your best clothes, and make biscuit for him, and then,
+perhaps, he'll go out and talk with the hired man.' 'Polly,' said
+I, 'you're getting to be very foolish.'  'Well, it comes so easy,'
+said she.  'It's my one talent'"
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+At the Theatre of the Woods
+
+Next day Trove went home.  He took with him many a souvenir of his
+first term, including a scarf that Polly had knit for him, and the
+curious things he took from the Frenchman Leblanc, and which he
+retained partly because they were curious and partly because Mrs.
+Leblanc had been anxious to get rid of them.  He soon rejoined his
+class at Hillsborough, having kept abreast of it in history and
+mathematics by work after school and over the week's end.  He was
+content to fall behind in the classics, for they were easy, and in
+them his arrears gave him no terror.  Walking for exercise, he laid
+the plan of his tale and had written some bits of verse.  Of an
+evening he went often to the Sign of the Dial, and there read his
+lines and got friendly but severe criticism.  He came into the shop
+one evening, his "Horace" under his arm.
+
+"'_Maecenas, atavis, edite regibus_'" Trove chanted, pausing to
+recall the lines.
+
+The tinker turned quickly.  "'_O et presidium et duice decus
+meum_,'" he quoted, never stopping until he had finished She ode.
+
+"Is there anything you do not know?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Much," said the tinker, "including the depth o' me own folly.  A
+man that displays knowledge hath need o' more."
+
+Indeed, Trove rarely came for a talk with Darrel when he failed to
+discover something new in him--a further reach of thought and
+sympathy or some unsuspected treasure of knowledge.  The tinker
+loved a laugh and would often search his memory for some phrase of
+bard or philosopher apt enough to provoke it.  Of his great store
+of knowledge he made no vainer use.
+
+Trove had been overworking; and about the middle of June they went
+for a week in the woods together.  They walked to Allen's the first
+day, and, after a brief visit there, went off in the deep woods,
+camping on a pond in thick-timbered hills.  Coming to the lilied
+shore, they sat down a while to rest.  A hawk was sailing high
+above the still water.  Crows began to call in the tree-tops.  An
+eagle sat on a dead pine at the water's edge and seemed to be
+peering down at his own shadow.  Two deer stood in a marsh on the
+farther shore, looking over at them.  Near by were the bones of
+some animal, and the fresh footprints of a painter.  Sounds echoed
+far in the hush of the unbroken wilderness.
+
+"See, boy," said Darrel, with a little gesture of his right hand,
+"the theatre o' the woods!  See the sloping hills, tree above tree,
+like winding galleries.  Here is a coliseum old, past reckoning.
+Why, boy, long before men saw the Seven Hills it was old.  Yet see
+how new it is--how fresh its colour, how strong its timbers!  See
+the many seats, each with a good view, an' the multitude o' the
+people, yet most o' them are hidden.  Ten thousand eyes are looking
+down upon us.  Tragedies and comedies o' the forest are enacted
+here.  Many a thrilling scene has held the stage--the spent deer
+swimming for his life, the painter stalking his prey or leaping on
+it."
+
+"Tis a cruel part," said Trove.  "He is the murderer of the play.
+I cannot understand why there are so many villains in its cast,
+Both the cat and the serpent baffle me."
+
+"Marry, boy, the world is a great school--an' this little drama o'
+the good God is part of it," said Darrel.  "An' the play hath a
+great moral--thou shalt learn to use thy brain or die.  Now, there
+be many perils in this land o' the woods--so many that all its
+people must learn to think or perish by them.  A pretty bit o'
+wisdom it is, sor.  It keeps the great van moving--ever moving, in
+the long way to perfection.  Now, among animals, a growing brain
+works the legs of its owner, sending them far on diverse errands
+until they are strong.  Mind thee, boy, perfection o' brain and
+body is the aim o' Nature.  The cat's paw an' the serpent's coil
+are but the penalties o' weakness an' folly.  The world is for the
+strong.  Therefore, God keep thee so, or there be serpents will
+enter thy blood an' devour thee--millions o' them."
+
+"And what is the meaning of this law?"
+
+"That the weak shall not live to perpetuate their kind," said
+Darrel.  "Every year there is a tournament o' the sparrows.  Which
+deserves the fair--that is the question to be settled.  Full tilt
+they come together, striking with lance and wing.  Knight strives
+with knight, lady with lady, and the weak die.  Lest thou forget,
+I'll tell thee a tale, boy, wherein is the great plan.  The queen
+bee--strongest of all her people--is about to marry.[1]  A clear
+morning she comes out o' the palace gate--her attendants following.
+The multitude of her suitors throng the vestibule; the air, now
+still an' sweet, rings with the sound o' fairy timbrels.  Of a
+sudden she rises into the blue sky, an' her suitors follow.  Her
+swift wings cleave the air straight as a plummet falls.  Only the
+strong may keep in sight o' her; bear that in mind, boy.  Her
+suitors begin to fall wearied.  Higher an' still higher the good
+queen wings her way.  By an' by, of all that began the journey,
+there is but one left with her, an' he the strongest of her people.
+An' they are wed, boy, up in the sun-lit deep o' heaven.  So the
+seed o' life is chosen, me fine lad."
+
+[1  In behalf of Darrel, the author makes acknowledgment of his
+indebtedness to M. Maurice Maeterlinck for an account of the
+queen's flight in his interesting "Life of the Bee."]
+
+They sat a little time in silence, looking at the shores of the
+pond.
+
+"Have ye never felt the love passion?" said Darrel.
+
+"Well, there's a girl of the name of Polly," Trove answered.
+
+"Ah, Polly! she o' the red lip an' the dark eye," said Darrel,
+smiling.  "She's one of a thousand."  He clapped his hand upon his
+knee, merrily, and sang a sentimental couplet from an old Irish
+ballad.
+
+"Have ye won her affection, boy?" he added, his hand on the boy's
+arm.
+
+"I think I have."
+
+"God love thee!  I'm glad to hear it," said the old man.  "She is a
+living wonder, boy, a living wonder, an' had I thy youth I'd give
+thee worry."
+
+"Since her mother cannot afford to do it, I wish to send her away
+to school," said Trove.
+
+"Tut, tut, boy; thou hast barely enough for thy own schooling."
+
+"I've eighty-two dollars in my pocket," said Trove, proudly.  "I do
+not need it.  The job in the mill--that will feed me and pay my
+room rent, and my clothes will do me for another year."
+
+"On me word, boy; I like it in thee," said Darrel; "but surely she
+would not take thy money."
+
+"I could not offer it to her, but you might go there, and perhaps
+she would take it from you."
+
+"Capital!" the tinker exclaimed.  "I'll see if I can serve thee.
+Marry, good youth, I'll even give away thy money an' take credit
+for thy benevolence.  Teacher, philanthropist, lover--I believe
+thou'rt ready to write."
+
+"The plan of my first novel is complete," said Trove.  "That poor
+thief,--he shall be my chief character,--the man of whom you told
+me."
+
+"Poor man!  God make thee kind to him," said the tinker.  "An'
+thou'rt willing, I'll hear o' him to-night.  When the firelight
+flickers,--that is the time, boy, for tales."
+
+They built a rude lean-to, covered with bark, and bedded with
+fragrant boughs.  Both lay in the firelight, Darrel smoking his
+pipe, as the night fell.
+
+"Now for thy tale," said the tinker.
+
+The tale was Trove's own solution of his life mystery, shrewdly
+come to, after a long and careful survey of the known facts.  And
+now, shortly, time was to put the seal of truth upon it, and daze
+him with astonishment, and fill him with regret of his cunning.  It
+should be known that he had never told Darrel or any one of his
+coming in the little red sleigh.
+
+He lay thinking for a time after the tinker spoke.  Then he began:--
+
+
+"Well, the time is 1833, the place a New England city on the sea.
+Chapter I:  A young woman is walking along a street, with a child
+sleeping in her arms.  She is dark-skinned,--a Syrian.  It is
+growing dusk; the street is deserted, save by her and two sailors,
+who are approaching her.  They, too, are Syrians.  One seems to
+strike her,--it is mere pretence, however,--and she falls.  The
+other seizes the child, who, having been drugged, is still asleep.
+A wagon is waiting near.  They drive away hurriedly, their captive
+under a blanket.  The kidnappers make for the woods in New
+Hampshire.  Officers of the law drive them far.  They abandon their
+horse, tramping westward over trails in the wilderness, bearing the
+boy in a sack of sail-cloth, open at the top.  They had guns and
+killed their food as they travelled.  Snow came deep; by and by
+game was scarce and they had grown weary of bearing the boy on
+their backs.  One waited in the woods with the little lad while the
+other went away to some town or city for provisions.  He came back,
+hauling them in a little sleigh.  It was much like those made for
+the delight of the small boy in every land of snow.  It had a box
+painted red and two bobs and a little dashboard.  They used it for
+the transportation of boy and impedimenta.  In the deep wilderness
+beyond the Adirondacks they found a cave in one of the rock ledges.
+They were twenty miles from any post-office but shortly discovered
+one.  Letters in cipher were soon passing between them and their
+confederates.  They learned there was no prospect of getting the
+ransom.  He they had thought rich was not able to raise the money
+they required or any large sum.  Two years went by, and they
+abandoned hope.   What should they do with the boy?  One advised
+murder, but the other defended him.  It was unnecessary, he
+maintained, to kill a mere baby, who knew not a word of English,
+and would forget all in a month.  And murder would only increase
+their peril.  Now eight miles from their cave was the cabin of a
+settler.  They passed within a mile of it on their way out and in.
+They had often met the dog of the settler roving after small
+game--a shepherd, trustful, affectionate, and ever ready to make
+friends.  One day they captured the dog and took him to their cave.
+They could not safely be seen with the boy, so they planned to let
+the dog go home with him in the little red sleigh.  Now the
+settler's cabin was like that of my father, on the shore of a pond.
+It was round, as a cup's rim, and a mile or so in diameter.
+Opposite the cabin a trail came to the water's edge, skirting the
+pond, save in cold weather, when it crossed the ice.  They waited
+for a night when their tracks would soon disappear.  Then, having
+made a cover of the sail-cloth sack in which they had brought the
+boy, and stretched it on withes, and made it fast to the sleigh
+box, they put the sleeping boy in the sleigh, with hot stones
+wrapped in paper, and a robe of fur, to keep him warm, hitched the
+dog to it, and came over hill and trail, to the little pond, a
+while after midnight.  Here they buckled a ring of bells on the
+dog's neck and released him.  He made for his home on the clear
+ice; the bells and his bark sounding as he ran.  They at the cabin
+heard him coming and opened their door to dog and traveller.  So
+came my hero in a little red sleigh, and was adopted by the settler
+and his wife, and reared by them with generous affection.  Well, he
+goes to school and learns rapidly, and comes to manhood.  It's a
+pretty story--that of his life in the big woods.  But now for the
+love tale.  He meets a young lady--sweet, tender, graceful,
+charming."
+
+
+"A moment," said Darrel, raising his hand.  "Prithee, boy, ring
+down the curtain for a brief parley.  Thou say'st they were
+Syrians--they that stole the lad.  Now, tell me, hast thou reason
+for that?"
+
+"Ample," said Trove.  "When they took him out of the sleigh the
+first words he spoke were "Anah jouhan."  He used them many times,
+and while he forgot they remembered them.  Now "Anah jouhan" is a
+phrase of the Syrian tongue, meaning 'I am hungry.'"
+
+"Very well!" said the old man, with emphasis, "and sailors--that is
+a just inference.  It was a big port, and far people came on the
+four winds.  Very well!  Now, for the young lady.  An' away with
+thy book unless I love her."
+
+"She is from life--a simple-hearted girl, frank and beautiful
+and--"  Trove hesitated, looking into the dying fire.
+
+"Noble, boy, make sure o' that, an' nobler, too, than girls are apt
+to be.  If Emulation would measure height with her, see that it
+stand upon tiptoes."
+
+
+"So I have planned.  The young man loves her.  She is in every
+thought and purpose.  She has become as the rock on which his hope
+is founded.  Now he loves honour, too, and all things of good
+report.  He has been reared a Puritan.  By chance, one day, it
+comes to him that his father was a thief."
+
+
+The boy paused.  For a moment they heard only the voices of the
+night.
+
+
+"He dreaded to tell her," Trove continued; "yet he could not ask
+her to be his wife without telling.  Then the question, Had he a
+right to tell?--for his father had not suffered the penalty of the
+law and, mind you, men thought him honest."
+
+
+"'Tis just," said Darrel; "but tell me, how came he to know his
+father was a thief?"
+
+"That I am thinking of, and before I answer, is there more you can
+tell me of him or his people?"
+
+Darrel rose; and lighting a torch of pine, stuck it in the ground.
+Then he opened his leathern pocket-book and took out a number of
+cuttings, much worn, and apparently from old newspapers.  He put on
+his glasses and began to examine the cuttings.
+
+"The other day," said he, "I found an account of his mother's
+death.  I had forgotten, but her death was an odd tragedy."
+
+And the tinker began reading, slowly, as follows:--
+
+
+"'She an' her mother--a lady deaf an' feeble--were alone, saving
+the servants in a remote corner o' the house.  A sound woke her in
+the still night.  She lay a while listening.  Was it her husband
+returning without his key?  She rose, feeling her way in the dark
+and trembling with the fear of a nervous woman.  Descending stairs,
+she came into a room o' many windows.  The shades were up, an'
+there was dim moon-light in the room.  A door, with panels o' thick
+glass, led to the garden walk.  Beyond it were the dark forms of
+men.  One was peering in, his face at a panel, another kneeling at
+the lock.  Suddenly the door opened; the lady fell fainting with a
+loud cry.  Next day the kidnapped boy was born.'"
+
+
+Darrel stopped reading, put the clipping into his pocket-book, and
+smothered the torch.
+
+"It seems the woman died the same day," said he.
+
+"And was my mother," the words came in a broken voice.
+
+Half a moment of silence followed them.  Then Darrel rose slowly,
+and a tremulous, deep sigh came from the lips of Trove.
+
+"Thy mother, boy!" Darrel whispered.
+
+The fire had burnt low, and the great shadow of the night lay dark
+upon them.  Trove got to his feet and came to the side of Darrel.
+
+"Tell me, for God's sake, man, tell me where is my father," said he.
+
+"Hush, boy!  Listen.  Hear the wind in the trees?" said Darrel.
+
+There was a breath of silence broken by the hoot of an owl and the
+stir of high branches.  "Ye might as well ask o' the wind or the
+wild owl," Darrel said.  "I cannot tell thee.  Be calm, boy, and
+say how thou hast come to know."
+
+Again they sat down together, and presently Trove told him of those
+silent men who had ever haunted the dark and ghostly house of his
+inheritance.
+
+"'Tis thy mother's terror,--an' thy father's house,--I make no
+doubt," said Darrel, presently, in a deep voice.  "But, boy, I
+cannot tell any man where is thy father; not even thee, nor his
+name, nor the least thing, tending to point him out, until--until I
+am released o' me vow.  Be content; if I can find the man, ere
+long, thou shalt have word o' him."
+
+Trove leaned against the breast of Darrel, shaking with emotion.
+His tale had come to an odd and fateful climax.
+
+The old man stroked his head tenderly.
+
+"Ah, boy," said he, "I know thy heart.  I shall make haste--I
+promise thee, I shall make haste.  But, if the good God should
+bring thy father to thee, an' thy head to shame an' sorrow for his
+sin, forgive him, in the name o' Christ, forgive him.  Ay, boy,
+thou must forgive all that trespass against thee."
+
+"If I ever see him, he shall know I am not ungrateful," said the
+young man.
+
+A while past twelve o'clock, those two, lying there in the
+firelight, thinking, rose like those startled in sleep.  A mighty
+voice came booming over the still water and echoed far and wide.
+Slowly its words fell and rang in the great, silent temple of the
+woods:--
+
+
+"'Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have
+not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
+
+"'And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all
+mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that
+I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.
+
+"'And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I
+give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me
+nothing.
+
+"'Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity
+vaunteth not itself; is not puffed up,
+
+"'Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not
+easily provoked, thinketh no evil;
+
+"'Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things,
+endureth all things.
+
+"'Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they
+shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether
+there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.'"
+
+
+As the last words died away in the far woodland, Trove and Darrel
+turned, wiping their eyes in silence.  That flood of inspiration
+had filled them.  Big thoughts had come drifting down with its
+current.  They listened a while, but heard only the faint crackle
+of the fire.
+
+"Strange!" said Trove, presently.
+
+"Passing strange, and like a beautiful song," said Darrel.
+
+"It may be some insane fanatic."
+
+"Maybe, but he hath the voice of an angel," said the old man.
+
+They passed a sleepless night and were up early, packing to leave
+the woods.  Darrel was to go in quest of the boy's father.  Within
+a week he felt sure he should be able to find him.
+
+They skirted the pond, crossing a long ridge on its farther shore.
+At a spring of cool water in a deep ravine they halted to drink and
+rest.  Suddenly they heard a sound of men approaching; and when the
+latter had come near, a voice, deep, vibrant, and musical as a
+harp-string, in these lines of Hamlet:--
+
+  "'Why right; you are i' the right;
+  And so without more circumstance at all,
+  I hold it fit that we shake hands and part;
+  You as your business and desire shall point you;
+  For every man has business and desire
+  Such as it is; and for mine own part
+  Look you, I'll go pray.'"
+
+Then said Darrel, loudly:--
+
+  "'These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.'"
+
+Two men, a guide in advance, came along the trail--one, a most
+impressive figure, tall, erect, and strong; its every move
+expressing grace and power.
+
+Again the deep music of his voice, saying:--
+
+  "'I'm sorry they offend you heartily; yes, faith, heartily.'"
+
+And Darrel rejoined, his own rich tone touching the note of
+melancholy in the other:--
+
+  "'There's no offence, my lord.'"
+
+"'What Horatio is this?" the stranger inquired, offering his hand.
+"A player?"
+
+"Ay, as are all men an' women," said Darrel, quickly.  "But I, sor,
+have only a poor part.  Had I thy lines an' makeup, I'd win
+applause."
+
+The newcomers sat down, the man who had spoken removing his hat.
+Curly locks of dark hair, with now a sprinkle of silver in them,
+fell upon his brows.  He had large brown eyes, a mouth firm and
+well modelled, a nose slightly aquiline, and wore a small, dark
+imperial--a mere tuft under his lip.
+
+"Well, Colonel, you have paid me a graceful compliment," said he.
+
+"Nay, man, do not mistake me rank," said Darrel.
+
+"Indeed--what is it?"
+
+"Friend," he answered, quickly.  "In good company there's no higher
+rank.  But if ye think me unworthy, I'll be content with 'Mister.'"
+
+"My friend, forgive me," said the stranger, approaching Darrel.
+"Murder and envy and revenge and all evil are in my part, but no
+impertinence."
+
+"I know thy rank, sor.  Thou art a gentleman," said Darrel.   "I've
+seen thee 'every inch a king.'"
+
+Darrel spoke to the second period in that passage of Lear, the
+majesty and despair of the old king in voice and gesture.  The
+words were afire with feeling as they came off his tongue, and all
+looked at him with surprise.
+
+"Ah, you have seen me play it," said the stranger.  "There's no
+other Lear that declares himself with that gesture."
+
+"It is Edwin Forrest," said Darrel, as the stranger offered his
+hand.
+
+"The same, and at your service," the great actor replied. "And may
+I ask who are you?"
+
+"Roderick Darrel, son of a wheelwright on the river Bann, once a
+fellow of infinite jest, believe me, but now, alas! like the skull
+o' Yorick in the churchyard."
+
+"The churchyard'" said Forrest, thoughtfully.  "That to me is the
+saddest of all scenes.  When it's over and I leave the stage, it is
+to carry with me an awe-inspiring thought of the end which is
+coming to all."
+
+He crumbled a lump of clay in his palm.
+
+"Dust!" he whispered, scattering it in the air.
+
+"Think ye the dust is dead?  Nay, man; a mighty power is in it,"
+said Darrel.  "Let us imagine thee dead an' turned to clay.  Leave
+the clay to its own law, sor, an' it begins to cleanse an' purge
+itself.  Its aim is purity, an' it never wearies.  Could I live
+long enough, an' it were under me eye, I'd see the clay bleaching
+white with a wonderful purity.  Then, slowly, it would begin to
+come clear, an' by an' by it would be clearer an' lovelier than a
+drop o' dew at sunrise.  Lo and behold! the clay has become a
+sapphire.  So, sor, in the waters o' time God washes the great
+world.  In every grain o' dust the law is written, an' I may read
+the destiny o' the nobler part in the fate o' the meaner.
+
+  "'Imperious Forrest, dead an' turned to clay,
+  Might stop a hole to keep despair away.'"
+
+"Delightful and happy man!  I must know you better," said the great
+tragedian.  "May I ask, sir, what is your calling?"
+
+"I, sor, am a tinker o' clocks."
+
+"A tinker of clocks!" said the other, looking at him thoughtfully.
+"I should think it poorly suited to your talents."
+
+"Not so.  I've only a talent for happiness an' good company."
+
+"And you find good company here?"
+
+"Yes; bards, prophets, an' honest men.  They're everywhere."
+
+"Tell me," said Forrest, "were you not some time a player?"
+
+"Player of many parts, but all in God's drama--fool, servant of a
+rich man, cobbler, clock tinker, all in the coat of a poor man.  Me
+health failed me, sor, an' I took to wandering in the open air.
+Ten years ago in the city of New York me wife died, since when I
+have been tinkering here in the edges o' the woodland, where I have
+found health an' friendship an' good cheer.  Faith, sor, that is
+all one needs, save the company o' the poets.
+
+  "'I pray an' sing an' tell old tales an' laugh
+  At gilded butterflies, an' hear poor rogues
+  Talk o' court news.'"
+
+Trove had missed not a word nor even a turn of the eye in all that
+scene.  After years of acquaintance with the tinker he had not yet
+ventured a question as to his life history.  The difference of age
+and a certain masterly reserve in the old gentleman had seemed to
+discourage it.  A prying tongue in a mere youth would have met
+unpleasant obstacles with Darrel.  Never until that day had he
+spoken freely of his past in the presence of the young man.
+
+"I must see you again," said the tragedian, rising.  "Of those
+parts I try to play, which do you most like?"
+
+"St. Paul," said Darrel, quickly.  "Last night, sor, in this great
+theatre, we heard the voice o' the prophet.  Ah, sor, it was like a
+trumpet on the walls of eternity.  I commend to thee the part o'
+St. Paul.  Next to that--of all thy parts, Lear."
+
+"Lear?" said Forrest, rising.  "I am to play it this autumn.  Come,
+then, to New York.  Give me your address, and I'll send for you."
+
+"Sor," said Darrel, thoughtfully, "I can give thee much o' me love
+but little o' me time.  Nay, there'd be trouble among the clocks.
+I'd be ashamed to look them in the face.  Nay,--I thank thee,--but
+I must mind the clocks."
+
+The great player smiled with amusement.
+
+"Then," said he, "I shall have to come and see you play your part.
+Till then, sir, God give you happiness."
+
+"Once upon a time," said Darrel, as he held the hand of the player,
+"a weary traveller came to the gate o' Heaven, seeking entrance.
+
+"'What hast thou in thy heart?' said the good St. Peter.
+
+"'The record o' great suffering an' many prayers,' said the poor
+man.  'I pray thee now, give me the happiness o' Heaven.'
+
+"'Good man, we have none to spare,' said the keeper.  'Heaven hath
+no happiness but that men bring.  It is a gift to God and comes not
+from Him.  Would ye take o' that we have an' bring nothing?  Nay,
+go back to thy toil an' fill thy heart with happiness, an' bring it
+to me overflowing.  Then shalt thou know the joy o' paradise.
+Remember, God giveth counsel, but not happiness.'"
+
+"If I only had your wisdom," said Forrest, as they parted.
+
+"Ye'd have need o' more," the tinker answered.
+
+Trove and Darrel walked to the clearing above Faraway.  At a corner
+on the high hills, where northward they could see smoke and spire
+of distant villages, each took his way,--one leading to
+Hillsborough, the other to Allen's.
+
+"Good-by; an' when I return I hope to bear the rest o' thy tale,"
+said Darrel, as they parted.
+
+"Only God is wise enough to finish it," said the young man.
+
+"'Well, God help us; 'tis a world to see,'" Darrel quoted, waving
+his hand.  "If thy heart oppress thee, steer for the Blessed Isles."
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+Robin's Inn
+
+A big maple sheltered the house of the widow Vaughn.  After the
+noon hour of a summer day its tide of shadow began flowing fathoms
+deep over house and garden to the near field, where finally it
+joined the great flood of night.  The maple was indeed a robin's
+inn at some crossing of the invisible roads of the air.  Its green
+dome towered high above and fell to the gable end of the little
+house.  Its deep and leafy thatch hid every timber of its frame
+save the rough column.  Its trunk was the main beam, each limb a
+corridor, each tier of limbs a floor, and branch rose above branch
+like steps in a stairway.  Up and down the high dome of the maple
+were a thousand balconies overlooking the meadow.
+
+From its highest tier of a summer morning the notes of the bobolink
+came rushing off his lyre, and farther down the golden robin
+sounded his piccolo.  But, chiefly, it was the home and refuge of
+the familiar red-breasted robin.  The inn had its ancient customs.
+Each young bird, leaving his cradle, climbed his own stairway till
+he came out upon a balcony and got a first timid look at field and
+sky.  There he might try his wings and keep in the world he knew by
+using bill and claw on the lower tiers.
+
+At dawn the great hall of the maple rang with music, for every
+lodger paid his score with song.  Therein it was ever cool, and
+clean, and shady, though the sun were hot.  Its every nook and
+cranny was often swept and dusted by the wind.  Its branches
+leading up and outward to the green wall were as innumerable
+stairways.  Each separate home was out on rocking beams, with its
+own flicker of sky light overhead.  For a time at dusk there was a
+continual flutter of weary wings at the lower entrance, a good
+night twitter, and a sound of tiny feet climbing the stairways in
+that gloomy hall.  At last, there was a moment of gossip and then
+silence on every floor.  There seemed to be a night-watch in the
+lower hall, and if any green young bird were late and noisy going
+up to his home, he got a shaking and probably lost a few feathers
+from the nape of his neck.  Long before daybreak those hungry,
+half-clad little people of the nests began to worry and crowd their
+mothers.  At first, the old birds tried to quiet them with
+caressing movements, and had, at last, to hold their places with
+bill and claw.  As light came an old cock peered about him,
+stretched his wings, climbed a stairway, and blew his trumpet on
+the outer wall.  The robin's day had begun.
+
+Mid-autumn, when its people shivered and found fault and talked of
+moving, the maple tried to please them with new and brighter
+colours--gold, with the warmth of summer in its look; scarlet,
+suggesting love and the June roses.  Soon it stood bare and
+deserted.  Then what was there in the creak-and-whisper chorus of
+the old tree for one listening in the night?  Belike it might be
+many things, according to the ear, but was it not often something
+to make one think of that solemn message: "Man that is born of a
+woman is of few days and full of trouble"?  They who lived in that
+small house under the tree knew little of all that passed in the
+big world.  Trumpet blasts of fame, thunder of rise and downfall,
+came faintly to them.  There the delights of art and luxury were
+unknown.  Yet those simple folk were acquainted with pleasure and
+even with thrilling and impressive incidents.  Field and garden
+teemed with eventful life and hard by was the great city of the
+woods.
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+Comedies of Field and Dooryard
+
+Trove was three days in Brier Dale after he came out of the woods.
+The filly was now a sleek and shapely animal, past three years of
+age.  He began at once breaking her to the saddle, and, that done,
+mounting, he started for Robin's Inn.  He carried a game rooster in
+a sack for the boy Tom.  All came out with a word of welcome; even
+the small dog grew noisy with delight Tunk Hosely, who had come to
+work for Mrs. Vaughn, took the mare and led her away, his shoulder
+leaning with an added sense of horsemanship.  Polly began to hurry
+dinner, fussing with the table, and changing the position of every
+dish, until it seemed as if she would never be quite satisfied.
+Covered with the sacred old china and table-linen of her
+grandmother, it had, when Polly was done with it, a very smart
+appearance indeed.  Then she called the boys and bade them wash
+their hands and faces and whispered a warning to each, while her
+mother announced that dinner was ready.
+
+"Paul, what's an adjective?" said the teacher, as they sat down.
+
+"A word applied to a noun to qualify or limit its meaning," the boy
+answered glibly.
+
+"Right!  And what adjective would you apply to this table?"
+
+The boy thought a moment.
+
+"Grand!" said he, tentatively.
+
+"Correct!  I'm going to have just such a dinner every day on my
+farm."
+
+"Then you'll have to have Polly too," said Tom, innocently.
+
+"Well, you can spare her."
+
+"No, sir," the boy answered.  "You ain't good to her; she cries
+every time you go away."
+
+There was an awkward silence and the widow began to laugh and Polly
+and Trove to blush deeply.
+
+"Maybe she whispered, an' he give her a talkin' to," said Paul.
+
+"Have you heard about Ezra Tower?" said Mrs. Vaughn, shaking her
+head at the boys and changing the topic with shrewd diplomacy.
+
+"Much; but nothing new," said Trove.
+
+"Well, he swears he'll never cross the Fadden bridge or speak to
+anybody in Pleasant Valley."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"The taxes.  He don't believe in improvements, and when he tried to
+make a speech in town-meeting they all jeered him.  There ain't any
+one good enough for him to speak to now but himself an'--an' his
+Creator."
+
+In the midst of dinner, they heard an outcry in the yard.  Tom's
+game-cock had challenged the old rooster, and the two were leaping
+and striking with foot and wing.  Before help came the old rooster
+was badly cut in the neck and breast.  Tunk rescued him, and
+brought him to the woodshed, where Trove sewed up his wounds.  He
+had scarcely finished when there came a louder outcry among the
+fowls.  Looking out they saw a gobbler striding slowly up the path
+and leading the game-cock with a firm hold on the back of his neck.
+The whole flock of fowls were following.  The rooster held back and
+came on with long but unequal strides, Never halting, the turkey
+led him into the full publicity of the open yard.  Now the cock was
+lifted so his feet came only to the top of the grass; now his head
+was bent low, and his feet fell heavily.  Through it all the
+gobbler bore himself with dignity and firmness.  There was no show
+of wrath or unnecessary violence.  He swung the cock around near
+the foot of the maple tree and walked him back and then returned
+with him.  Half his journey the poor cock was reaching for the
+grass and was then lowered quickly, so he had to walk with bent
+knees.  Again and again the gobbler walked up and down with him
+before the assembled flock.  Hens and geese cackled loudly and
+clapped their wings.  Applause and derision rose high each time the
+poor cock swung around, reaching for the grass.  But the gobbler
+continued his even stride, deliberately, and as it seemed,
+thoughtfully, applying correction to the quarrelsome bird.  Walking
+the grass tips had begun to tire those reaching legs.  The cock
+soon straddled along with a serious eye and an open mouth.  But the
+gobbler gave him no rest.   When, at length, he released his hold,
+the game-cock lay weary and wild-eyed, with no more fight in him
+than a bunch of rags.  Soon he rose and ran away and hid himself in
+the stable.  The culprit fowl was then tried, convicted, and
+sentenced to the block.
+
+"It's the fate of all fighters that have only a selfish cause,"
+said the teacher.  He was sitting on the grass, Polly, and Tom, and
+Paul, beside him.
+
+"Look here," said he, suddenly.  "I'll show you another fight."
+
+All gathered about him.  Down among the grass roots an ant stood
+facing a big, hairy spider.  The ant backed away, presently, and
+made a little detour, the spider turning quickly and edging toward
+him.  The ant stood motionless, the spider on tiptoe, with daggers
+drawn.  The big, hairy spider leaped like a lion to its prey.  They
+could see her striking with the fatal knives, her great body
+quivering with fierce energy.  The little ant was hidden beneath
+it.  Some uttered a cry of pity, and Paul was for taking sides.
+
+"Wait a moment," said the teacher, restraining his hand.  The
+spider had begun to tremble in a curious manner.
+
+"Look now," said Trove, with some excitement.
+
+Her legs had begun to let go and were straightening stiff on both
+sides of her.  In a moment she tilted sideways and lay still.  They
+saw a twinkle of black, legs and the ant making off in the stubble.
+They picked up the spider's body; it was now only an empty shell.
+Her big stomach had been torn away and lay in little strips and
+chunks, down at the roots of the stubble.
+
+"It's the end of a bit of history," said the teacher, as he tore
+away the curved blades of the spider and put them in Polly's palm.
+
+"Let's see where the ant goes."
+
+He got down upon his hands and knees and watched the little black
+tiger, now hurrying for his lair.  In a moment he was joined by
+others, and presently they came into a smooth little avenue under
+the grass.  It took them into the edge of the meadow, around a
+stalk of mullen, where there were a number of webs.
+
+"There's where she lived--this hairy old woman," said the
+teacher,--"up there in that tower.  See her snares in the
+grass--four of them?"
+
+He rapped on the stalk of mullen with a stick, peering into the
+dusty little cavern of silk near the top of it.
+
+"Sure enough!  Here is where she lived; for the house is empty, and
+there's living prey in the snares."
+
+"What a weird old thing!" said Polly.  "Can you tell us more about
+her?"
+
+"Well, every summer," said Trove, "a great city grows up in the
+field.  There are shady streets in it, no wider than a cricket's
+back, and millions living in nest and tower and cave and cavern.
+Among its people are toilers and idlers, laws and lawbreakers,
+thieves and highwaymen, grand folk and plain folk.  Here is the
+home of the greatest criminal in the city of the field.  See! it is
+between two leaves,--one serving as roof, the other as floor and
+portico.  Here is a long cable that comes out of her sitting room
+and slopes away to the big snare below.  Look at her sheets of silk
+in the grass.  It's like a washing that's been hung out to dry.
+From each a slender cord of silk runs to the main cable.  Even a
+fly's kick or a stroke of his tiny wing must have gone up the tower
+and shaken the floor of the old lady, maybe, with a sort of
+thunder.  Then she ran out and down the cable to rush upon her
+helpless prey.  She was an arrant highwayman,--this old lady,--a
+creature of craft and violence.  She was no sooner married than she
+slew her husband--a timid thing smaller than she--and ate him at
+one meal.  You know the ants are a busy people.  This road was
+probably a thoroughfare for their freight,--eggs and cattle and
+wild rice.  I'll warrant she used to lie and wait for them; and woe
+to the little traveller if she caught him unawares, for she could
+nip him in two with a single thrust of her knives.  Then she, would
+seize the egg he bore and make off with it.  Now the ants are
+cunning.  They found her downstairs and cut her off from her home
+and drove her away into the grass jungle.  I've no doubt she faced
+a score of them, but, being a swift climber, with lots of rope in
+her pocket, was able to get away.  The soldier ants began to beat
+the jangle.  They separated, content to meet her singly, knowing
+she would refuse to fight if confronted by more than one.  And you
+know what happened to her."
+
+All that afternoon they spent in the city of the field.  The life
+of the birds in the great maple interested them most of all.  In
+the evening he played checkers with Polly and told her of school
+life in the village of Hillsborough--the work and play of the
+students.
+
+"Oh!  I do wish I could go," said she, presently, with a deep sigh.
+
+He thought of the eighty-two dollars in his pocket and longed to
+tell her all that he was planning for her sake.
+
+Mrs. Vaughn went above stairs with the children.
+
+Then Trove took Polly's hand.  They looked deeply into each other's
+eyes a moment, both smiling.
+
+"It's your move," said she, smiling as her glance fell.
+
+He moved all the checkers.
+
+There came a breath of silence, and a great surge of happiness that
+washed every checker off the board, and left the two with flushed
+faces.  Then, as Mrs. Vaughn was coming downstairs, the checkers
+began to rattle into position.
+
+"I won," said he, as the door opened.
+
+"But he didn't play fair," said Folly.
+
+"Children, I'm afraid you're playing more love than checkers," said
+the widow.  "You're both too young to think of marriage."
+
+Those two looked thoughtfully at the checkerboard, Polly's chin
+resting on her hand.  She had begun to smile.
+
+"I'm sure Mr. Trove has no such thought in his head," said she,
+still looking at the board.
+
+"You're mother is right; we're both very young," said Trove.
+
+"I believe you're afraid of her," said Polly, looking up at him
+with a smile.
+
+"I'm only thinking of your welfare," said Mrs. Vaughn, gently.
+"Young love should be stored away, and if it keeps, why, then it's
+all right."
+
+"Like preserves!" said Polly, soberly, as if she were not able to
+see the point.
+
+Against the protest of Polly and her mother, Trove went to sleep in
+the sugar shanty, a quarter of a mile or so back in the woods.  On
+his first trip with the drove he had developed fondness for
+sleeping out of doors.  The shanty was a rude structure of logs,
+with an open front.  Tunk went ahead, bearing a pine torch, while
+Trove followed, the blanket over his shoulder.  They built a
+roaring fire in front of the shanty and sat down to talk.
+
+"How have you been?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Like t' killed me there at the ol' maids'."
+
+"Were they rough with you?"
+
+"No," said Tunk, gloomily.
+
+"What then?"
+
+"Hoss."
+
+"Kicked?" was Trove's query.
+
+"Lord!  I should think so.  Feel there."
+
+Trove felt the same old protuberance on Tunk's leg.
+
+"Swatted me right in the knee-pan.  Put both feet on my chest, too.
+Lord!  I'd be coughin' up blood all the while if I wa'n't careful."
+
+"And why did you leave?"
+
+"Served me a mean trick," said Tunk, frowning.  "Letishey went away
+t' the village t' have a tooth drawed, an' t'other one locked me up
+all day in the garret chamber.  Toward night I crawled out o' the
+window an' clim' down the lightnin' rod.  An' she screamed for help
+an' run t' the neighbours.  Scairt me half t' death.  Heavens!  I
+didn't know what I'd done!"
+
+"Did you come down fast?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Purty middlin' fast."
+
+"Well, a man never ought to travel on a lightning rod."
+
+Tunk sat in sober silence a moment, as if he thought it no proper
+time for levity.
+
+"I made up my mind," said he, with an injured look, "it wa'n't
+goin' t' do my character no good t' live there with them ol' maids."
+
+There was a bitter contempt in his voice when he said "ol' maids."
+
+"I'd kind o' like t' draw the ribbons over that mare o' yourn,
+mister," said Tunk, presently.
+
+"Do you think you could manage her?"
+
+"What!" said Tunk, in a voice of both query and exclamation.  "Huh!
+Don't I look as if I'd been used t' hosses.  There ain't a bone in
+my body that ain't been kicked--some on 'em two or three times.
+Don't ye notice how I walk?  Heavens, man!  I hed my ex sprung
+'fore I was fifteen!"
+
+Tunk referred often and proudly to this early springing of his
+"ex," by which he meant probably that horse violence had bent him
+askew.
+
+"Well, you shall have a chance to drive her," said Trove, spreading
+his blanket.  "But if I'd gone through what you have, I'd keep out
+of danger."
+
+"I like it," said Tunk, with emphasis.  "I couldn't live without
+it.  Danger is a good deal like chawin' terbaccer--dum nasty 'til
+ye git used to it.  Fer me it's suthin' like strawberry short-cake
+and allwus was.  An' nerve, man, why jes' look a' there."
+
+He held out a hand to show its steadiness.
+
+"Very good," Trove remarked.
+
+"Good?  Why, it's jest as stiddy as a hitchin' post, an' purty nigh
+as stout.  Feel there," said Tunk, swelling his biceps.
+
+"You must be very strong," said Trove, as he felt the rigid arm.
+
+"A man has t' be in the boss business, er he ain't nowheres.  If
+they get wicked, ye've got t' put the power to 'em."
+
+Tunk had only one horse to care for at the widow's, but he was
+always in "the hoss business."
+
+Then Tunk lit his torch and went away.  Trove lay down, pulled his
+blanket about him, and went to sleep.
+
+
+
+
+XXIII
+
+A New Problem
+
+When Trove woke in the morning, a package covered with white paper
+lay on the blanket near his hand.  He rose and picked it up, and
+saw his own name in a strange handwriting on the wrapper.  He
+turned it, looking curiously at seal and superscription.  Tearing
+it open, he found to his great surprise a brief note and a roll of
+money.  "Herein is a gift for Mr. Sidney Trove," said the note.
+"The gift is from a friend unknown, who prays God that wisdom may
+go with it, so it prove a blessing to both."
+
+Trove counted the money carefully.  There were $3000 in bank bills.
+He sat a moment, thinking; then he rose, and began searching for
+tracks around the shanty.  He found none, however, in the dead
+leaves which he could distinguish from those of Tunk and himself.
+
+"It must be from my father," said he,--a thought that troubled him
+deeply, for it seemed to bring ill news--that his father would
+never make himself known.
+
+"He must have seen me last night," Trove went on.  "He must even
+have been near me--so near he could have touched me with his hand.
+If I had only wakened!"
+
+He put the money in his pocket and made ready to go.  He would
+leave at once in quest of Darrel and take counsel of him.  It was
+early, and he could see the first light of the sun, high in the
+tall towers of hemlock.  The forest rang with bird songs.  He went
+to the brook near by, and drank of its clear, cold water, and
+bathed in it.  Then he walked slowly to Robin's Inn, where Mrs.
+Vaughn had begun building a fire.  She observed the troubled look
+in his face, but said nothing of it then.  Trove greeted her and
+went to the stable to feed his mare.  As he neared the door he
+heard a loud "Whoa."  He entered softly, and the big barn, that
+joined the stable, began to ring with noise.  He heard Tunk
+shouting "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" at the top of his voice.  Peering
+through, he could see the able horseman leaning back upon a pair of
+reins tied to a beam in front of him.  His cry and attitude were
+like those of a jockey driving a hard race.   He saw Trove, and
+began to slow up.
+
+"You are a brave man--there's no doubt of it," said the teacher.
+
+"What makes ye think so?" Tunk inquired soberly, but with a glowing
+eye.
+
+"If you were not brave, you'd scare yourself to death, yelling that
+way."
+
+"It isn't possible, or Tunk would have perished long ago," said the
+widow, who had come to feed her chickens.
+
+"It's enough to raise the neighbours," Trove added.
+
+"There ain't any near neighbours but them over 'n the
+buryin'-ground, and they must be a little uneasy," said the widow.
+
+"Used t' drive so much in races," said Tunk, "got t' be kind of a
+habit with me--seems so.  Ain't eggzac'ly happy less I have holt o'
+the ribbons every day or two.  Ye know I used t' drive ol' crazy
+Jane.  She pulled like Satan.  All ye had t' do was t' lean back
+an' let 'er sail."
+
+"But why do you shout that way?"
+
+"Scares the other hosses," Tunk answered, dropping the reins and
+tossing his whip aside.  "It's a shame I have t' fool my time away
+up here on a farm."
+
+He went to work at the chores, frowning with discontent.  Trove
+watered and fed his mare and went in to breakfast.  An hour later,
+he bade them all good-by, and set out for Allen's.  A new fear
+began to weigh upon him as he travelled.  Was this a part of that
+evil sum, and had his father begun now to scatter what he had never
+any right to touch?  Whoever brought him that big roll of money had
+robbed him of his peace.  Even his ribs, against which it chafed as
+he rode along, began to feel sore.  Home at last, he put up the
+mare and went to tell his mother that he must be off for
+Hillsborough.
+
+"My son," said she, her arms about his neck, "our eyes are growing
+dim and for a long time have seen little of you."
+
+"And I feel the loss," Trove answered.  "I have things to do there,
+and shall return tonight."
+
+"You look troubled," was her answer.  "Poor boy!  I pray God to
+keep you unspotted of the world."  She was ever fearing unhappy
+news of the mystery--that something evil would come out of it.
+
+As Trove rode away he took account of all he owed those good people
+who had been mother and father to him.  What a pleasure it would
+give him to lay that goodly sum in the lap of his mother and bid
+her spend it with no thought of economy.
+
+The mare knew him as one may know a brother.  There was in her
+manner some subtle understanding of his mood.  Her master saw it in
+the poise of her head, in the shift of her ears, and in her tender
+way of feeling for his hand.  She, too, was looking right and left
+in the fields.  There were the scenes of a boyhood, newly but
+forever gone.  "That's where you overtook me on the way to school,"
+said he to Phyllis, for so the tinker had named her.
+
+She drew at the rein, starting playfully as she heard his voice,
+and shaking his hand as if to say, "Oh, master, give me the rein.
+I will bear you swiftly to happiness."
+
+Trove looked down at her proudly, patting the silken arch of her
+neck.  If, as Darrel had once told him, God took note of the look
+of one's horses, she was fit for the last journey.  Arriving at
+Hillsborough, he tied her in the sheds and took his way to the Sign
+of the Dial.  Darrel was working at his little bench.  He turned
+wearily, his face paler than Trove had ever seen it, his eyes
+deeper under their fringe of silvered hair.
+
+"An' God be praised, the boy!" said he, rising quickly.  "Canst
+thou make a jest, boy, a merry jest?"
+
+"Not until you have told me what's the matter."
+
+"Illness an' the food o' bitter fancy," said the tinker, with a sad
+face.
+
+"Bitter fancy?"
+
+"Yes; an' o' thee, boy.  Had I gathered care in the broad fields
+all me life an' heaped it on thy back, I could not have done worse
+by thee."
+
+Darrel put his hand upon the boy's shoulder, surveying him from
+head to foot.
+
+"But, marry," he added, "'tis a mighty thigh an' a broad back."
+
+"Have you seen my father?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+There was a moment of silence, and Trove began to change colour.
+
+"And what did he say?"
+
+"That he will bear his burden alone."
+
+Then, for a moment, silence and the ticking of the clocks.
+
+"And I shall never know my father?" said Trove, presently, his lips
+trembling.  "God, sir! I insist upon it.  I have a right to his
+name and to his shame also."  The young man sank upon a chair,
+covering his face.
+
+"Nay, boy, it is not wise," said Darrel, tenderly.  "Take thought
+of it--thou'rt young.  The time is near when thy father can make
+restitution, ay, an' acknowledge his sin before the world.  All
+very near to him, saving thyself, are dead.  Now, whatever comes,
+it can do thee no harm."
+
+"But I care not for disgrace; and often you have told me that I
+should live and speak the truth, even though it burn me to the
+bone."
+
+"So have I, boy, so have I; but suppose it burn others to the bone.
+It will burn thy wife; an' thy children, an' thy children's
+children, and them that have reared thee, an' it would burn thy
+father most of all."
+
+Trove was utterly silenced.  His father was bent on keeping his own
+disgrace.
+
+"Mind thee, boy, the law o' truth is great, but the law o' love is
+greater.  A lie for the sake o' love--think o' that a long time,
+think until thy heart is worn with all fondness an' thy soul is
+ready for its God, then judge it."
+
+"But when he makes confession I shall know, and go to him, and
+stand by has side," the young man remarked.
+
+"Nay, boy, rid thy mind o' that.  If ye were to hear of his crime,
+ye'd never know it was thy father's."
+
+"It is a bitter sorrow, but I shall make the best of it," said
+Trove.
+
+"Ay, make the best of it.  Thou'rt now in the deep sea, an' God
+guide thee."
+
+"But I ask your help--will you read that?" said Trove, handing him
+the mysterious note that came with the roll of money.
+
+"An' how much came with it?" said Darrel, as he read the lines.
+
+"Three thousand dollars.  Here they are; I do not know what to do
+with them."
+
+"'Tis a large sum, an' maybe from thy father," said Darrel, looking
+down at tile money.  "Possibly, quite possibly it is from thy
+father."
+
+"And what shall I do with the money?  It is cursed; I can make no
+use of it."
+
+"Ah, boy, of one thing be sure; it is not the stolen money.  For
+many years thy father hath been a frugal man--saving, ever saving
+the poor fruit of his toil.  Nay, boy, if it come o' thy father,
+have no fear o' that.  For a time put thy money in the bank."
+
+"Then my father lives near me--where I may be meeting him every day
+of my life?"
+
+"No," said Darrel, shaking his head.  Then lifting his finger and
+looking into the eyes of Trove, he spoke slowly and with deep
+feeling.  "Now that ye know his will I warn ye, boy, seek him no
+more.  Were ye to meet him now an' know him for thy father an' yet
+refuse to let him pass, I'd think thee a monster o' selfish
+cruelty."
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+
+Beginning the Book of Trouble
+
+The rickety stairway seemed to creak with surprise at the slowness
+of his feet as Trove descended.  It was circus day, and there were
+few in the street.  Neither looking to right nor left he hurried to
+the bank of Hillsborough and left his money.  Then, mounting his
+mare, he turned to the wooded hills and went away at a swift
+gallop.  When the village lay far behind them and the sun was low,
+he drew rein to let the mare breathe, and turned, looking down the
+long stairway of the hills.  In the south great green waves of
+timber land, rose into the sun-glow as they swept over hill and
+mountain.  Presently he could hear a galloping horse and a faint
+halloo down the valley, out of which he had just come.  He stopped,
+listening, and soon a man and horse, the latter nearly spent with
+fast travel, came up the pike.
+
+"Well, by Heaven!  You gave me a hard chase," said the man.
+
+"Do you wish to see me?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Yes--my name is Spinnel.  I am connected with the bank of
+Hillsborough.  Your name is Trove--Sidney Trove?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"You deposited three thousand dollars today?"
+
+"I did."
+
+"Well, I've come to see you and ask a few questions.  I've no
+authority, and you can do as you like about answering."
+
+The man pulled up near Trove and took a note-book and pencil out of
+his pocket.
+
+"First, how came you by that money?" said he, with some show of
+excitement in his manner.
+
+"That is my business," said Trove, coolly.
+
+"There's more or less truth in that," said the other.  "But I'll
+explain.  Night before last the bank in Milldam was robbed, and the
+clerk who slept there badly hurt.  Now, I've no doubt you're all
+right, but here's a curious fact--the sum taken was about three
+thousand dollars."
+
+Trove began to change colour.  He dismounted, looking up at the
+stranger and holding both horses by the bit.
+
+"And they think me a thief?" he demanded.
+
+"No," was the quick reply.  "They've no doubt you can explain
+everything."
+
+"I'll tell you all I know about the money," said Trove.  "But come,
+let's keep the horses warm."
+
+They led them and, walking slowly, Trove told of his night in the
+sugar-bush.  Something in the manner of Spinnel slowed his feet and
+words.  The story was finished.  They stopped, turning face to face.
+
+"It's grossly improbable," Trove suggested thoughtfully.
+
+"Well, it ain't the kind o' thing that happens every day or two,"
+said the other.  "If you're innocent, you won't mind my looking you
+over a little to see if you have wounds or weapons.  Understand,
+I've no authority, but if you wish, I'll do it."
+
+"Glad to have you.  Here's a hunting-knife, and a flint, and some
+bird shot," Trove answered, as he began to empty his pockets.
+
+Spinnel examined the hunting-knife and looked carefully at each
+pocket.
+
+"Would you mind taking off your coat?" he inquired.
+
+The young man removed his coat, uncovering a small spatter of blood
+on a shirt-sleeve.
+
+"There's no use going any farther with this," said the young man,
+impatiently.  "Come on home with me, and I'll go back with you in
+the morning and prove my innocence."
+
+The two mounted their horses and rode a long way in silence.
+
+"It is possible," said Trove, presently, "that the robber was a man
+that knew me and, being close pressed, planned to divert suspicion."
+
+Save that of the stranger, there was no sleep at the little house
+in Brier Dale that night.  But, oddly, for Mary and Theron Allen it
+became a night of dear and lasting memories of their son.  He sat
+long with them under the pine trees, and for the first time they
+saw and felt his strength and were as children before it.
+
+"It's all a school," said he, calmly.  "An' I'm just beginning to
+study the Book of Trouble.  It's full of rather tough problems, but
+I'm not going to flunk or fail in it."
+
+
+
+
+XXV
+
+The Spider Snares
+
+Trove and Spinnel were in Hillsborough soon after sunrise the
+morning of that memorable day.  The young man rapped loudly on the
+broad door at the Sign of the Dial, but within all was silent.  The
+day before Darrel had spoken of going off to the river towns, and
+must have started.  A lonely feeling came into the boy's heart as
+he turned away.  He went promptly to the house of the district
+attorney and told all he knew of the money that he had put in the
+bank.  He recounted all that took place the afternoon of his stay
+at Robin's Inn--the battles of the cocks, and the spider, and how
+the wounded fowl had probably sprinkled his sleeve with blood.  In
+half an hour, news of the young man's trouble had gone to every
+house in the village.  Soon a score of his schoolmates and half the
+faculty were at his side--there in the room of the justice.  Theron
+Allen arrived at nine o'clock, although at that hour two
+responsible men had already given a bail-bond.  After dinner,
+Trove, a constable, and the attorney rode to Robin's Inn.  The news
+had arrived before them, but only the two boys and Tunk were at
+home.  The latter stood in front of the stable, looking earnestly
+up the road.
+
+"Hello," said he, gazing curiously at horse and men as they came up
+to the door.  He seemed to be eyeing the attorney with hopeful
+anticipation.
+
+"Tunk," said Trove, cheerfully, "you have a mournful eye."
+
+Tunk advanced slowly, still gazing, both hands deep in his trousers
+pockets.
+
+"Ez Tower just went by," said he, with suppressed feeling.  "Said
+you was arrested fer murder."
+
+"I presume you were surprised."
+
+"Wal," said he, "Ez ain't said a word before in six months."
+
+Tunk opened the horse's mouth and stood a moment, peering
+thoughtfully at his teeth.
+
+"Kind of unexpected to be spoke to by Ez Tower," he added, turning
+his eyes upon them with the same curious look.
+
+The interrogation of Tunk and the two boys began immediately.  The
+story of the fowl corroborated, the sugar-bush became an object of
+investigation.  Milldam was ten miles away, and it was quite
+possible for the young man to have ridden there and back between
+the hour when Tunk left him and that of sunrise when he met Mrs.
+Vaughn at her door.  Trove and Tunk Hosely went with the officers
+down a lane to the pasture and thence into the wood by a path they
+followed that night to and from the shanty.  They discovered
+nothing new, save one remarkable circumstance that baffled Trove
+and renewed the waning suspicion of the men of the law.  On almost
+a straight line from bush to barn were tracks of a man that showed
+plainly where they came out of the grass upon the garden soil.
+Now, the strange part of it lay in this fact: the boots of Sidney
+Trove exactly fitted the tracks.  They followed the footprints
+carefully into the meadow-grass and up to the stalk of mullen.
+Near the top of it was the abandoned home of the spider and around
+it were the four snares Trove had observed, now full of prey.
+
+"Do not disturb the grass here," said Trove, "and I will prove to
+you that the tracks were made before the night in question.  Do you
+see the four webs?"
+
+"Yes," said the attorney..
+
+"The tracks go under them," said Trove, "and must, therefore, have
+been made before the webs.  I will prove to you that the webs were
+spun before two o'clock of the day before yesterday.  At that hour
+I saw the spinner die.  See, her lair is deserted."
+
+He broke the stalk of mullen and the cables of spider silk that led
+away from it, and all inspected the empty lair.  Then he told of
+that deadly battle in the grass.
+
+"But these webs might have been the work of another spider," said
+the attorney.
+
+"It matters not," Trove insisted, "for the webs were spun at least
+twelve hours before the crime.  One of them contains the body of a
+red butterfly with starred wings.  We cut the wings that day, and
+Miss Vaughn put them in a book she was reading."
+
+Paul brought the wings, which exactly fitted the tiny torso of the
+butterfly.  They could discern the footprints, one of which had
+broken the ant's road, while another was completely covered by the
+butterfly snare.
+
+"Those tracks were made before the webs--that is evident," said the
+attorney.  "Do you know who made the tracks?"
+
+"I do not," was the answer of the young man.
+
+Trove remained at Robin's Inn that night, and after the men had
+gone he recalled a circumstance that was like a flash of lightning
+in the dark of his great mystery.
+
+Once at the Sign of the Dial his friend, the tinker, had shown him
+a pair of new boots.  He remembered they were of the same size and
+shape as those he wore.
+
+"We could wear the same boots," he had remarked to Darrel.
+
+"Had I to do such penance I should be damned," the tinker had
+answered.  "Look, boy, mine are the larger by far.  There's a man
+coming to see me at the Christmas time--a man o' busy feet.  That
+pair in your hands I bought for him."
+
+"Day before yesterday," said Tunk, that evening, "I was up in the
+sugar-bush after a bit o' hickory, an' I see a man there, an' I
+didn't have no idee who 'twas.  He was tall and had white hair an'
+whiskers an' a short blue coat.  When I first see him he was
+settin' on a log, but 'fore I come nigh he got up an' made off."
+
+Although meagre, the description was sufficient.  Trove had no
+longer any doubt of this--that the stranger he had seen at Darrel's
+had been hiding in the bush that day whose events were now so
+important.
+
+Whoever had brought the money, he must have known much of the plans
+and habits of the young man, and, the night before Trove's arrival
+at Robin's Inn, he came, probably, to the sugar woods, where he
+spent the next day in hiding.
+
+The young man was deeply troubled.  Polly and her mother sat well
+into the night with him, hearing the story of his life, which he
+told in full, saving only the sin of his father.  Of that he had
+neither the right nor the heart to tell.
+
+"God only knows what is the next chapter," said he, at last.  "It
+may rob me of all that I love in this world."
+
+"But not of me," said Polly, whispering in his ear.
+
+"I wish I were sure of that," he answered.
+
+
+
+
+XXVI
+
+The Coming of the Cars
+
+That year was one of much reckoning there in the land of the hills.
+A year it was of historic change and popular excitement.  To begin
+with, a certain rich man bought a heavy cannon, which had roared at
+the British on the frontier in 1812, and gave it to the town of
+Hillsborough.  It was no sooner dumped on the edge of the little
+park than it became a target of criticism.  The people were to be
+taxed for the expense of mounting it--"Taxed fer a thing we ain't
+no more need of than a bear has need of a hair-brush," said one
+citizen.  Those Yankees came of men who helped to fling the tea
+into Boston harbour, and had some hereditary fear of taxes.
+
+Hunters and trappers were much impressed by it.  They felt it over,
+peering curiously into the muzzle, with one eye closed.
+
+"Ye couldn't kill nuthin' with it," said one of them.
+
+"If I was to pick it up an' hit ye over the head with it, I guess
+ye wouldn't think so," said another.
+
+Familiarity bred contempt, and by and by they began to shoot at it
+from the tavern steps.
+
+The gun lay rejected and much in the way until its buyer came to
+his own rescue and agreed to pay for the mounting.  Then came
+another and more famous controversy as to which way they should
+"p'int" the gun.  Some favoured one direction, some another, and at
+last, by way of compliment, they "p'inted" it squarely at the house
+of the giver on the farther side of the park.  And it was loaded to
+the muzzle with envy and ingratitude.
+
+The arrest of Sidney Trove, also, had filled the town with exciting
+rumours, and gossip of him seemed to travel on the four winds--much
+of it as unkind as it was unfounded.
+
+Then came surveyors, and promoters of the railroad, and a plan of
+aiding it by bonding the towns it traversed.  In the beginning
+horror and distrust were in many bosoms.  If the devil and some of
+his angels had come, he might, indeed, for a time, have made more
+converts and less excitement.
+
+"It's a delusion an' a snare," said old Colonel Barclay in a
+speech.  "Who wants t' whiz through the air like a bullet?  God
+never intended men to go slidin' over the earth that way.  It ain't
+nat'ral ner it ain't common sense.  Some say it would bring more
+folks into this country.  I say we can supply all the folks that's
+nec'sary.  I've got fourteen in my own family.  S'pose ye lived on
+a tremendous sidehill that reached clear to New York City, so ye
+could git on a sled an' scoot off like a streak o' lightnin'.  Do
+ye think ye'd be any happier?  Do ye think ye'd chop any more wood
+er raise a bigger crop o' potatoes?  S'pose ye could scoot yer
+crops right down t' Albany in a day.  That would be all right if
+'ye was the only man that was scootin', but if there was anything
+t' be made by it, there'd be more than a million sleds on the way,
+an' ye couldn't sell yer stuff for so much as ye git here.  Some
+day ye'd come home and ask where's Ma an' Mary, and then Sam would
+say, 'Why, Mary's slid down t' New York, and the last I see o' Ma
+she was scootin' for Rochester.'"
+
+Here, the record says, Colonel Barclay was interrupted by laughter
+and a voice.
+
+"Wal, if there was a railroad, they could scoot back ag'in," said
+the voice.
+
+"Yes," the Colonel rejoined, "but mebbe after they'd been there a
+while ye'd wish they couldn't.  Wal, you git your own supper, an'
+then Sam says, says he, 'I guess I'll scoot over t' Watertown and
+see my gal fer a few minutes.'  An' ye sit by the fire a while,
+rockin' the twins, an' by and by yer wife comes back.  An' ye say,
+'Ma, why don't ye stay t' home?'  'Wal,' says she, 'it is so
+splendid, and there's so much goin' on.'  An' Mary, she begins t'
+talk as if she'd bit her tongue, an' step stylish, an' hold up her
+dress like that, jest as though she was steppin' over a hot
+griddle.  Purty soon it's dizzle-dazzle an' flippity-floppity an'
+splendiferous and sewperb, an' the first thing ye know ye ain't
+knee-high to a grasshopper.  Sam he comes back an' tells Ed all
+about the latest devilment.  You hear of it; then, mebbe, ye begin
+to limber up an' think ye'll try it yerself.  An' some morning
+ye'll wake up an' find yer moral character has scooted.  You
+fellers that go t' meetin' here an' talk about resistin'
+temptation--if you ever git t' goin' it down there in New York
+City, temptation 'll have to resist you.  My friends, ye don't want
+to make it too easy fer everybody to go somewhere else.  If ye do,
+by an' by there won't be nobody left here but them that's too old
+t' scoot er a few sickly young folks who don't care fer the sinful
+attractions o' this world."
+
+Who shall say that old Colonel Barclay had not the tongue of a
+prophet?
+
+"An' how about the cost?" he added in conclusion, "Fellow-citizens,
+ye'll have to pay five cents a mile fer yer scootin', an' a tax,--a
+tax, fellow-citizens, to help pay the cost o' the railroad.  If
+there's anybody here that don't feel as if he'd been taxed enough,
+he ought t' be taxed fer his folly."
+
+The dread of "scooting" grew for a time, but wise men were able to
+overcome it.
+
+In 1850, the iron way had come through the wilderness and begun to
+rend the northern hills.  Some were filled with awe, learning for
+the first time that in the moving of mountains giant-powder was
+more efficient than faith.  Soon it had passed Hillsborough and was
+finished.  Everybody came to see the cars that day of the first
+train.  The track was lined with people at every village; many with
+children upon arms and shoulders.  They waited long, and when the
+iron horse came roaring out of the distance, women fell back and
+men rolled their quids and looked eagerly up the track.  It came on
+with screaming whistle and noisy brakes and roaring wheels.
+Children began to cry with fear and men to yell with excitement.
+Dogs were barking wildly, and two horses ran away, dragging with
+them part of a picket-fence.  A brown shoat came bounding over the
+ties and broke through the wall of people, carrying many off their
+feet and creating panic and profanity.  The train stopped, its
+engine hissing.  A brakeman of flashy attire, with fine leather
+showing to the knees, strolled off and up the platform on high
+heels, haughty as a prince.  Confusion began to abate.
+
+"Hear it pant," said one, looking at the engine.
+
+"Seems so it had the heaves," another remarked thoughtfully.
+
+"Goes like the wind," said a passenger, who had just alighted.
+"Jerked us ten mile in less 'n twenty minutes."
+
+"Folks 'll have to be made o' cast iron to ride on them air cars,"
+said another.  "I'd ruther set on the tail of a threshin'-machine.
+It gave a slew on the turn up yender, an' I thought 'twas goin'
+right over Bowman's barn.  It flung me up ag'in the side o' the
+car, an' I see stars fer a minute.  'What's happened,' says I to
+another chap.  'Oh, we're all right,' says he.  'Be we?' says I,
+an' then I see I'd lost a tooth an' broke my glasses.  'That ain't
+nuthin',' says he, 'I had my foot braced over ag'in that other
+seat, an' somebody fell back on my leg, an' I guess the knee is out
+o' j'int.  But I'm alive, an' I ain't got no fault to find.  If I
+ever git off this shebang, I'm goin' out in the woods somewhere an'
+set down an' see what kind o' shape I'm in.  I guess I'm purty nigh
+sp'ilt, an' it cost me fifty cents t' do it.'
+
+"'An' all yer common sense, tew,' says I."
+
+A number got aboard, and the train started.  Rip Enslow was on the
+rear platform, his faithful hound galloping gayly behind the train.
+Some one had tied him to the brake rod.  Nearly a score of dogs
+followed, barking merrily.  Rip's hound came back soon, his tongue
+low, his tail between his legs.  A number called to him, but he
+seemed to know his own mind perfectly, and made for the stream and
+lay down in the middle of it, lapping the shallow water, and stayed
+there for the rest of the afternoon.
+
+A crowd of hunters watched him.
+
+"Looks so he'd been ketched by a bear," said one.
+
+In half an hour Rip returned also, a shoulder out of joint, a lump
+on his forehead, a big rent in his trousers.  He was one, of those
+men of whom others gather wisdom, for, after that, everybody in the
+land of the hills knew better than to jump off the cars or tie his
+hound to the rear platform.
+
+And dogs came to know, after a little while, that the roaring
+dragon was really afraid of them and would run like a very coward
+if it saw a dog coming across the fields.  Every small cur that
+lived in sight of it lay in the tall grass, and when he saw the
+dragon coming, chased him off the farm of his master.
+
+Among those who got off the train at Hillsborough that day was a
+big, handsome youth of some twenty years.  In all the crowd there
+were none had ever seen him before.  Dressed in the height of
+fashion, he was a figure so extraordinary that all eyes observed
+him as he made his way to the tavern.  Trove and Polly and Mrs.
+Vaughn were in that curious throng on the platform, where a depot
+was being built.
+
+"My!  What a splendid-looking fellow," said Polly, as the stranger
+passed,
+
+Trove had a swift pang of jealousy that moment.  Turning, he saw
+Riley Brooke--now known as the "Old Rag Doll"--standing near them
+in a group of villagers.
+
+"I tell you, he's a thief," the boy heard him saying, and the words
+seemed to blister as they fell; and ever after, when he thought of
+them, a great sternness lay like a shadow on his brow.
+
+"I must go," said he, calmly turning to Polly.  "Let me help you
+into the wagon."
+
+When they were gone, he stood a moment thinking.  He felt as if he
+were friendless and alone.
+
+"You're a giant to day," said a friend, passing him; but Trove made
+no answer.  Roused incomprehensibly, his heavy muscles had become
+tense, and he had an odd consciousness of their power.  The people
+were scattering, and he walked slowly down the street.  The sun was
+low, but he thought not of home or where he should spend the night.
+It was now the third day after his arrest.  Since noon he had been
+looking for Darrel, but the tinker's door had been locked for days,
+according to the carpenter who was at work below.  For an hour
+Trove walked, passing up and down before that familiar stairway, in
+the hope of seeing his friend.  Daylight was dim when the tinker
+stopped by the stairs and began to feel for his key.  The young man
+was quickly at the side of Darrel.
+
+"God be praised!" said the latter; "here is the old Dial an' the
+strong an' noble Trove.  I heard o' thy trouble, boy, far off on
+the postroad, an' I have made haste to come to thee."
+
+
+
+
+XXVII
+
+The Rare and Costly Cup
+
+Trove had been reciting the history of his trouble and had finished
+with bitter words.
+
+"Shame on thee, boy," said the tinker, as Trove sat before him with
+tears of anger in his eyes.  "Watch yonder pendulum and say not a
+word until it has ticked forty times.  For what are thy learning
+an' thy mighty thews if they do not bear thee up in time o'
+trouble?  Now is thy trial come before the Judge of all.  Up with
+thy head, boy, an' be acquitted o' weakness an' fear an' evil
+passion."
+
+"We deserve better of him," said Trove, speaking of Riley Brooke.
+"When all others hated him, we were kind to the old sinner, and it
+has done him no good."
+
+"Ah, but has it done thee good?  There's the question," said
+Darrel, his hand upon the boy's arm.
+
+"I believe it has," said Trove, with a look of surprise.
+
+"It was thee I thought of, boy; I had never much thought o' him."
+
+That moment Trove saw farther into the depth of Darrel's heart than
+ever before.  It startled him.   Surely, here was a man that passed
+all understanding.
+
+Darrel crossed to his bench and began to wind the clocks.
+
+"Ho, Clocks!" said he, thoughtfully.  "Know ye the cars have come?
+Now must we look well to the long hand o' the clock.  The old,
+slow-footed hour is dead, an' now, boy, the minute is our king."
+
+He came shortly and sat beside the young man.
+
+"Put away thy unhappiness," said he, gently, patting the boy's
+hand.  "No harm shall come to thee--'tis only a passing cloud."
+
+"You're right, and I'm not going to be a fool," said Trove.  "It
+has all brought me one item of good fortune."
+
+"An' that is?"
+
+"I have discovered who is my father."
+
+"An' know ye where he is now?" the tinker inquired.
+
+"No; but I know it is he to whom you gave the boots at Christmas
+time."
+
+"Hush, boy," said Darrel, in a whisper, his hand raised.
+
+He crossed to the bench, returning quickly and drawing his chair in
+front of the young man.
+
+"Once upon a time," he whispered, sitting down and touching the
+palm of his open hand with the index finger of the other, "a youth
+held in his hand a cup, rare an' costly, an' it was full o'
+happiness, an' he was tempted to drink.  'Ho, there, me youth,'
+said one who saw him, 'that is the happiness of another.' But he
+tasted the cup, an' it was bitter, an' he let it fall, an' the
+other lost his great possession.  Now that bitter taste was ever on
+the tongue o' the youth, so that his own cup had always the flavour
+o' woe."
+
+The tinker paused a moment, looking sternly into the face of the
+young man.
+
+"I adjure thee, boy, touch not the cup of another's happiness, or
+it may imbitter thy tongue.  But if thou be foolish an' take it up,
+mind ye do not drop it."
+
+"I shall be careful--I shall neither taste nor drop it," said Trove.
+
+"God bless thee, boy! thou'rt come to a great law--who drains the
+cup of another's happiness shall find it bitter, but who drains the
+cup of another's bitterness shall find it sweet."
+
+A silence followed, in which Trove sat looking at the old man whose
+words were like those of a prophet.  "I have no longer any right to
+seek my father," he thought.  "And, though I meet him face to face,
+I must let him go his way."
+
+Suddenly there came a rap at the door, and when Darrel opened it,
+they saw only a letter hanging to the latch.  It contained these
+words, but no signature:--
+
+"There'll be a bonfire and some fun to-night at twelve, in the
+middle of Cook's field.  Messrs.  Trove and Darrel are invited."
+
+"Curious," said Darrel.  "It has the look o' mischief."
+
+"Oh, it's only the boys and a bit of skylarking," said Trove.
+"Let's go and see what's up--it's near the time."
+
+The streets were dark and silent as they left the shop.  They went
+up a street beyond the village limits and looked off in Cook's
+field but saw no light there.  While they stood looking a flame
+rose and spread.  Soon they could see figures in the light, and,
+climbing the fence, they hastened across an open pasture.  Coming
+near they saw a score of men with masks upon their faces.
+
+"Give him the tar and feathers," said a strange voice.
+
+"Not if he will confess an' seek forgiveness," another answered.
+
+"Down to your knees, man, an' make no outcry, an' see you repeat
+the words carefully, as I speak them, or you go home in tar and
+feathers."
+
+They could hear the sound of a scuffle, and, shortly, the phrases
+of a prayer spoken by one voice and repeated by another.
+
+They were far back in the gloom, but could hear each word of that
+which follows: "O God, forgive me--I am a liar and a hypocrite--I
+have the tongue of scandal and deceit--I have robbed the poor--I
+have defamed the good--and, Lord, I am sick--with the rottenness of
+my own heart.  And hereafter--I will cheat no more--and speak no
+evil of any one--Amen."
+
+"Now, go to your home, Riley Brooke," said the voice, "an'
+hereafter mind your tongue, or you shall ride a rail in tar and
+feathers."
+
+They could see the crowd scatter, and some passed near them,
+running away in the darkness.
+
+"Stoop there an' say not a word," the tinker whispered, crouching
+in the grass.
+
+When all were out of hearing, they started for the little shop.
+
+"Hereafter," said Darrel, as they walked along, "God send he be
+more careful with the happiness of other men.  I do assure thee,
+boy, it is bitter, bitter, bitter."
+
+
+
+
+XXVIII
+
+Darrel at Robin's Inn
+
+Trove had much to help him,--youth, a cheerful temperament, a
+counsellor of unfailing wisdom.   Long after they were gone he
+recalled the sadness and worry of those days with satisfaction,
+for, thereafter, the shock of trouble was never able to surprise
+and overthrow him.
+
+After due examination he had been kept in bail to wait the action
+of the grand jury, soon to meet.  Now there were none thought him
+guilty--save one or two afflicted with the evil tongue.  It seemed
+to him a dead issue and gave him no worry.  One thing, however,
+preyed upon his peace,--the knowledge that his father was a thief.
+A conviction was ever boring in upon him that he had no right to
+love Polly.  A base injustice it would be, he thought, to marry her
+without telling what he had no right to tell.  But he was ever
+hoping for some word of his father--news that might set him free.
+He had planned to visit Polly, and on a certain day Darrel was to
+meet him at Robin's Inn.  The young man waited, in some doubt of
+his duty, and that day came--one of the late summer--when he and
+Darrel went afoot to the Inn, crossing hill and valley, as the crow
+flies, stopping here and there at isles of shadow in a hot amber
+sea of light.  They sat long to hear the droning in the stubble and
+let their thought drift slowly as the ship becalmed.
+
+"Some days," said Darrel, "the soul in me is like a toy skiff,
+tossing in the ripples of a duck pond an' mayhap stranding on a
+reed or lily.  An' then," he added, with kindling eye and voice,
+"she is a great ship, her sails league long an' high, her masthead
+raking the stars, her hull in the infinite sea."
+
+"Well," said Trove, sighing, "I'm still in the ripples of the duck
+pond."
+
+"An' see they do not swamp thee," said Darrel, with a smile that
+seemed to say, "Poor weakling, your trouble is only as the ripples
+of a tiny pool."  They went on slowly, over green pastures, halting
+at a brook in the woods.  There, again, they rested in a cool shade
+of pines, Darrel lighting his pipe.
+
+"I envy thee, boy," said the tinker, "entering on thy life-work in
+this great land--a country blest o' God.  To thee all high things
+are possible.  Where I was born, let a poor lad have great hope in
+him, an' all--ay, all--even those he loved, rose up to cry him
+down.  Here in this land all cheer an' bid him God-speed.  An' here
+is to be the great theatre o' the world's action.  Many of high
+hope in the broad earth shall come, an' here they shall do their
+work.  An' its spirit shall spread like the rising waters, ay, it
+shall flood the world, boy, it shall flood the world."
+
+Trove made no reply, but he thought much and deeply of what the
+tinker said.  They lay back a while on the needle carpet, thinking.
+They could hear the murmur of the brook and a woodpecker drumming
+on a dead tree.
+
+"Me head is busy as yon woodpecker's," Darrel went on.  "It's the
+soul fire in this great, free garden o' God--it's America.  Have ye
+felt it, boy?"
+
+"Yes; it is in your eyes and on your tongue," said Trove.
+
+"Ah boy! 'tis only God's oxygen.  Think o' the poor fools withering
+on cracker barrels in Hillsborough an' wearing away 'the lag end o'
+their lewdness.'   I have no patience with the like o' them, I'd
+rather be a butcher's clerk an' carry with me the redolence o' ham."
+
+In Hillsborough, where all spoke of him as an odd man of great
+learning, there were none, saving Trove and two or three others,
+that knew the tinker well, for he took no part in the roaring
+gossip of shop and store.
+
+"Hath it ever occurred to thee," said Darrel, as they walked along,
+"that a fool is blind to his folly, a wise man to his wisdom?"
+
+When they were through the edge of the wilderness and came out on
+Cedar Hill, and saw, below them, the great, round shadow of Robin's
+Inn, they began to hasten their steps.  They could see Polly
+reading a book under the big tree.
+
+"What ho! the little queen," said Darrel, as they came near, "Now,
+put upon her brow 'an odorous chaplet o' sweet summer buds.'"
+
+She came to meet them in a pretty pink dress and slippers and white
+stockings.
+
+"Fair lady, I bring thee flowers," said Darrel, handing her a
+bouquet.  "They are from the great garden o' the fields."
+
+"And I bring a crown," said Trove, as he kissed her and put a
+wreath of clover and wild roses on her brow.
+
+"I thought something dreadful had happened," said Polly, with tears
+in her eyes.  "For three days I've been dressed up waiting."
+
+"An' a grand dress it is," said Barrel, surveying her pretty figure.
+
+"I've nearly worn it out waiting," said she, looking down, her
+voice trembling.
+
+"Tut, tut, girl--'tis a lovely dress," the tinker insisted.
+
+"It is one my mother wore when she was a girl," said Polly,
+proudly.  "It was made over."
+
+"O--oh!  God love thee, child!" said the tinker, in a tone of great
+admiration.  "'Tis beautiful."
+
+"And, you came through the woods?" said Polly.
+
+"Through wood and field," was Trove's answer.
+
+"I wonder you knew the way."
+
+"The little god o' love--he shot his arrows, an' we followed them
+as the hunter follows the bee," said Darrel.
+
+"It was nice of you to bring the flowers," said Polly.  "They are
+beautiful."
+
+"But not like those in thy cheeks, dear child.  Where is the good
+mother?" said Darrel.
+
+"She and the boys are gone a-berrying, and I have been making
+jelly.  We're going to have a party to-night for your birthday."
+
+"'An' rise up before the hoary head an' honour the face o' the old
+man,'" said Darrel, thoughtfully.  "But, child, honour is not for
+them that tinker clocks."
+
+"'Honour and fame from no condition rise,'" said Polly, who sat in
+a chair, knitting.
+
+"True, dear girl!  Thy lips are sweeter than the poet's thought."
+
+"You'll turn my head;" the girl was laughing as she spoke.
+
+"An it turn to me, I shall be happy," said the tinker, smiling, and
+then he began to feel the buttons on his waistcoat.  "Loves me,
+loves me not, loves me, loves me not--"
+
+"She loves you," said Polly, with a smile.
+
+"She loves me, hear that, boy," said the tinker.  "Ah, were she not
+bespoke!  Well, God be praised, I'm happy," he added, filling his
+pipe.
+
+"And seventy," said Polly.
+
+"Ay, three score an' ten--small an' close together, now, as I look
+off at them, like a flock o' pigeons in the sky."
+
+"What do you think?" said Polly, as she dropped her knitting.  "The
+two old maids are coming to-night."
+
+"The two old maids!" said Darrel; "'tis a sign an' a wonder."
+
+"Oh, a great change has come over them," Polly went on.  "It's all
+the work o' the teacher.  You know he really coaxed them into
+sliding with him last winter."
+
+"I heard of it--the gay Philander!" said Darrel, laughing merrily.
+"Ah! he's a wonder with the maidens!"
+
+"I know it," said Polly, with a sigh.
+
+Trove was idly brushing the mat of grass with a walking-stick.  He
+loved fun, but he had no conceit for this kind of banter.
+
+"It was one of my best accomplishments," said he, blushing.  "I
+taught them that there was really a world outside their house and
+that men were not all as lions, seeking whom they might devour."
+
+Soon the widow and her boys came, their pails full of berries.
+
+"We cannot shake hands with you," said Mrs. Vaughn, her fingers red
+with the berry stain.
+
+"Blood o' the old earth!" said Darrel.  "How fares the clock?"
+
+"It's too slow, Polly says."
+
+"Ah, time lags when love is on the way," Darrel answered.
+
+"Foolish child!  A little while ago she was a baby, an' now she is
+in love."
+
+"Ah, let the girl love," said Darrel, patting the red cheek of
+Polly, "an' bless God she loves a worthy lad,"
+
+"You'd better fix the clock." said Polly, smiling.  "It is too
+fast, now."
+
+"So is the beat o' thy heart," Darrel answered, a merry look in his
+eyes, "an' the clock is keeping pace."
+
+Trove got up, with a laugh, and went away, the boys following.
+
+"I'm worried about him," the widow whispered.  "For a long time he
+hasn't been himself."
+
+"It's the trouble--poor lad!  'Twill soon be over," said Darrel,
+hopefully.
+
+There were now tears in the eyes of Polly.
+
+"I do not think he loves me any more," said she, her lips trembling.
+
+"Speak not so, dear child; indeed he loves thee."
+
+"I have done everything to please him," said Polly, in broken
+words, her face covered with her handkerchief.
+
+"I wondered what was the matter with you, Polly," said her mother,
+tenderly.
+
+"Dear, dear child!" said the tinker, rising and patting her head.
+"The chaplet on thy brow an' thee weeping!--fairest flower of all!"
+
+"I have wished that I was dead;" the words came in a little moan
+between sobs.
+
+"Because: Love hath led thee to the great river o' tears?  Nay,
+child, 'tis a winding river an' crosses all the roads."
+
+He had taken her handkerchief, and with a tender touch was drying
+her eyes.
+
+"Now I can see thee smiling, an' thy lashes, child--they are like
+the spray o' the fern tip when the dew is on it."
+
+Polly rose and went away into the house.  Darrel wiped his eyes,
+and the widow sat, her chin upon her hand, looking down sadly and
+thoughtfully.  Darrel was first to speak.
+
+"Did it ever occur to ye, Martha Vaughn, this child o' thine is
+near a woman but has seen nothing o' the world ?"
+
+"I think of that often," said she, the mother's feeling in her
+voice.
+
+"Well, if I understand him, it's a point of honour with the boy not
+to pledge her to marriage until she has seen more o' life an' made
+sure of her own heart.  Now, consider this: let her go to the
+school at Hillsborough, an' I'll pay the cost."
+
+The widow looked up at him without speaking.
+
+"I'm an old man near the end o' this journey, an' ye've known me
+many years," Darrel went on.  "There's nothing can be said against
+it.  Nay; I'll have no thanks.  Would ye thank the money itself,
+the bits o' paper?  No; nor Roderick Darrel, who, in this business,
+is no more worthy o' gratitude.  Hush! who comes?"
+
+It was Polly herself in a short, red skirt, her arms bare to the
+elbows.  She began to busy herself about the house.
+
+"Too bad you took off that pretty dress, Polly," said Trove, when
+he returned.
+
+She came near and whispered to him.
+
+"This," said she, looking down sadly, "is like the one I wore when
+you first came."
+
+"Well, first I thought of your arms," said he, "they were so
+lovely!  Then of your eyes and face and gown, but now I think only
+of the one thing,--Polly."
+
+The girl was happy, now, and went on with the work, singing, while
+Trove lent a hand.
+
+A score of people came up the hill from Pleasant Valley that night.
+Tunk went after the old maids and came with them in the chaise at
+supper time.  There were two wagon-loads of young people, and,
+before dusk, men and their wives came sauntering up the roadway and
+in at the little gate.
+
+Two or three of the older men wore suits of black broadcloth, the
+stock and rolling collar--relics of "old decency" back in Vermont
+or Massachusetts or Connecticut.  Most were in rough homespun over
+white shirts with no cuffs or collar.  All gathered about Darrel,
+who sat smoking outside the door.  He rose and greeted each one of
+the women with a bow and a compliment.  The tinker was a man of
+unfailing courtesy, and one thing in him was extremely odd,--even
+there in that land of pure democracy,--he treated a scrub-woman
+with the same politeness he would have accorded the finest lady.
+But he was in no sense a flatterer; none that saw him often were
+long in ignorance of that.  His rebuke was even quicker than his
+compliment, as many had reason to know.  And there was another
+curious thing about Darrel,--these people and many more loved him,
+gathering about his chair as he tinkered, hearing with delight the
+lore and wisdom of his tongue, but, after all, there were none that
+knew him now any better than the first day he came.  A certain wall
+of dignity was ever between him and them.
+
+Half an hour before dark, the yard was thronged with people.  They
+listened with smiles or a faint ripple of merry feeling as he
+greeted each.
+
+"Good evening, Mrs. Beach," he would say.  "Ah! the snow is falling
+on thy head.  An' the sunlight upon thine, dear girl," he added,
+taking the hand of the woman's daughter.
+
+"An' here's Mr. Tilly back from the far west," he continued.  "How
+fare ye, sor?"
+
+"I'm well, but a little too fat," said Thurston Tilly.
+
+"Well, sor, unless it make thy heart heavy, be content.
+
+"Good evening, Mrs. Hooper,--that is a cunning hand with the pies.
+
+"Ah, Mrs. Rood, may the mouse never leave thy meal bag with a tear
+in his eye.
+
+"Not a gray hair in thy head, Miss Tower, nor even a gray thought.
+
+"An' here's Mrs. Barbour--'twill make me sweat to carry me pride
+now.  How goes the battle?"
+
+"The Lord has given me sore affliction," said she.
+
+"Nay, dear woman," said the tinker in that tone so kindly and
+resistless, "do not think the Lord is hitting thee over the ears.
+It is the law o' life.
+
+"Good evening, Elder, what is the difference between thy work an'
+mine?"
+
+"I hadn't thought of that."
+
+"Ah, thine is the dial of eternity--mine that o' time."  And so he
+greeted all and sat down, filling his pipe.
+
+"Now, Weston, out with the merry fiddle," said he, "an' see it give
+us happy thoughts."
+
+A few small boys were gathered about him, and the tinker began to
+hum an Irish reel, fingers and forearm flying as he played an
+imaginary fiddle.  But, even now, his dignity had not left him.
+The dance began.  All were in the little house or at the two doors,
+peering in, save Darrel, who sat with his pipe, and Thurston Tilly,
+who was telling him tales of the far west.  In the lull of sound
+that followed the first figure, Trove came to look out upon them.
+A big, golden moon had risen above the woods, and the light and
+music and merry voices had started a sleepy twitter up in the dome
+of Robin's Inn.
+
+"Do you see that scar?" he heard Tilly saying.
+
+"I do, sor."
+
+"Well, a man shot me there."
+
+"An' what for?" the tinker inquired.
+
+"I was telling him a story.  It cured me.  Do you carry a gun?"
+
+"I do not, sor."
+
+"Wal, then, I'll tell you about the man I work for."
+
+Tunk, who had been outside the door in his best clothes, but who,
+since he put them on, had looked as if he doubted the integrity of
+his suspenders and would not come in the house, began to laugh
+loudly.
+
+"That man Tunk can see the comedy in all but himself," was Trove's
+thought, as he returned with a smile of amusement.
+
+Soon Trove and Polly came out and stood a while by the lilac bush,
+at the gate.
+
+"You worry me, Sidney Trove," said she, looking off at the moonlit
+fields.
+
+Then came a silence full of secret things, like the silences of
+their first meeting, there by the same gate, long ago.  This one,
+however, had a vibration that seemed to sting them.
+
+"I am sorry," said he, with a sigh.
+
+Another silence in which the heart of the girl was feeling for the
+secret in his.
+
+"You are so sad, so different," she whispered.
+
+Polly waited full half a minute for his answer.  Then she touched
+her eyes with her handkerchief, turned impatiently, and went
+halfway to the door.  Darrel caught her hand, drawing her near him.
+
+"Give me thy hand, boy," said he to Trove, now on his way to the
+door.
+
+He stood with his arms around the two.
+
+"Every shadow hath the wings o' light," he whispered.  "Listen."
+
+The house rang with laughter and the music of Money Musk.
+
+"'Tis the golden bell of happiness," said he, presently.  "Go an'
+ring it.  Nay--first a kiss."
+
+He drew them close together, and they kissed each other's lips, and
+with smiling faces went in to join the dance.
+
+
+
+
+XXIX
+
+Again the Uphill Road
+
+Again the middle of September and the beginning of the fall term.
+Trove had gone to his old lodgings at Hillsborough, and Polly was
+boarding in the village, for she, too, was now in the uphill road
+to higher learning.  None, save Darrel, knew the secret of the
+young man,--that he was paying her board and tuition.  The thought
+of it made him most happy; but now, seeing her every day had given
+him a keener sense of that which had come between them.  He sat
+much in his room and had little heart for study.  It was a cosey
+room now.  His landlady had hung rude pictures on the wall and
+given him a rag carpet.  On the table were pieces of clear quartz
+and tourmaline and, about each window-frame, odd nests of bird or
+insect--souvenirs of wood-life and his travel with the drove.
+There, too, on the table were mementos of that first day of his
+teaching,--the mirror spectacles with which he had seen at once
+every corner of the schoolroom, the sling-shot and bar of iron he
+had taken from the woodsman, Leblanc.
+
+One evening of his first week at Hillsborough that term, Darrel
+came to sit with him a while.
+
+"An' what are these?" said the tinker, at length, his hand upon the
+shot and iron.
+
+"I do not know."
+
+"Dear boy," said Darrel, "they're from the kit of a burglar, an'
+how came they here?"
+
+"I took them from Louis Leblanc," said the young man, who then told
+of his adventure that night.
+
+"Louis Leblanc!" exclaimed Darrel.  "The scamp an' his family have
+cleared out."
+
+The tinker turned quickly, his hand upon the wrist of the young man.
+
+"These things are not for thee to have," he whispered.  "Had ye no
+thought o' the danger?"
+
+Trove began to change colour.
+
+"I can prove how I came by them," he stammered.
+
+"What is thy proof?" Darrel whispered again.
+
+"There are Leblanc's wife and daughter."
+
+"Ah, where are they?  There be many would like to know."
+
+The young man thought a moment.
+
+"Well, Tunk Hosely, there at Mrs. Vaughn's."
+
+"Tunk Hosely!" exclaimed the tinker, with a look that seemed to
+say, "God save the mark!  An' would they believe him, think?"
+
+Trove began to look troubled as Darrel left him.
+
+"I'll go and drop them in the river," said Trove to himself.
+
+It was eleven o'clock and the street dark and deserted as he left
+his room.
+
+"It is a cowardly thing to do," the young man thought as he walked
+slowly, but he could devise no better way to get rid of them.
+
+In the middle of the big, open bridge, he stopped to listen.
+Hearing only the sound of the falls below, Trove took the odd tools
+from under his coat and flung them over the rail.
+
+He turned then, walking slowly off the bridge and up the main
+street, of Hillsborough.  At a corner he stopped to listen.  His
+ear had caught the sound of steps far behind him.  He could hear it
+no longer, and went his way, with a troubled feeling that robbed
+him of rest that night.  In a day or two it wore off, and soon he
+was hold of the bit, as he was wont to say, and racing for the lead
+in his work.  He often walked to school with Polly and went to
+church with her every Sunday night.  There had been not a word of
+love between them, however, since they came to the village, until
+one evening she said:--
+
+"I am very unhappy, and I wish I were home."
+
+"Why?"
+
+She was not able to answer for a moment.
+
+"I know I am unworthy of you," she whispered.
+
+His lungs shook him with a deep and tremulous inspiration.  For a
+little he could not answer.
+
+"That is why you do not love me?" she whispered again.
+
+"I do love you," he said with a strong effort to control himself,
+"but I am not worthy to touch the hem of your garment."
+
+"Tell me why, Sidney?"
+
+"Some day--I do not know when--I will tell you all.  And if you can
+love me after that, we shall both be happy."
+
+"Tell me now," she urged.
+
+"I cannot," said he, "but if you only trust me, Polly, you shall
+know.  If you will not trust me--"
+
+He paused, looking down at the snow path.
+
+"Good night!" he added presently.
+
+They kissed and parted, each going to the company of bitter tears.
+
+As of old, Trove had many a friend,--school-fellows who came of an
+evening, now and then, for his help in some knotty problem.  All
+saw a change in him.  He had not the enthusiasm and good cheer of
+former days, and some ceased to visit him.  Moreover they were free
+to say that Trove was getting a big head.  For one thing, he had
+become rather careless about his clothes,--a new trait in him, for
+he had the gift of pride and the knack of neatness.
+
+A new student sought his acquaintance the very first week of the
+term,--that rather foppish young man who got off the cars at
+Hillsborough the day of their first coming.  He was from Buffalo,
+and, although twenty-two years of age, was preparing to enter
+college.  His tales of the big city and his frank good-fellowship
+made him a welcome guest.  Soon he was known to all as "Dick"--his
+name being Richard Roberts.  It was not long before Dick knew
+everybody and everybody knew Dick, including Polly, and thought him
+a fine fellow.  Soon Trove came to know that when he was detained a
+little after school Dick went home with Polly.  That gave him no
+concern, however, until Dick ceased to visit him, and he saw a
+change in the girl.
+
+One day, two letters came for Trove.  They were in girlish
+penmanship and bore no signature, but stung him to the quick.
+
+"For Heaven's sake get a new hat," said one.
+
+"You are too handsome to neglect your clothes," said the other.
+
+As he read them, his cheeks were burning with his shame.  He went
+for his hat and looked it over carefully.  It was faded, and there
+was a little rent in the crown.  His boots were tapped and mended,
+his trousers threadbare at the knee, and there were two patches on
+his coat.
+
+"I hadn't thought of it," said he, with a sigh.  Then he went for a
+talk with Darrel.
+
+"Did you ever see a more shabby-looking creature?" he inquired, as
+Darrel came to meet him.  "I am so ashamed of myself I'd like to go
+lie in your wood box while I talk to you."
+
+"'What hempen homespun have we swaggering here?'" Darrel quoted in
+a rallying voice.
+
+"I'll tell you." Trove began.
+
+"Nay, first a roundel," said the tinker, as he began to shuffle his
+feet to the measure of an old fairy song.
+
+"If one were on his way to the gallows, you would make him laugh,"
+said Trove, smiling.
+
+"An I could, so would I," said the old man.  "A smile, boy, hath in
+it 'some relish o' salvation.'  Now, tell me, what is thy trouble?"
+
+"I'm going to leave school," said Trove.
+
+"An' wherefore?"
+
+"I'm sick of this pinching poverty.  Look at my clothes; I thought
+I could make them do, but I can't."
+
+He put the two notes in Darrel's hand.  The tinker wiped his
+spectacles and then read them both.
+
+"Tut, tut, boy!" said he, presently, with a very grave look.  "Have
+ye forgotten the tatters that were as a badge of honour an'
+success?  Weeks ago I planned to find thee better garments, but, on
+me word, I had no heart for it.  Nay, these old ones had become
+dear to me.  I was proud o' them--ay, boy, proud o' them.  When I
+saw the first patch on thy coat, said I, 'It is the little ensign
+o' generosity.' Then came another, an', said I, 'That is for honour
+an' true love,' an' these bare threads--there is no loom can weave
+the like o' them.  Nay, boy," Darrel added, lifting an arm of the
+young man and kissing one of the patches, "be not ashamed o'
+these--they're beautiful, ay, beautiful.  They stand for the
+dollars ye gave Polly."
+
+Trove turned away, wiping his eyes.
+
+He looked down at his coat and trousers and began to wonder if he
+were, indeed, worthy to wear them.
+
+"I'm not good enough for them," said he, "but you've put new heart
+in me, and I shall not give up.  I'll wear them as long as I can
+make them do, and girls can say what they please."
+
+"The magpies!" said Darrel.  "When they have a thought for every
+word they utter, Lord! there'll be then a second Sabbath in the
+week."
+
+Next evening Trove went to see Polly.
+
+As he was leaving, she held his hand in both of hers and looked
+down, blushing deeply, as if there were something she would say,
+had she only the courage.
+
+"What is it, Polly?" said he.
+
+"Will you--will you let me buy you a new hat?" said she, soberly,
+and hesitating much between words.
+
+He thought a moment, biting his lip.
+
+"I'd rather you wouldn't, Polly," said he, looking down at the
+faded hat.  "I know it's shabby, but, after all, I'm fond o' the
+old thing.  I love good clothes, but I can't afford them now."
+
+Then he bade her good night and came away.
+
+
+
+
+XXX
+
+Evidence
+
+It was court week, and the grand jury was in session.  There were
+many people in the streets of the shire town.  They moved with a
+slow foot, some giving their animation to squints of curiosity and
+shouts of recognition, some to profanity and plug tobacco.  Squire
+Day and Colonel Judson were to argue the famous maple-sugar case,
+and many causes of local celebrity were on the calendar.
+
+There were men with the watchful eye of the hunter, ever looking
+for surprises.  They moved with caution, for here, indeed, were
+sights and perils greater than those of the timber land.   Here
+were houses, merchants, lawyers, horse-jockeys, whiskey, women.
+They knew the thickets and all the wild creatures that lived in
+them, but these things of the village were new and strange.  They
+came out of the stores and, after expectorating, stood a moment
+with their hands in their pockets, took a long look to the right
+and a long look to the left and threw a glance into the sky, and
+then examined the immediate foreground.  If satisfied, they began
+to move slowly one way or the other and, meeting hunters presently,
+would ask:--
+
+"Here fer yer bounties?"
+
+"Here fer my bounties," another would say.  Then they both took a
+long look around them.
+
+"Wish't I was back t' the shanty."
+
+"So do I."
+
+"Scares me."
+
+"Too many houses an' too many women folks."
+
+"An' if ye wan' t' git a meal o' vittles, it costs ye three
+mushrats."
+
+Night and morning the tavern offices were full of smart-looking
+men,--lawyers from every village in the county, who, having dropped
+the bitter scorn of the court room, now sat gossiping in a cloud of
+tobacco smoke, rent with thunder-peals of laughter and lightning
+flashes of wit.  Teams of farmer folk filled the sheds and were
+tied to hitching-posts, up and down the main thoroughfare of the
+village.  Every day rough-clad, brawny men led their little sons to
+the courthouse.
+
+"Do ye see that man with the spectacles and the bald head?" they
+had been wont to whisper, when seated in the court room, "that air
+man twistin' his hair,--that's Silas Wright; an' that tall man that
+jes' sot down?--that's John L. Russell.  Now I want ye t' listen,
+careful.  Mebbe ye'll be a lawyer, sometime, yerself, as big as any
+of 'em."
+
+The third day of that week--it was about the middle of the
+afternoon--a score of men, gossiping in the lower hall of the court
+building, were hushed suddenly.  A young man came hurrying down the
+back stairs with a look of excitement.
+
+"What's up?" said one.
+
+"Sidney Trove is indicted," was the answer of the young man.
+
+He ran out of doors and down the street.  People began crowding out
+of the court room.  Information, surprise, and conjecture--a kind
+of flood pouring out of a broken dam--rushed up and down the forty
+streets of the village.  Soon, as of old, many were afloat and some
+few were drowning in it.  For a little, busy hands fell limp and
+feet grew slow and tongues halted.  A group of school-girls on
+their way home were suddenly overtaken by the onrushing tide.  They
+came close together and whispered.  Then a little cry of despair,
+and one of them fell and was borne into a near house.  A young man
+ran up the stairway at the Sign of the Dial and rapped loudly at
+Darrel's door, Trove and the tinker were inside.
+
+"Old fellow," said the newcomer, his hand upon Trove's arm,
+"they've voted to indict you, and I've seen all the witnesses."
+
+Trove had a book in his hand.  He rose calmly and flung it on the
+table.
+
+"It's an outrage," said he, with a sigh.
+
+"Nay, an honour," said Darrel, quickly.  "Hold up thy head, boy.
+The laurel shall take the place o' the frown."
+
+He turned to the bearer of these evil tidings.
+
+"Have ye more knowledge o' the matter?"
+
+"Yes, all day I have been getting hold of their evidence," said the
+newcomer, a law student, who was now facing his friend Trove.  "In
+the first place, it was a man of blue eyes and about your build who
+broke into the bank at Milldam.  It is the sworn statement of the
+clerk, who has now recovered.  He does not go so far as to say you
+are the man, but does say it was a man like you that assaulted him.
+It appears the robber had his face covered with a red bandanna
+handkerchief in which square holes were cut so he could see
+through.  The clerk remembers it was covered with a little white
+figure--that of a log cabin.  Such a handkerchief was sold years
+ago in the campaign of Harrison, but has gone out of use.  Not a
+store in the county has had them since '45.  The clerk fired upon
+him with a pistol, and thinks he wounded him in the left forearm.
+In their fight the robber struck him with a sling-shot, and he
+fell, and remembers nothing more until he came to in the dark
+alone.   The skin was cut in little squares, where the shot struck
+him, and that is one of the strong points against you."
+
+"Against me?" said Trove.
+
+"Yes--that and another.  It seems the robber left behind him one
+end of a bar of iron.  The other end of the same bar and a
+sling-shot--the very one that probably felled the clerk--have been
+found."
+
+The speaker rose and walked half across the room and back, looking
+down thoughtfully.
+
+"I tell ye what, old fellow," said he, sitting down again, "it is
+mighty strange.  If I didn't know you well, I'd think you guilty.
+Here comes a detective who says under oath that one night he saw
+you come out of your lodgings, about eleven o'clock, and walk to
+the middle of the bridge and throw something into the water.  Next
+morning bar and shot were found.  As nearly as he could make out
+they lay directly under the place where you halted."
+
+Darrel sat looking thoughtfully at the speaker.
+
+"A detective ?" said Trove, rising erect, a stern look upon him.
+
+"Yes--Dick Roberts."
+
+"Roberts, a detective!" said Trove, in a whisper.  Then he turned
+to Darrel, adding, "I shall have to find the Frenchman."
+
+"Louis Leblanc?" the young man asked.
+
+"Louis Leblanc," Trove answered with surprise.
+
+"He has been found," said the other.
+
+"Then I shall be able to prove my point.  He came to his home drunk
+one night and began to bully his family.  I was boarding with the
+Misses Tower and went over and took the shot and iron from his
+hands and got him into bed.  The woman begged me to bring them
+away."
+
+"He declares that he never saw the shot or the iron."
+
+Darrel rose and drew his chair a bit nearer.
+
+"Very well, but there's the wife," said he, quickly.
+
+"She will swear, too, that she never saw them."
+
+"And how about the daughter?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Run away and nowhere to be found," was the answer of the other
+young man.  "I've told you bad news enough, but there's more, and
+you ought to know it all.  Louis Leblanc is in Quebec, and he says
+that a clock tinker lent him money with which to leave the States."
+
+"It was I, an' God bring him to repentance--the poor beggar!" said
+Darrel.  "He agreed to repay me within a fortnight an' was in sore
+distress, but he ran away, an' I got no word o' him."
+
+"Well, the inference is, that you, being a friend of the accused,
+were trying to help him."
+
+"I'm caught in a web," said Trove, leaning forward, his head upon
+his hands, "and Leblanc's wife is the spider.  How about the money?
+Have they been able to identify it?"
+
+"In part, yes; there's one bill that puzzles them.  It's that of an
+old bank in New York City that failed years ago and went out of
+business."
+
+Then a moment of silence and that sound of the clocks--like
+footsteps of a passing caravan, some slow and heavy, some quick, as
+if impatient to be gone.
+
+"Ye speeding seconds!" said Darrel, as he crossed to the bench.
+"Still thy noisy feet."
+
+Then he walked up and down, thinking.
+
+The friend of Sidney Trove put on his hat and stood by the door.
+
+"Don't forget," said he, "you have many friends, or I should not be
+able to tell you these things.  Keep them to yourself and go to
+work.  Of course you will be able to prove your innocence."
+
+"I thank you with all my heart," said Trove.
+
+"Ay, 'twas friendly," the old man remarked, taking the boy's hand.
+
+"I have to put my trust in Tunk--the poor liar!" said Trove, when
+they were alone.
+
+"No," Darrel answered quickly.  "Were ye drowning, ye might as well
+lay hold of a straw.  Trust in thy honour; it is enough."
+
+"Let's go and see Polly," said the young man.
+
+"Ay, she o' the sweet heart," said the tinker; "we'll go at once."
+
+They left the shop, and on every street they travelled there were
+groups of men gossiping.  Some nodded, others turned away, as the
+two passed.  Dick Roberts met them at the door of the house where
+Polly boarded.
+
+"I wish to see Miss Vaughn," said Trove, coolly.
+
+"She is ill," said Roberts.
+
+"Could I not see her for a moment?" Trove inquired.
+
+"No."
+
+"Is she very sick?"
+
+"Very."
+
+Darrel came close to Roberts.  He looked sternly at the young man.
+
+"Boy," said he, with great dignity, his long forefinger raised,
+"within a day ye shall be clothed with shame."
+
+"They were strange words," Trove thought, as they walked away in
+silence; and when they had come to the little shop it was growing
+dusk.
+
+"What have I done to bring this upon me and my friends?" said
+Trove, sinking into a chair.
+
+"It is what I have done," said Darrel; "an' now I take the mantle
+o' thy shame.  Rise, boy, an' hold up thy head."
+
+The old man stood erect by the side of the young man.
+
+"See, I am as tall an' broad as thou art."
+
+He went to an old chest and got a cap and drew it down upon his
+head, pushing his gray hair under it.  Then he took from his pocket
+a red bandanna handkerchief, figured with a cabin, tying it over
+his face.  He turned, looking at Trove through two square holes in
+the handkerchief.
+
+"Behold the robber!" said he.
+
+"You know who is the robber?" Trove inquired.
+
+Darrel raised the handkerchief and flung it back upon his head.
+
+"'Tis Roderick Darrel," said he, his hand now on the shoulder of
+the young man.
+
+For a moment both stood looking into each other's eyes.
+
+"What joke is this, my friend?" Trove whispered.
+
+"I speak not lightly, boy.  If where ye thought were honour an'
+good faith, there be only guilt an' shame, can ye believe in
+goodness?"
+
+For his answer there were silence and the ticking of the clocks.
+
+"Surely ye can an' will," said the old man, "for there is the
+goodness o' thy own heart.  Ah, boy, though I have it not, remember
+that I loved honour an' have sought to fill thee with it.  This
+night I go where ye cannot follow."
+
+The tinker turned, halting a pendulum.
+
+Trove groaned as he spoke, "O man, tell me, quickly, what do you
+mean?"
+
+"That God hath laid his hand upon me," said Darrel, sternly.  "I
+cannot see thee suffer, boy, when I am the guilty one.  O Redeemer
+o' the world! haste me, haste me now to punishment."
+
+The young man staggered, like one dazed by the shock of a blow,
+stepped backward, and partly fell on a lounge against the wall.
+Darrel came and bent over him.  Trove sat leaning, his hand on the
+lounge, staring up at the tinker, his eyes dreadful and amazed.
+
+"You, you will confess and go to prison!" he whispered.
+
+"Fair soul!" said the old man, stroking the boy's head, "think not
+o' me.  Where I go there be flowers--lovely flowers! an' music, an'
+the bards an' prophets.  Though I go to punishment, still am I in
+the Blessed Isles."
+
+"You are doing it to save me," Trove whispered, taking the hand of
+the old man.  "I'll not permit it.  I'll go to prison first."
+
+"Am I so great a fool, think ye, as to claim an evil that is not
+mine?  An' would ye keep in me the burning o' remorse when I seek
+to quench it?  I warn thee, meddle not with the business o' me
+soul.  That is between the great God an' me."
+
+Darrel stood to his full height, the red handkerchief covering his
+head and falling on his back.  He began with a tone of contempt
+that changed quickly into one of sharp command.  There was a little
+silence and then a quick rap.
+
+"Come in," Darrel shouted, as he let the handkerchief fall upon his
+face again.
+
+The district attorney, a constable, and the bank clerk, who had
+been injured the night of the robbery, came in.
+
+"He is not guilty," said Trove, rising quickly.
+
+"I command ye, boy, be silent," said Darrel, sternly.
+
+"Have ye ever seen that hand," he added, approaching the clerk, and
+pointing at a red mark as large as a dime on the back of his left
+hand.
+
+"Yes," the clerk answered with surprise, looking from hand to
+handkerchief.  Then, turning to the lawyer, he added, "This is the
+man."
+
+"Now," Darrel continued, rolling up his sleeve, "I'll show where
+thy bullet struck me in the left arm.  See, there it seared the
+flesh!"
+
+They saw a star, quite an inch long, midway from hand to elbow,
+
+"Do you mean to say that you are guilty of this crime?" the
+attorney asked.
+
+"I am guilty and ready for punishment," Darrel answered.  "Now,
+discharge the boy."
+
+"To-morrow," said the attorney.  "That is for the court to do."
+
+Darrel went to Trove, who now sat weeping, his face upon his hands.
+
+"Oh the great river o' tears!" said Darrel, touching the boy's
+head.  "Beyond it are the green shores of happiness, an' I have
+crossed, an' soon shalt thou.  Stop, boy, it ill becomes thee.
+There is a dear, dear child whose heart is breaking.  Go an'
+comfort her."
+
+Trove sat as if he had not heard.  The tinker went to his table and
+hurriedly wrote a line or two, folding and directing it.
+
+"Go quickly, boy, an' tell her, an' then take this to Riley Brooke
+for me."
+
+The young man struggled a moment for self-mastery, rose with a sigh
+and a stern look, and put on his hat.
+
+"It is about bail?" said he, in a whisper.
+
+"Yes," Darrel answered.
+
+Trove hurried away.  A woman met him at the door, within which
+Polly boarded.
+
+"Is she better?" Trove asked.
+
+"Yes; but has asked me to say that she does not wish to see you."
+
+Trove stood a moment, his tongue halting between anger and
+surprise.   He turned without a word, walking away, a bitter
+feeling in his heart.
+
+Brooke greeted him with unexpected heartiness.  He was going to bed
+when the young man rapped upon his door.
+
+Brooke opened the letter and read the words aloud: "Thanks, I shall
+not need thy help."
+
+"What!" Trove exclaimed.
+
+"He says he shall not need the help I offered him," Brooke answered.
+
+"Good night!" said Trove, who, turning, left the house and hurried
+away.  Lights were out everywhere in the village now.   The windows
+were dark at the Sign of the Dial.  He hurried up the old stairs
+and rapped loudly, but none came to admit him.  He called and
+listened; within there were only silence and that old, familiar
+sound of the seconds trooping by, some with short and some with
+long steps.  He knew that soon they were to grow faint and weary
+and pass no more that way.  He ran to the foot of the stairs and
+stood a moment hesitating.  Then he walked slowly to the county
+jail and looked up at the dark and silent building.  For a little
+time he leaned upon a fence, there in the still night, shaken with
+sobs.  Then he began walking up and down by the jail yard.  He had
+not slept an hour in weeks and was weary, but he could not bear to
+come away and walked slower as the night wore on, hearing only the
+tread of his own feet.  He knew not where to go and was drifting up
+and down, like a derelict in the sea.  By and by people began to
+pass him,--weary crowds,--and they were pointing at the patches on
+his coat, and beneath them he could feel a kind of burning, but the
+crowd was dumb.  He tried to say, "I am not to blame," but his
+heart smote him when it was half said.  Then, suddenly, many people
+were beside him, and far ahead on a steep hill, in dim, gray light,
+he could see Darrel toiling upward.  And sometimes the tinker
+turned, beckoning him to follow.  And Trove ran, but the way was
+long between them.  And the tinker called to him; "Who drains the
+cup of another's bitterness shall find it sweet."  Quickly he was
+alone, groping for his path in black darkness and presently coming
+down a stairway into the moonlit chamber of his inheritance.  Then
+the men of the dark and a feeling of faintness and great surprise
+and a broad, blue field all about him and woods in the distance,
+and above the growing light of dawn.  His bones were aching with
+illness and overwork, his feet sore.  "I have been asleep," he
+said, rubbing his eyes, "and all night I have been walking."
+
+He was in the middle of a broad field.  He went on slowly and soon
+fell of weakness and lay for a time with his eyes closed.  He could
+hear the dull thunder of approaching hoofs; then he felt a silky
+muzzle touching his cheek and the tickle of a horse's mane.  He
+looked up at the animal, feeling her face and neck.  "You feel like
+Phyllis, but you are not Phyllis--you are all white," said the
+young man, as he patted her muzzle.  He could hear other horses
+coming, and quickly she, that was bending over him, reared with an
+open mouth and drove them away.  She returned again, her long mane
+falling on his face.  "Don't step on me," he entreated.  "'Remember
+in the day o' judgment God'll mind the look o' yer master.'" He
+took hold of those long, soft threads, and the horse lifted him
+gently to his feet, and they walked, his arm about her neck, his
+face in the ravelled silk of her mane.  "I don't know whose horse
+you are, even, or where you are taking me," he said.  They went
+down a long lane and came at length to a bar-way, and Trove crawled
+through.
+
+He saw near him a great white house--one he had never seen
+before--and a beautiful lady in the doorway.  He turned toward her,
+and it seemed a long journey to the door, although he knew it was
+only a few paces.  He fell heavily on the steps, and the woman gave
+a little cry of alarm.  She came quickly and bent over him.  His
+clothes were torn, his face pale and haggard, his eyes closed.
+
+"I am sick," he whispered faintly.
+
+"Theron! Theron! come here! Sidney is sick," he heard her calling.
+
+"Is it you, mother?" the boy whispered, feeling her face.  "I
+thought it was a great, white mansion here, and that you--that you
+were an angel."
+
+
+
+
+XXXI
+
+A Man Greater than his Trouble
+
+For a month the young man lay burning with fever, his brain boiled
+in hot blood until things hideous and terrible were swarming out of
+it, as if it were being baned of dragons.  Two months had passed
+before he was able to leave his bed.  He remembered only the glow
+of an Indian summer morning on wood and field, but when he rose
+they were all white with snow.  For weeks he had listened to the
+howl of the fir trees and had seen the frost gathering on his
+window, but knew not how swiftly the days had gone, so that when he
+looked out of doors and saw the midwinter he was filled with
+astonishment.
+
+"I must go," said he.
+
+"Not yet, my boy," said Mary Allen.  "You, are not strong enough."
+
+"Darrel has taken my trouble on him, and I must go."
+
+"I have heard you say it often since you fell on the doorstep,"
+said she, stroking his hand.  "There is a letter from him;" and she
+brought the letter and put it in his hands.  Trove opened it
+eagerly and read as follows:--
+
+
+"DEAR SIDNEY: It is Sunday night and all day I have been walking in
+the Blessed Isles.  And one was the Blessed Isle of remembrance
+where I met thee and we talked of all good things.  If I knew it
+were well with thee I should be quite happy, boy, quite happy.  I
+was a bit weary of travel and all the roads had grown long.  I miss
+the tick of the clocks, but my work is easy and I have excellent
+good friends.  I send thee my key.  Please deliver the red, tall
+clock to Betsy Hale, who lives on the road to Waterbury Hill, and
+kindly take that cheerful youngster from Connecticut--the one with
+the walnut case and a brass pendulum--to Mrs. Henry Watson.   You
+remember that ill-tempered Dutch thing, with a loud gong and a
+white dial, please take that to Harry Warner,  I put some work on
+them all but there's no charge.  The other clocks belong to me.  Do
+with them as thou wilt and with all that is mine.  The rent is paid
+to April.  Then kindly surrender the key.  Now can ye do all this
+for a man suffering the just punishment of many sins?  I ask it for
+old friendship and to increase the charity I saw growing in thy
+heart long ago.   At last I have word of thy father.  He died a
+peaceful, happy death, having restored the wealth that cursed him
+to its owner.  For his sake an' thine I am glad to know it.  Now
+between thee and the dear Polly there is no shadow.  Tell her
+everything.  May the good God bless and keep thee; but the long
+road of Happiness, that ye must seek and find.
+
+  "Yours truly,
+    "R. DARREL of the Blessed Isles."
+
+
+Trove read the letter many times, and, as he grew strong, he began
+to think with clearness and deliberation of his last night in
+Hillsborough.  Darrel was the greatest problem of all.  Pondering
+he saw, or thought he saw, the bottom of it.  Events were coming,
+however, that robbed him utterly of his conceit and all the hope it
+gave him.  The sad lines about his father kept him ever in some
+doubt.  A week more, and he was in the cutter one morning, behind
+Phyllis, on his way to Robin's Inn.  As he drew up at the old,
+familiar gate the boys ran out to meet him.  Somehow they were not
+the same boys--they were a bit more sober and timid.  Tunk came
+with a "Glad to see ye, mister," and took the mare.  The widow
+stood in the doorway, smiling sadly.
+
+"How is Polly?" said Trove.
+
+For a moment there was no answer.  He walked slowly to the steps,
+knowing well that some new blow was about to fall upon him.
+
+"She is better, but has been very sick," said the widow.
+
+Trove sat down without speaking and threw his coat open.
+
+"You, too, have been very sick," said Mrs. Vaughn.
+
+"Yes, very," said he.
+
+"I heard of it and went to your home one day, but you didn't know
+me."
+
+"Tell me, where is Polly?"
+
+"In school, and I am much worried."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Well, she's pretty, and the young men will not let her alone.
+There's one determined she shall marry him."
+
+"Is she engaged?"'
+
+"No, but--but, sir, I think she is nearly heartbroken."
+
+"I'm sorry," said Trove.  "Not that she may choose another, but
+that she lost faith in me."
+
+"Poor child!  Long ago she thought you had ceased to love her,"
+said the widow, her voice trembling,
+
+"I loved her as I can never love again," said he, his elbow resting
+on a table, his head leaning on his hand.  He spoke calmly.
+
+"Don't let it kill you, boy," said she.
+
+"No," he answered.  "A man must be greater than his trouble; I have
+work to do, and I shall not give up.  May I go and see Polly?"
+
+"Not now," said the widow, "give her time to find her own way.  If
+you deserve her love it will return to you."
+
+"I fear that you, too, have lost faith in me," said Trove.
+
+"No," she answered, "but surely Darrel is not the guilty one.  It's
+all such a mystery."
+
+"Mrs. Vaughn, do not suffer yourself to think evil of me or of
+Darrel.  If I do lose your daughter, I hope I may not lose your
+good opinion."  The young man spoke earnestly and his eyes were wet.
+
+"I shall not think evil of you," said the woman.
+
+Trove stood a moment, his hand upon the latch.
+
+"If there's anything I can do for you or for Polly," said he, "I
+should like to know it.  Let's hope for the best.  Some day you
+must let me come and--" he hesitated, his voice failing him for a
+moment, "and play a game of checkers," he added.
+
+Paul stood looking up at him sadly, his face troubled.
+
+"It's an evil day when the heart of a child is heavy," said Trove,
+bending over the boy.  "What is the first law, Paul?"
+
+"Thou shalt learn to obey," said the boy, quickly.
+
+"And who is the great master?"
+
+"Yourself."
+
+"Right, boy!  Let's command our hearts to be happy."
+
+The great, bare maple was harping dolefully in the wind.  Trove
+went for the mare, and Tunk rode down the hill with him in the
+cutter.
+
+"Things here ain't what they used t' be," said Tunk.
+
+"No?"
+
+"Widder, she takes on awful.  Great changes!"
+
+There was a moment of silence.
+
+"I ain't the same dum fool I used t' be," Tunk added presently.
+
+"What's happened to you?"
+
+"Well, they tol' me what you said about lyin'.  Ye know a man in
+the hoss business is apt t' git a leetle careless, but I ain't no
+such dum fool as I used t' be.  Have you heard that Teesey Tower
+was married?"
+
+"The old maid?"
+
+"Yes, sir; the ol' maid, to Deacon Haskins, an' he lives with 'em,
+an' now they're jes like other folks.  Never was so surprised since
+I was first kicked by a hoss."
+
+Tunk's conscience revived suddenly and seemed to put its hand over
+his mouth.
+
+"Joe Beach is goin' to be a doctor," Tunk went on presently.
+
+"I advised him to study medicine," Trove answered.
+
+"He's gone off t' school at Milldam an' is workin' like a beaver.
+He was purty rambunctious 'til you broke him to lead."
+
+They rode then to the foot of the hill in silence.
+
+"Seems so everything was changed," Tunk added as he left the
+cutter.  "Ez Tower has crossed the Fadden bridge.  Team run away
+an' snaked him over.  They say he don't speak to his hosses now."
+
+Trove went on thoughtfully.  Some of Tunk Hosely's talk had been as
+bread for his hunger, as a harvest, indeed, giving both seed and
+sustenance.  More clearly than ever he saw before him the great
+field of life where was work and the joy of doing it.  For a time
+he would be a teacher, but first there were other things to do.
+
+
+
+
+XXXII
+
+The Return of Thurst Tilly
+
+Trove sat in council with Mary and Theron Allen.  He was now in
+debt to the doctor; he needed money, also, for clothing and boots
+and an enterprise all had been discussing.
+
+"I'll give you three hundred dollars for the mare," said Allen.
+
+Trove sat in thoughtful silence, and, presently, Allen went out of
+doors.  The woman got her savings and brought them to her son.
+
+"There is twenty-three dollars, an' it may help you," she whispered.
+
+"No, mother; I can't take it," said the young man.  "I owe you more
+now than I can ever pay.  I shall have to sell the mare.  It's a
+great trial to me, but--but I suppose honour is better than horses."
+
+"Well, I've a surprise for you," said she, bringing a roll of cloth
+from the bedroom.  "Those two old maids spun the wool, and I wove
+it, and, see, it's all been fulled."
+
+"You're as good as gold, mother, and so are they.  It's grand to
+wear in the country, but I'm going away and ought to have an extra
+good suit.  I'd like to look as fine as any of the village boys,
+and they don't wear homespun.  But I'll have plenty of use for it."
+
+Next day he walked to Jericho Mills and paid the doctor.  He went
+on to Milldam, buying there a handsome new outfit of clothing.
+Then he called to see the President of the bank--that one which had
+set the dogs of the law on him.
+
+"You know I put three thousand dollars in the bank of
+Hillsborough," said Trove, when he sat facing the official.  "I
+took the money there, believing it to be mine.  If, however, it is
+yours, I wish to turn it over to you."
+
+"It is not our money," said the President.  "That bundle was sent
+here, and we investigated every bill--a great task, for there were
+some three hundred of them.  Many are old bills and two the issue
+of banks gone out of business.  It's all a very curious problem.
+They would not have received this money, but they knew of the
+robbery and suspected you at once.  Now we believe absolutely in
+your honour."
+
+"I shall put that beyond all question," said Trove, rising.
+
+He took the cars to Hillsborough.  There he went to the Sign of the
+Dial and built a fire in its old stove.  The clocks were now
+hushed.  He found those Darrel had written of and delivered them.
+Returning, he began to wind the cherished clocks of the tinker--old
+ones he had gathered here and there in his wandering--and to start
+their pendulums.  One of them--a tall clock in the corner with a
+calendar-dial--had this legend on the inner side of its door:--
+
+  "Halted in memory of a good man,
+  Its hands pointing to the moment of his death,
+  Its voice hushed in his honour."
+
+Trove shut the door of the old clock and hurried to the public
+attorney's office, where he got the address of Leblanc.  He met
+many who shook his hand warmly and gave him a pleasant word.  He
+was in great fear of meeting Polly, and thought of what he should
+do and say if he came face to face with her.  Among others he met
+the school principal.
+
+"Coming back to work?" the latter inquired.
+
+"No, sir; I've got to earn money."
+
+"We need another teacher, and I'll recommend you."
+
+"I'm much obliged, but I couldn't come before the fall term," said
+Trove.
+
+"I'll try to keep the place for you," said his friend, as they
+parted.
+
+Trove came slowly down the street, thinking how happy he could be
+now, if Darrel were free and Polly had only trusted him.  Near the
+Sign of the Dial he met Thurston Tilly.
+
+"Back again?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Back again.  Boss gi'n up farmin'."
+
+"Did he make his fortune?"
+
+"No, he had one give to him."
+
+"Come and tell me about it."
+
+Tilly followed Trove up the old stairway into the little shop.
+
+"Beg yer pardon," said Thurst, turning, as they sat down, "are you
+armed?"
+
+"No," said Trove, smiling.
+
+"A man shot me once when I wan't doin' nothin' but tryin' t' tell a
+story, an' I don't take no chances.  Do you remember my boss
+tellin' that night in the woods how he lost his money in the fire
+o' '35?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Wal, I guess it had suthin' t' do with that.  One day the boss an'
+me was out in the door-yard, an' a stranger come along.  'You're
+John Thompson,' says he to the boss; 'An' you're so an' so,' says
+the boss.  I don't eggzac'ly remember the name he give."  Tilly
+stopped to think.
+
+"Can you describe him?" Trove inquired.
+
+"He was a big man with white whiskers an' hair, an' he wore light
+breeches an' a short, blue coat."
+
+"Again the friend of Darrel," Trove thought.
+
+"Did you tell the tinker about your boss the night we were all at
+Robin's Inn last summer?"
+
+"I told him the whole story, an' he pumped me dry.  I'd answer him,
+an' he'd holler 'Very well,' an' shoot another question at me."
+
+"Well, Thurst, go on with your story."
+
+"Couldn't tell ye jest what happened.  They went off int' the
+house.  Nex' day the boss tol' me he wa'n't no longer a poor man
+an' was goin' t' sell his farm an' leave for Californy.  In a
+tavern near where we lived the stranger died sudden that night, an'
+the funeral was at our house, an' he was buried there in Iowy."
+
+Trove walked to the bench and stood a moment looking out of a
+window.
+
+"Strange!" said he, returning presently with tearful eyes.  "Do you
+remember the date?"
+
+"'Twas a Friday, 'bout the middle o' September."
+
+Trove turned, looking up at the brazen dial of the tall clock.  It
+indicated four-thirty in the morning of September 19th.
+
+"Were there any with him when he died?"
+
+"Yes, the tavern keeper--it was some kind of a stroke they told me."
+
+"And your boss--did he go to California?" Trove asked.
+
+"He sold the farm an' went to Californy.  I worked there a while,
+but the boss an' me couldn't agree, an' so I pulled up an' trotted
+fer home."
+
+"To what part of California did Thompson go?"
+
+"Hadn't no idee where he would stick his stakes.  He was goin' in
+t' the gold business."
+
+Trove sat busy with his own thoughts while Thurston Tilly, warming
+to new confidence, boiled over with enthusiasm for the far west.  A
+school friend of the boy came, by and by, whereupon Tilly whistled
+on his thumb and hurried away.
+
+"Did you know," said the newcomer, when Trove and he were alone,
+"that Roberts--the man who tried to send you up--is a young lawyer
+and is going to settle here?  He and Polly are engaged."
+
+"Engaged!"
+
+"So he gave me to understand."
+
+"Well, if she loves him and he's a good fellow, I 've no right to
+complain," Trove answered.
+
+"I don't believe that he's a good fellow," said the other.
+
+"Why do you say that?"
+
+"Well, a detective is--is--"
+
+"A necessary evil?" Trove suggested.
+
+"Just that," said the other.  "He must pretend to be what he isn't
+and--well, a gentleman is not apt to sell himself for that purpose,
+Now he's trying to convince people that you knew as much about the
+crime as Darrel.  In my opinion he isn't honest.  Good looks and
+fine raiment are all there is to that fellow--take my word for it."
+
+"You're inclined to judge him harshly," said Trove.  "But I'm
+worried, for I fear he's unworthy of her and---and I must leave
+town to-morrow."
+
+"Shall you go to see her?"
+
+"No; not until I know more about him.  I have friends here and they
+will give her good counsel.  Soon they'll know what kind of a man
+he is, and, if necessary, they'll warn her.  I'm beset with
+trouble, but, thank God, I know which way to turn."
+
+
+
+
+XXXIII
+
+The White Guard
+
+Next morning Trove was on his way to Quebec--a long, hard journey
+in the wintertime, those days.  Leblanc had moved again,--so they
+told him in Quebec,--this time to Plattsburg of Clinton County, New
+York.  There, however, Trove was unable to find the Frenchman.   A
+week of patient inquiry, then, leaving promises of reward for
+information, he came away.  He had yet another object of his
+travels--the prison at Dannemora--and came there of a Sunday
+morning late in February.  Its towers were bathed in sunlight; its
+shadows lay dark and far upon the snow.  Peace and light and
+silence had fallen out of the sky upon that little city of regret,
+as if to hush and illumine its tumult of dark passions.  He
+shivered in the gloom of its shadow as he went up a driveway and
+rang a bell.  The warden received him kindly.
+
+"I wish to see Roderick Darrel,---he is my friend,' said Trove, as
+he gave the warden a letter.
+
+"Come with me," said the official, presently.  "He is talking to
+the men."
+
+They passed through gloomy corridors to the chapel door.  Trove
+halted to compose himself, for now he could hear the voice of
+Darrel.
+
+"Let me stand here a while--I cannot go in now," he whispered.
+
+The words of the old man were vibrant with colour and dramatic
+force.
+
+
+"Night!" he was saying, "the guard passes; the lights are out; ye
+lie thinking.  Hark! a bell!  'Tis in the golden city o'
+remembrance.  Ye hear it calling.  Haste away, men, haste away.
+Ah, look!--flowers by the roadside! an' sunlight, an', just ahead,
+spires o' the city, an' beneath them--oh! what is there beneath
+them ye go so many times to see?
+
+"Who is this?
+
+"Here is a man beside ye.
+
+"'Halt!' he says, an cuts ye with a sword.
+
+"Now the bell is tolling--the sky overcast.  The spires fall, the
+flowers wither.  Ye turn to look at the man.  He is a giant.  See
+the face of him now.  It makes ye tremble.  He is the White Guard
+an' he brings ye back.  Ah, then, mayhap ye rise in the dark, as I
+have heard ye, an' shake the iron doors.  But ye cannot escape him
+though ye could fly on the wind.  Know ye the White Guard?  Dear
+man! his name is thy name; he is thyself; day an' night he sits in
+the watch tower o' thy soul; he has all charge o' thee.  Make a
+friend o' him, men, make a friend o' him.  Any evening send for me,
+an' mayhap they'll let me come an' tell thee how."
+
+
+He paused.  Trove could hear the tread of guards in the chapel.
+They seemed to enter the magnetic field of the speaker and quickly
+halted.
+
+
+"Mind the White Guard!  Save him ye have none to fear.
+
+"Once, at night, I saw a man smiling in his sleep.  'Twas over
+there in the hospital.  The day long he had been sick with remorse,
+an' I had given him, betimes, a word o' comfort as well as the
+medicine.  Now when I looked the frown had left his brow.  Oh,
+'twas a goodly sight to see!  He smiled an' murmured o' the days
+gone.  The man o' guilt lay dead--the child of innocence was
+living.  An' he woke, an' again the shadow fell upon him, an' he
+wept.
+
+"'I have been wandering in the land o' love,' he said.
+
+"'Get thee back, man, get thee back,' said I to him.
+
+"'Alas! how can I?' said he; 'for 'tis only Sleep that opens the
+door.'
+
+"'Nay, Sleep doth lift the garment o' thy bitterness, but only for
+an hour,' said I.  'Love, Love shall lift it from thee forever.'
+An' now, I thank the good God, the smile o' that brief hour is ever
+on his face.  Ye know him well, men.  Were I to bid him stand
+before ye, there's many here would wish to kiss his hand.  Even
+here in the frowning shadow o' these walls he has come into a land
+o' love, an' when he returns to his people ye shall weep, men, ye
+shall weep, an' they shall rejoice.  O the land o' love! it hath a
+strong gate.  An' the White Guard, he hath the key.
+
+"Remember, men, ye cannot reap unless ye sow.  If any would reap
+the corn, he must plant the corn.
+
+"Have ye stood of a bright summer day to watch the little people o'
+the field?--those millions that throng the grass an' fly in the
+sunlight--bird an' bee an' ant an' bug an' butterfly?  'Tis a land
+flowing with milk an' honey--but hear me, good men, not one o' them
+may take as much as would fill the mouth of a cricket unless he
+pays the price.
+
+"One day I saw an ant trying to rob a thistle-blow.  Now the law o'
+the field is that none shall have honey who cannot sow for the
+flower.  While a bee probes he gathers the seed-dust in his hairy
+jacket, an' away he flies, sowing it far an' wide.  Now, an ant is
+in no-wise able to serve a thistle-blow, but he is ever trying to
+rob her house.  Knowing her danger, she has put around it a
+wonderful barricade.  Down at the root her stem has a thicket o'
+fuzz an' hair.  I watched the little thief, an' he was a long time
+passing through it.  Then he came on a barrier o' horny-edged
+leaves.  Underneath they were covered with thick, webby hairs an'
+he sank over his head in them an' toiled long; an' lo! when he had
+passed them there was yet another row o' leaves curving so as to
+weary an' bewilder him, an' thick set with thorns.  Slowly he
+climbed, coming ever to some dread obstruction.  By an' by he stood
+looking up at the green, round wall o' the palace.   Above him were
+its treasure an' its purple dome.  He started upward an' fell
+suddenly into a moat, full o' sticky gum, an' there perished.  Men,
+'tis the law o' God: unless ye sow the seed that bears it, ye shall
+not have the honey o' forgiveness.  An' remember the seed o'
+forgiveness is forgiveness.  If any have been hard upon thee,
+bearing false witness an' robbing thee o' thy freedom an' thy good
+name, go not hence until ye forgive.
+
+"Ah, then the White Guard shall no longer sit in the tower."
+
+
+The voice had stopped.  There was a moment of deep silence.  Some
+power, greater, far greater, than his words, had gone out of the
+man.  Those many who sat before him and they standing there by the
+door had felt it and were deeply moved.  There was a quick stir in
+the audience--a stir of hands and handkerchiefs.  Trove entered;
+the chaplain was now reading a hymn.  Darrel sat behind him on a
+raised platform, the silken spray upon his brows, long and white as
+snow, his face thoughtful and serious.  The reading over, he came
+and sat among the men, singing as they sang.  The benediction, a
+stir of feet, and the prisoners began to press about him, some
+kissing his hands.  He gave each a kindly greeting.  It was like
+the night of the party on Cedar Hill.  A moment more, and the crowd
+was filing away, some looking back curiously at Trove, who stood,
+his arms about the old man.
+
+"Courage, boy!" the latter was saying; "I know it cuts thee like a
+sword, an' would to God I could have spared thee even this.  Look!
+in yon high window I can see the sunlight, an', believe me, there
+is not a creature it shines upon so happy as I.  God love thee,
+boy, God love thee!"
+
+He put his cheek upon that of the boy and stroked his hair gently.
+Then a little time of silence, and the storm had passed.
+
+"A fine, fine lad ye are," said Darrel, looking proudly at the
+young man, who stood now quite composed.  "Let me take thy hand.
+Ay, 'tis a mighty arm ye have, an' some day, some day it will shake
+the towers."
+
+"You will both dine with me in my quarters at one," said the
+warden, presently.
+
+Trove turned with a look of surprise.
+
+"Thank ye, sor; an' mind ye make room for Wit an' Happiness," said
+the tinker.
+
+"Bring them along--they're always welcome at my table," the warden
+answered with a laugh.
+
+"Know ye not they're in prison, now, for keeping bad company?" said
+Darrel, as he turned.  "At one, boy," he, added, shaking the boy's
+hand.  "Ah, then, good cheer an' many a merry jest."
+
+Darrel left the room, waving his hand.  Trove and the warden made
+their way to the prison office.
+
+"A wonderful man!" said the latter, as they went.  "We love and
+respect him and give him all the liberty we can.  For a long time
+he has been nursing in the hospital, and when I see that he is
+overworking I bring him to my office and set him at easy jobs."
+
+Darrel came presently, and they went to dinner.  The tinker bowed
+politely to the warden's wife and led her to the table.
+
+"Good friends," said he, as they were sitting down, "there is an
+hour that is short o' minutes an' yet holds a week o' pleasure--who
+pan tell me which hour it is?"
+
+"I never guessed a riddle," said the woman.
+
+"Marry, dear madam, 'tis the hour o' thy hospitality," said the old
+man.
+
+"When you are in it," she answered with good humour.
+
+"Fellow-travellers on the road to heaven," said Darrel, raising his
+glass, "St. Peter is fond of a smiling face."
+
+"And when you see him you'll make a jest," were the words of the
+warden.
+
+"For I believe he is a lover o' good company," said Darrel.
+
+The warden's wife remarked, then, that she had enjoyed his talk in
+the chapel.
+
+"I'm a new form o' punishment," said Darrel, soberly.
+
+"But they all enjoy it," she answered.
+
+"I'm not so rough as the ministers.  They use fire an' the fume o'
+sulphur."
+
+"And the men go to sleep."
+
+"Ay, the cruel master makes a thick hide," said Darrel, quickly.
+"So Nature puts her hand between the whip an' the horse, an' sleep
+between cruelty an' the congregation."
+
+"Nature is kind," was the remark of the warden.
+
+"An' shows the intent o' the Almighty," said Darrel.  "There are
+two words.  In them are all the sermons."
+
+"And what are they?" the woman asked.
+
+"Fear," Darrel answered thoughtfully; "that is one o' them."  He
+paused to sip his tea.
+
+"And the other is?"
+
+"Love."
+
+There was half a moment of silence.
+
+"Here's Life to Love an' Death to Fear," the tinker added, draining
+his cup.  "Ay, madam, fill again--'tis memorable tea."
+
+The woman refilled his cup.
+
+"Many a time I've sat at meat an' thought, O that mine enemy could
+taste thy tea!  But this, dear lady, this beverage is for a friend."
+
+So the dinner went on, others talking only to encourage the tongue
+of Darrel.  Trove, well as he knew the old man, had been surprised
+by his fortitude.  Far from being broken, the spirit in him was
+happy, masterful, triumphant.  He had work to do and was earning
+that high reward of happiness--to him the best thing under heaven.
+The dinner over, all rose, and Darrel bowed politely to the
+warden's wife.  Then he quoted:--
+
+  "'Like as the waves make toward the pebbled shore,
+  So do our minutes hasten to their end.'
+
+"Dear madam, they do hasten but to come as well as to go.  Thanks
+an' au revoir."
+
+Darrel and Trove went away with the warden, who bade them sit a
+while in his office.  Tinker and young man were there talking until
+the day was gone.  The warden sat apart, reading.  Now and again
+they whispered earnestly, as if they were not agreed, Darrel
+shaking his forefinger and his head, Trove came away as the dark
+fell, a sad and thoughtful look upon him.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIV
+
+More Evidence
+
+Trove went to the inn at Dannemora that evening he left Darrel and
+there found a letter.  It said that Leblanc was living near St.
+Albans.  Posted in Plattsburg and signed "Henry Hope," the letter
+gave no hint of bad faith, and with all haste he went to the place
+it named.  He was there a fortnight, seeking the Frenchman, but
+getting no word of him, and then came a new letter from the man
+Hope.  It said now that Leblanc had moved on to Middlebury.  Trove
+went there, spent the last of his money, and sat one day in the
+tavern office, considering what to do; for now, after weeks of
+wandering, he was, it seemed, no nearer the man he sought.  He had
+soon reached a thought of some value: this information of the
+unknown correspondent was, at least, unreliable, and he would give
+it no further heed.  What should he do?  On that point he was not
+long undecided, for while he was thinking of it a boy came and said:
+
+"There's a lady waiting to see you in the parlour, sir."
+
+He went immediately to the parlour above stairs, and there sat
+Polly in her best gown--"the sweetest-looking creature," he was
+wont to say, "this side of Paradise."  Polly rose, and his
+amazement checked his feet a moment.  Then he advanced quickly and
+would have kissed her, but she turned her face away and Stood
+looking down.  They were in a silence full of history.  Twice she
+tried to speak, but an odd stillness followed the first word,
+giving possibly the more adequate expression to her thoughts.
+
+"How came you here?" he whispered presently.
+
+"I--I have been trying to find you." said she, at length.
+
+He turned, looking from end to end of the large room; they were
+quite alone.
+
+"Polly," he whispered, "I believe you do love me."
+
+For a little time she made no answer.
+
+"No," she whispered, shaking her head; "that is, I--I do not think
+I love you."
+
+"Then why have you come to find me?"
+
+"Because--because you did not come to find me," she answered,
+glancing down at the toe of her pretty shoe.
+
+She turned impatiently and stood by an open window.  She was
+looking out upon a white orchard.  Odours of spring flower and
+apple blossom were in the soft wings of the wind.  Somehow they
+mingled with her feeling and were always in her memory of that
+hour.  Her arm moved slowly and a 'kerchief went to her eyes.
+Then, a little tremor in the plume upon her hat Trove went to her
+side.
+
+"Dear Polly!" he said, as he took her hand in his.  Gently she
+pulled it away.
+
+"I--I cannot speak to you now," she whispered.
+
+Then a long silence.  The low music of a million tiny wings came
+floating in at the window.  It seemed, somehow, like a voice of the
+past, with minutes, like the bees, hymning indistinguishably.
+Polly and Trove were thinking of the same things.  "I can doubt him
+no more," she thought, "and I know--I know that he loves me."  They
+could hear the flutter of bird wings beyond the window and in the
+stillness they got some understanding of each other.  She turned
+suddenly, and went to where he stood.
+
+"Sidney," she said, "I am sorry--I am sorry if I have hurt you."
+
+She lifted one of his hands and pressed her red cheek upon it
+fondly.  In a moment he spoke.
+
+"Long ago I knew that you were doubting me, but I couldn't help
+it," he said.
+
+"It was that--that horrible secret," she whispered.
+
+"I had no, right to your love," said he, "until--" he hesitated for
+a little, "until I could tell you the truth."
+
+"You loved somebody else?" she whispered, turning to him.  "Didn't
+you, now?  Tell me."
+
+"No," said he, calmly.  "The fact is--the fact is I had learned
+that my father was a thief."
+
+"Your father!" she answered.  "Do you think I care what your father
+did?  Your honour and your love were enough for me."
+
+"I did not know," he whispered, "and I should have made my way to
+you, but--" he paused again.
+
+"But what?" she demanded, impatiently.
+
+"Well, it was only fair you should have a chance to meet others,
+and I thought you were in love with Roberts."
+
+"Roberts!  He would have been glad of my love, I can tell you
+that."  She looked up at him.  "I have endured much for you, Sidney
+Trove, and I cannot keep my secret any longer.  He says that Darrel
+is now in prison for your crime."
+
+"And you believe him?" Trove whispered.
+
+"Not that," she answered quickly, "but you know I loved the dear
+old man; I cannot think him guilty any more than I could think it
+of you.  But there's a deep mystery in it all.  It has made me
+wretched.  Every one thinks you know more than you have told about
+it."
+
+"A beautiful mystery!" the young man whispered.  "He thought I
+should be convicted--who wouldn't?  I think he loved me, so that he
+took the shame and the suffering and the prison to save me."
+
+"He would have died for you," she answered; "but, Sidney, it was
+dreadful to let them take him away.  Couldn't you have done
+something?"
+
+"Something, dear Polly! and I with a foot in the grave?"
+
+"Where did you go that night?"
+
+"I do not know; but in the morning I found myself in our great
+pasture and was ill.  Some instinct led me home, and, as usual, I
+had gone across lots."  Then he told the story of that day and
+night and the illness that followed.
+
+"I, too, was ill," said Polly, "and I thought you were cruel not to
+come to me.  When I began to go out of doors they told me you were
+low with fever.  Then I got ready to go to you, and that very day I
+saw you pass the door.  I thought surely you would come to see me,
+but--but you went away."
+
+Polly's lips were trembling, and she covered her eyes a moment with
+her handkerchief.
+
+"I feared to be unwelcome," said he.
+
+"You and every one, except my mother, was determined that I should
+marry Roberts," Polly went on.  "He has been urgent, but you,
+Sidney, you wouldn't have me.  You have done everything you could
+to help him.  Now I've found you, and I'm going to tell you all,
+and you've got to listen to me.  He has proof, he says, that you
+are guilty of another crime, and--and he says you are now a
+fugitive trying to escape arrest."
+
+A little silence followed, in which Trove was thinking of the Hope
+letters and of Roberts' claim that he was engaged to Polly.
+
+"You have been wrapped in mysteries long enough.  I shall not let
+you go until you explain," she continued.
+
+"There's no mystery about this," said Trove, calmly.  "Roberts is a
+rascal, and that's the reason I'm here."
+
+She turned quickly with a look of surprise.
+
+"I mean it.  He knows I am guilty of no crime, but he does know
+that I am looking for Louis Leblanc, and he has fooled me with
+lying letters to keep me out of the way and win you with his guile."
+
+A serious look came into the eyes of Polly.
+
+"You are looking for Louis Leblanc," she whispered.
+
+"Yes; it is the first move in a plan to free Darrel, for I am sure
+that Leblanc committed the crime.  I shall know soon after I meet
+him."
+
+"How?"
+
+"If he should have a certain mark on the back of his left hand and
+were to satisfy me in two other details, I'd give my life to one
+purpose,--that of making him confess.  God help me! I cannot find
+the man.  But I shall not give up; I shall go and see the Governor."
+
+Turning her face away and looking out of the window, she felt for
+his hand.  Then she pressed it fondly.  That was the giving of all
+sacred things forever, and he knew it.  He was the same Sidney
+Trove, but never until that day had she seen the full height of his
+noble manhood, ever holding above its own the happiness of them it
+loved.  Suddenly her heart was full with thinking of the power and
+beauty of it.
+
+"I do love you, Polly," said Trove, at length.  "I've answered your
+queries,--all of them,--and now it's my turn.  If we were at
+Robin's Inn, I should put my arms about you, and I should not let
+you go until--until you had promised to be my wife."
+
+"And I should not promise for at least an hour," said she, smiling,
+as she turned, her dark eyes full of their new discovery.  "Let us
+go home."
+
+"I'm going to be imperative," said he, "and you must answer before
+I will let you go--"
+
+"Dear Sidney," said she, "let's wait until we reach home.  It's too
+bad to spoil it here.  But--" she whispered, looking about the
+room, "you may kiss me once now."
+
+"It's like a tale in _Harper's_," said he, presently.  "It's 'to be
+continued,' always, at the most exciting passage."
+
+"I shall take the cars at one o'clock," said she, smiling.  "But I
+shall not allow you to go with me.  You know the weird sisters."
+
+"It would be impossible," said Trove.  "I must get work somewhere;
+my money is gone."
+
+"Money!" said she, opening her purse.  "I'm a Lady Bountiful.
+Think of it--I've two hundred dollars here.  Didn't you know Riley
+Brooke cancelled the mortgage?  Mother had saved this money for a
+payment."
+
+"Cancelled the mortgage!" said Trove.
+
+"Yes, the dear old tinker repaired him, and now he's a new man.
+I'll give you a job, Sidney."
+
+"What to do?"
+
+"Go and see the Governor, and then--and then you are to report to
+me at Robin's Inn.  Mind you, there's to be no delay, and I'll pay
+you--let's see, I'll pay you a hundred dollars."
+
+Trove began to laugh, and thought of this odd fulfilling of the
+ancient promises.
+
+"I shall stay to-night with a cousin at Burlington.  Oh, there's
+one more thing--you're to get a new suit of clothes at Albany, and,
+remember, it must be very grand."
+
+It was near train time, and they left the inn.
+
+"I'm going to tell you everything," said she, as they were on their
+way to the depot.  "The day after to-morrow I am to see that
+dreadful Roberts.  I'm longing to give him his answer."
+
+Not an hour before then Roberts had passed them on his way to
+Boston.
+
+
+
+
+XXXV
+
+At the Sign of the Golden Spool[1]
+
+[1 The author desires to say that this chapter relates to no shop
+now in existence.]
+
+It was early May and a bright morning in Hillsborough.  There were
+lines of stores and houses on either side of the main thoroughfare
+from the river to Moosehead Inn, a long, low, white building that
+faced the public square.  Hunters coming off its veranda and gazing
+down the street, as if sighting over gun-barrels at the bridge,
+were wont to reckon the distance "nigh on to forty rod."  There
+were "Boston Stores" and "Great Emporiums" and shops, modest as
+they were small, in that forty rods of Hillsborough.  Midway was a
+little white building, its eaves within reach of one's hand, its
+gable on the line of the sidewalk overhanging which, from a crane
+above the door, was a big, golden spool.  In its two windows were
+lace and ribbons and ladies' hats and spools of thread, and blue
+shades drawn high from seven o'clock in the morning until dark.  It
+was the little shop of Ruth Tole--a house of Fate on the way from
+happening to history.  There secrets, travel-worn, were nourished a
+while and sent on their way; reputations were made over and often
+trimmed with excellent taste and discrimination.  The wicked might
+prosper for a time, but by and by the fates were at work on them,
+there in the little shop, and then every one smiled as the sinner
+passed, with the decoration of his rank upon him.  And the sinner
+smiled also, seeing not the badge on his own back but only that on
+the back of his brother, and was highly pleased, for, if he had sin
+deeper than his brother's he had some discretion.  Relentless and
+not over-just were they of this weird sisterhood.  Since the time
+of the gods they have been without honour but never without work,
+and often they have had a better purpose than they knew.  Those of
+Hillsborough did their work as if with a sense of its great
+solemnity.  There was a flavour of awe in their nods and whispers,
+and they seemed to know they were touching immortal souls.  But now
+and then they put on the masque of comedy.
+
+Ruth Tole was behind the counter, sorting threads.  She was a
+maiden of middle life and severe countenance, of few and decisive
+words.  The door of the little shop was ajar, and near it a woman
+sat knitting.  She had a position favourable for eye and ear.  She
+could see all who passed, on either side of the way, and not a word
+or move in the shop escaped her.  In the sisterhood she bore the
+familiar name of Lize.  She had been talking about that old case of
+Riley Brooke and the Widow Glover.
+
+"Looks to me," said she, thoughtfully, as she tickled her scalp
+with a knitting-needle, "that she took the kinks out o' him.  He's
+a good deal more respectable."
+
+"Like a panther with his teeth pulled," said a woman who stood by
+the counter, buying a spool of thread.  "Ain't you heard how they
+made up?"
+
+"Land sakes, no!" said the sister Lize, hurriedly finishing a
+stitch and then halting her fingers to pull the yarn.
+
+The shopkeeper began rolling ribbons with a look of indifference.
+She never took part in the gossip and, although she loved to hear
+it, had, mostly, the air of one without ears.
+
+"Well, that old tinker gave 'em both a good talking to," said the
+customer.  "He brings 'em face to face, and he says to him, says
+he, 'In the day o' the Judgment God'll mind the look o' your wife,'
+and then he says the same to her."
+
+"Singular man!" said the comely sister Lize, who now resumed her
+knitting.
+
+"He never robbed that bank, either, any more 'n I did."
+
+"Men ain't apt to claim a sin that don't belong to 'em--that's my
+opinion."
+
+"He did it to shield another."
+
+"Sidney Trove?" was the half-whispered query of the sister Lize.
+
+"Trove, no!" said the other, quickly.  "It was that old man with a
+gray beard who never spoke to anybody an' used to visit the tinker."
+
+She was interrupted by a newcomer--a stout woman of middle age who
+fluttered in, breathing heavily, under a look of pallor and
+agitation.
+
+"Sh-h-h!" said she, lifting a large hand.  She sank upon a chair,
+fanning herself.  She said nothing for a little, as if to give the
+Recording Angel a chance to dip her pen.  The customer, who was now
+counting a box of beads, turned quickly, and she that was called
+Lize dropped her knitting.
+
+"What is it, Bet, for mercy's sake?" said the latter.
+
+"Have you heard the news?" said she that was called Bet.
+
+"Land sakes, no!" said both the others.
+
+Then followed a moment of suspense, during which the newcomer sat
+biting her under lip, a merry smile in her face.  She was like a
+child dallying with a red plum.
+
+"You're too provoking!" said the sister Lize, impatiently.   "Why
+do you keep us hanging by the eyebrows?"  She pulled her yarn with
+some violence, and the ball dropped to the floor, rolling half
+across it.
+
+"Sh-h-h!" said the dear sister Bet again.  Another woman had
+stopped by the door.  Then a scornful whisper from the sister Lize.
+
+"It's that horrible Kate Tredder.  Mercy!  is she coming in?"
+
+She came in.  Long since she had ceased to enjoy credit or
+confidence at the little shop.
+
+"Nice day," said she.
+
+The sister Lize moved impatiently and picked up her work.  This
+untimely entrance had left her "hanging by the eyebrows" and red
+with anxiety.  She gave the newcomer a sweeping glance, sighed and
+said, "Yes."  The sister Bet grew serious and began tapping the
+floor with her toe.
+
+"I've been clear 'round the square," said Mrs. Tredder, "an' I
+guess I'll sit a while.  I ain't done a thing to-day, an' I don't
+b'lieve I'll try 'til after dinner.  Miss Tole, you may give me
+another yard o' that red silk ribbon."
+
+She sat by the counter, and Miss Tole sniffed a little and began to
+measure the ribbon.  She was deeply if secretly offended by this
+intrusion.
+
+"What's the news?" said the newcomer, turning to the sister Bet.
+
+"Oh, nothing!" said the other, wearily.
+
+"Ain't you heard about that woman up at the Moosehead?"
+
+"Heard all I care to," said the sister Bet, with jealous feeling.
+Here was another red plum off the same tree.
+
+"What about her?" said the sister Lize, now reaching on tiptoe, as
+it were.  The sister Bet rose impatiently and made for the door.
+
+"Going?" said she that was called Lize, a note of alarm in her
+voice.
+
+"Yes; do you think I've nothing else to do but sit here and
+gossip," said sister Bet, disappearing suddenly, her face red.
+
+The newcomer sat in a thoughtful attitude, her elbow on the counter.
+
+"Well?" said the sister Lize.
+
+"You all treat me so funny here I guess I'll go," said Mrs.
+Tredder, who now got up, her face darkening, and hurried away.
+They of the plums had both vanished.
+
+"Wretch!" said the sister Lize, hotly; "I could have choked her."
+She squirmed a little, moving her chair roughly.
+
+"She's forever sticking her nose into other people's business,"
+were the words of the customer who was counting beads.  She seemed
+to be near the point of tears.
+
+"Maybe that's why it's so red," the other answered with unspeakable
+contempt.  "I'm so mad I can hardly sit still."
+
+She wound her yarn close and stuck her needle into the ball.
+
+"Thank goodness!" said she, suddenly; "here comes Serene."
+
+The sister Serene Davis, a frail, fair lady, entered.
+
+"Well," said the latter, "I suppose you've heard--" she paused to
+get her breath.
+
+"What?" said the sister Lize, in a whisper, approaching the new
+arrival.
+
+"My heart is all in a flutter--don't hurry me."
+
+The sister Lize went to the door and closed it.  Then she turned
+quickly, facing the other woman.
+
+"Serene Davis," she began solemnly, "you'll never leave this room
+alive until you tell us."
+
+"Can't you let a body enjoy herself a minute?"
+
+"Tell me," she insisted, threatening with a needle.
+
+Ruth Tole regarded them with a look of firmness which seemed to
+say, "Stab her if she doesn't tell."
+
+"Well," said the sister Serene, "you know that stylish young widow
+that came a while ago to the Moosehead--the one that wore the
+splendid black silk the night o' the ball?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She was a detective,"--this in a whisper.
+
+"What!" said the other two, awesomely.
+
+"A detective."
+
+Then a quick movement of chairs and a pulling of yarn.  Ruth
+dropped a spool of thread which rattled, as it fell, and rolled a
+space and lay neglected.
+
+The sister Serene was now laughing.
+
+"It's ridiculous!" she remarked.
+
+"Go on," said the others, and one of them added, "Land sakes! don't
+stop now."
+
+"Well, she got sick the other day and sent for a lawyer, an' who do
+you suppose it was?"
+
+"I dunno," said Ruth Tole.  The words had broken away from her, and
+she covered her mouth, quickly, and began to look out of the
+window.  The speaker had begun to laugh again.
+
+"'Twas Dick Roberts," she went on.  "He went over to the tavern;
+she lay there in bed and had a nurse in the room with her--a woman
+she got in Ogdensburg.  She tells the young lawyer she wants him to
+make her will.  Then she describes her property and he puts it
+down.  There was a palace in Wales and a castle on the Rhine and
+pearls and diamonds and fifty thousand pounds in a foreign bank,
+and I don't know what all.  Well, ye know, she was pert and
+handsome, and he began to take notice."
+
+The sisters looked from one to another and gave up to gleeful
+smiles, but Ruth was, if anything, a bit firmer than before.
+
+"Next day he brought her some flowers, and she began to get better.
+Then he took her out to ride.  One night about ten o'clock the
+nurse comes into the room sudden like, and finds him on his knees
+before the widow, kissing her dress an' talking all kinds o'
+nonsense."
+
+"Here! stop a minute," said the sister Lize, who had now dropped
+her knitting and begun to fan herself.  "You take my breath away."
+The details were too important for hasty consideration.
+
+"Makin' love?" said she with the beads, thoughtfully.
+
+"I should think likely," said the other, whereupon the three began
+to laugh again.  Their merriment over, through smiles they gave
+each other looks of dreamy reflection.
+
+"Now go on," said the sister Lize, leaning forward, her chin upon
+her hands.
+
+"There he knelt, kissing her dress," the narrator continued.
+
+"Why didn't he kiss her face?"
+
+"Because she wouldn't let him, I suppose."
+
+"Oh!" said the others, nodding their heads, thoughtfully.
+
+"When the nurse came," the sister Serene continued, "the widow went
+to a desk and wrote a letter and brought it to Dick.  Then says the
+widow, says she: 'You take this to my uncle in Boston.  If you can
+make him give his consent, I'd be glad to see you again.'
+
+"Dick, he rushed off that very evening an' took the cars at Madrid.
+What do you suppose the letter said?"
+
+The sister Serene began to shake with laughter.
+
+"What?" was the eager demand of the two sisters.
+
+"Well, the widow told the nurse and she told Mary Jones and Mary
+told me.  The letter was kind o' short and about like this:--
+
+"'Pardon me for introducing a scamp by the name of Roberts.  He's
+engaged to a very sweet young lady and has the impudence to make
+love to me.  I wish to get him out of this town for a while, and
+can't think of any better way.  Don't use him too roughly.  He was
+a detective once himself.'
+
+"Well, in a couple of days the widow got a telegraph message from
+her uncle, an' what do you suppose it said?"
+
+The sister Serene covered her face and began to quiver.  The other
+two were leaning toward her, smiling, their mouths open.
+
+"What was it?" said the sister Lize.
+
+"'Kicked him downstairs,'" the narrator quoted.
+
+"Y!" the two whispered.
+
+"Good enough for him."  It was the verdict of the little
+shopkeeper, sharply spoken, as she went on with her work.
+
+"So I say,"--this from the other three, who were now quite serious.
+
+"He'd better not come back here," said the sister Lize.
+
+"He never will, probably."
+
+"Who employed the widow?"
+
+"Nobody knows," said the sister Serene.  "Before she left town she
+had a check cashed, an' it come from Riley Brooke.  Some think
+Martha Vaughn herself knows all about it.  Sh-h-h! there goes
+Sidney Trove."
+
+"Ain't he splendid looking?" said she with the beads.
+
+Ruth Tole had opened the door, and they were now observing the
+street and those who were passing in it.
+
+"One of these days there'll be some tall love-making up there at
+the Widow Vaughn's," said she that was called Lize.
+
+"Like to be behind the door"--this from her with the beads.
+
+"I wouldn't," said the sister Serene.
+
+"No, you wouldn't!"
+
+"I'd rather be up next to the young man." A merry laugh, and then a
+sigh from the sister Lize, who looked a bit dreamy and began to
+tickle her head with a knitting-needle.
+
+"What are you sighing for?" said she with the beads,
+
+"Oh, well," said the other, yawning, "it makes me think o' the time
+when I was a girl."
+
+"Look! there's Jeanne Brulet,"--it was a quick whisper.
+
+They gathered close and began to shake their heads and frown.  Now,
+indeed, they were as the Fates of old.
+
+"Look at her clothes," another whispered.
+
+"They're better than I can wear.  I'd like to know where she gets
+the money."
+
+Then a look from one to the other--a look of fateful import, soon
+to travel far, and loose a hundred tongues.  That moment the bowl
+was broken, but the weird sisters knew not the truth.
+
+She that was called Lize, put up her knitting and rose from her
+chair.
+
+"There's work waiting for me at home," said she.
+
+"Quilting?"
+
+"No; I'm working on a shroud."
+
+
+
+
+XXXVI
+
+The Law's Approval
+
+Trove had come to Hillsborough that very hour he passed the Golden
+Spool.  In him a touch of dignity had sobered the careless eye of
+youth.  He was, indeed, a comely young man, his attire fashionable,
+his form erect.  Soon he was on the familiar road to Robin's Inn.
+There was now a sprinkle of yellow in the green valley; wings of
+azure and of gray in the sunlight; a scatter of song in the
+silence.  High on distant hills, here and there, was a little bank
+of snow.  These few dusty rags were all that remained of the great
+robe of winter.  Men were sowing and planting.  In the air was an
+odour of the harrowed earth, and up in the hills a shout of
+greeting came out of field or garden as Trove went by.
+
+It was a walk to remember, and when he had come near the far side
+of Pleasant Valley he could see Polly waving her hand to him at the
+edge of the maple grove.
+
+"Supper is waiting," said she, merrily, as she came to meet him.
+"There's blueberries, and biscuit, and lots of nice things."
+
+"I'm hungry," said be; "but first, dear, let us enjoy love and
+kisses."
+
+Then by the lonely road he held her close to him, and each could
+feel the heart-beat of the other; and for quite a moment speech
+would have been most idle and inadequate.
+
+"Now the promise, Polly," said he soon.  "I go not another step
+until I have your promise to be my wife."
+
+"You do not think I'd let one treat me that way unless I expected
+to marry him, do you ?" said Polly, as she fussed with a ribbon
+bow, her face red with blushes.  "You've mussed me all up."
+
+"I'm to be a teacher in the big school, and if you were willing, we
+could be married soon."
+
+"Oh, dear!" said she, sighing, and looking up at him with a smile;
+"I'm too happy to think."  Then followed another moment of silence,
+in which the little god, if he were near them, must have smiled.
+
+"Won't you name the day now?" he insisted.
+
+"Oh, let's keep that for the next chapter!" said she.  "Don't you
+know supper is waiting?"
+
+"It's all like those tales 'to be continued in our next,'" he
+answered with a laugh.
+
+Then they walked slowly up the long hill, arm in arm.
+
+"How very grand you look!" said she, proudly.  "Did you see the
+Governor?"
+
+"Yes, but he can do nothing now.  It's the only cloud in the sky."
+
+"Dear old man!" said Polly.  "We'll find a way to help him."
+
+"But he wouldn't thank us for help--there's the truth of it," said
+Trove, quickly.  "He's happy and content.  Here is a letter that
+came to-day.  'Dear Sidney,' he writes.  'Think of all I have said
+to thee, an', if ye remember well, boy, it will bear thee up.  Were
+I, indeed, as ye believe, drinking the cup o' bitterness for thy
+sake, know ye not the law will make it sweet for me?  After all I
+have said to thee, are ye not prepared?  Is my work wasted; is the
+seed fallen upon the rocks?  And if ye hold to thy view,
+consider--would ye rob the dark world o' the light o' sacrifice?
+"Nay," ye will answer.  Then I say: "If ye would give me peace, go
+to thy work, boy, and cease to waste thyself with worry and foolish
+wandering."'
+
+"Somehow it puts me to shame," said Trove, as he put the letter in
+his pocket.  "I'm so far beneath him.  I shall obey and go to work
+and pray for the speedy coming of God's justice."
+
+"It's the only thing to do," said she.  "Sidney, I hope now I have
+a right to ask if you know who is your father?"
+
+"I believe him to be dead."
+
+"Dead!" there was a note of surprise in the word.
+
+"I know not even his name."
+
+"It is all very strange," said Polly.  In a moment she added, "I
+hope you will forgive my mother if she seemed to doubt you."
+
+"I forgive all," said the young man.  "I know it was hard to
+believe me innocent."
+
+"And impossible to believe you guilty.  She was only waiting for
+more light."
+
+The widow and her two boys came out to meet them.
+
+"Mother, behold this big man!  He is to be my husband." The girl
+looked up at him proudly.
+
+"And my son?" said Mrs. Vaughn, with a smile, as she kissed him.
+"You've lost no time."
+
+"Oh!  I didn't intend to give up so soon," said Polly, "but--but
+the supper would have been ruined."
+
+"It's now on the table," said Mrs. Vaughn.
+
+"I've news for you," said Polly, as they were sitting down.  "Tunk
+has reformed."
+
+"He must have been busy," said Trove, "and he's ruined his epitaph."
+
+"His epitaph?"
+
+"Yes; that one Darrel wrote for him: 'Here lies Tunk.  O Grave!
+where is thy victory?'"
+
+"Tunk has one merit: he never deceived any one but himself," said
+the widow.
+
+"Horses have run away with him," Trove continued.  "His character
+is like a broken buggy; and his imagination--that's the unbroken
+colt.  Every day, for a long time, the colt has run away with the
+wagon, tipping it over and dragging it in the ditch, until every
+bolt is loose, and every spoke rattling, and every wheel awry.  I
+do hope he's repaired his 'ex.'"
+
+"He walks better and complains less," the widow answered.
+
+"Often he stands very straight and walks like you," said Polly,
+laughing.
+
+"He thinks you are the only great man," so spoke the widow.
+
+"Gone from one illusion to another," said Trove.  "It's a lesson;
+every one should go softly.  Tom, will you now describe the
+melancholy feat of Theophilus Thistleton?"
+
+The fable was quickly repeated.
+
+"That Mr. Thistleton was a foolish fellow, and there's many like
+him," said Trove.  "He had better have been thrusting blueberries
+into his mouth.  I declare!" he added, sitting back with a look of
+surprise, "I'm happy again."
+
+"And we are going to keep you so," Polly answered with decision.
+
+"Darrel would tell me that I am at last in harmony with a great law
+which, until now, I have been defying.  It is true; I have thought
+too much of my own desires."
+
+"I do not understand you," said Polly.  "Now, we heard of the shot
+and iron--how you came by them and how, one night, you threw them
+into the river at Hillsborough.  That led, perhaps, to most of your
+trouble.  I'd like to know what moral law you were breaking when
+you flung them into the river?"
+
+"A great law," Trove answered; "but one hard to phrase."
+
+"Suppose you try."
+
+"The innocent shall have no fear," said he.  "Until then I had kept
+the commandment."
+
+There was a little time of silence.
+
+"If you watch a coward, you'll see a most unhappy creature."  It
+was Trove who spoke.  "Darrel said once, 'A coward is the prey of
+all evil and the mark of thunderbolts.'"
+
+"I'll not admit you're a coward," were the words of Polly.
+
+"Well," said he, rising, "I had fear of only one thing,--that I
+should lose your love."
+
+Reaching home next day, Trove found that Allen had sold Phyllis.
+The mare had been shipped away.
+
+"She brought a thousand dollars," said his foster father, "and I'll
+divide the profit with you."
+
+The young man was now able to pay his debt to Polly, but for the
+first time he had a sense of guilt.
+
+Trove bought another filly--a proud-stepping great-granddaughter of
+old Justin Morgan.
+
+A rough-furred, awkward creature, of the size of a small dog, fled
+before him, as he entered the house in Brier Dale, and sought
+refuge under a table.  It was a young painter which Allen had
+captured back in the deep woods, after killing its dam.  Soon it
+rushed across the floor, chasing a ball of yarn, but quickly got
+under cover.  Before the end of that day Trove and the new pet were
+done with all distrust of each other.  The big cat grew in size and
+playful confidence.  Often it stalked the young man with still foot
+and lashing tail, leaping stealthily over chairs and, betimes,
+landing upon Trove's back.
+
+     *     *     *     *     *     *
+
+It was a June day, and Trove was at Robin's Inn.  A little before
+noon Polly and he and the two boys started for Brier Dale.  They
+waded the flowering meadows in Pleasant Valley, crossed a great
+pasture, and came under the forest roof.  Their feet were muffled
+in new ferns.  Their trail wavered up the side of a steep ridge,
+and slanted off in long loops to the farther valley.  There it
+crossed a brook and, for a mile or more, followed the mossy banks.
+On a ledge, mottled with rock velvet, by a waterfall, they sat down
+to rest, and Polly opened the dinner basket.  Somehow the music and
+the minted breath of the water and the scent of the moss and the
+wild violet seemed to flavour their meal.  Tom had brought a small
+gun with him, and, soon after they resumed their walk, saw some
+partridges and fired upon them.  All the birds flew save a hen that
+stood clucking with spread wings.  Coming close, they could see her
+eyes blinking in drops of blood.  Trove put his hand upon her, but
+she only bent her head a little and spread her wings the wider.
+
+"Tom," said he, "look at this little preacher of the woods.  Do you
+know what she's saying?"
+
+"No," said the boy, soberly.
+
+"Well, she's saying: 'Look at me and see what you've done.
+Hereafter, O boy! think before you pull the trigger.'  It's a pity,
+but we must finish the job."
+
+As they came out upon Brier Road the boys found a nest of hornets.
+It hung on a bough above the roadway.  Soon Paul had flung a stone
+that broke the nest open.  Hornets began to buzz around them, and
+all ran for refuge to a thicket of young firs.  In a moment they
+could hear a horse coming at a slow trot.  Trove peered through the
+bushes.  He could see Ezra Tower--that man of scornful piety--on a
+white horse.  Trove shouted a warning, but with no effect.
+Suddenly Tower broke his long silence, and the horse began to run.
+The little party made a detour, and came again to the road.
+
+"He did speak to the hornets," said Polly.
+
+"Swore, too," said Paul.
+
+"Nature has her own way with folly; you can't hold your tongue when
+she speaks to you," Trove answered.
+
+Near sunset, they came into Brier Dale.  Tunk was to be there at
+supper time, and drive home with Polly and her brothers.  The widow
+had told him not to come by the Brier Road; it would take him past
+Rickard's Inn, where he loved to tarry and display horsemanship.
+
+Mary Allen met them at the door.
+
+"Mother, here is my future wife," said Trove, proudly.
+
+Then ruddy lips of youth touched the faded cheek of the good woman.
+
+"We shall be married in September," said Trove, tossing his hat in
+the air.  "We're going to have a grand time, and mind you, mother,
+no more hard work for you.  Where is Tige?"  Tige was the young
+painter.
+
+"I don't know," said Mary Allen.  "He's up in a tree somewhere,
+maybe.  Come in, all of you; supper's ready."
+
+While they were eating.  Trove heard a sound of wheels, and went to
+the door.  Tunk had arrived.  He had a lump, the size of an
+apple,-on his forehead; another on his chin.  As Trove approached
+him, he spat over a front wheel, and sat looking down sadly.
+
+"Tunk, what's the matter ?"
+
+"Kicked," said he, with growing sadness.
+
+"A horse?" Trove inquired, with sympathy.
+
+Tunk thought a moment.
+
+"Couldn't say what 'twas," he answered presently.
+
+"I fear," said Trove, smiling, "that you came by the Brier Road."
+
+Suddenly there was a quick stir of boughs and a flash of tawny fur
+above them.  Then the young painter landed full on the back of
+Tunkhannock Hosely.  There was a wild yell; the horse leaped and
+ran, breaking through a fence and wrecking the wagon; the painter
+spat, and made for the woods, and was seen no more of men.  Tunk
+had picked up an axe, and climbed a ladder that stood leaning to
+the roof.  Trove and Allen caught the frightened horse.
+
+"Now," said the former, "let's try and capture Tunk."
+
+"He's taken to the roof," said Allen.
+
+"Where's that air painter?" Tunk shouted, as they came near.
+
+"Gone to the woods."
+
+"Heavens!" said Tunk, gloomily.  "I'm all tore up; there ain't
+nothin' left o' me--boots full o' blood.  I tell ye this country's
+a leetle too wild fer me."
+
+He came down the ladder slowly, and sat on the step and drew off
+his boots.  There was no blood in them.  Trove helped him remove
+his coat; all, save his imagination, was unharmed.
+
+"Wal," said he, thoughtfully, "that's what ye git fer doin' suthin'
+ye hadn't ought to.  I ain't goin' t' take no more chances."
+
+
+
+
+XXXVII
+
+The Return of Santa Claus
+
+Did ye hear the cock crow?  By the beard of my father, I'd
+forgotten you and myself and everything but the story.  It's near
+morning, and I've a weary tongue.  Another log and one more pipe.
+Then, sir, then I'll let you go.  I'm near the end.
+
+"Let me see--it's a winter day in New York City, after four years.
+The streets are crowded.  Here are men and women, but I see only
+the horses,--you know, sir, how I love them.  They go by with heavy
+truck and cab, steaming, straining', slipping in the deep snow.
+You hear the song of lashes, the whack of whips, and, now and then,
+the shout of some bedevilled voice.  Horses fall, and struggle, and
+lie helpless, and their drivers--well, if I were to watch them
+long, I should be in danger of madness and hell-fire.  Well, here
+is a big stable.  A tall man has halted by its open door, and
+addresses the manager.
+
+"'I learn that you have a bay mare with starred face and a white
+stocking.'  It is Trove who speaks.
+
+"'Yes; there she is, coming yonder.'
+
+"The mare is a rack of bones, limping, weary, sore.  But see her
+foot lift!  You can't kill the pride of the Barbary.  She falters;
+her driver lashes her over the head.  Trove is running toward her.
+He climbs a front wheel, and down comes the driver.  In a minute
+Trove has her by the bit.  He calls her by name--Phyllis!  The slim
+ears begin to move.  She nickers.  God, sir! she is trying to see
+him.  One eye is bleeding, the other blind.  His arms go round her
+neck, sir, and he hides his face in her mane.  That mare you
+ride--she is the granddaughter of Phyllis.  I'd as soon think of
+selling my wife.  Really, sir, Darrel was right.  God'll mind the
+look of your horses."
+
+
+So spake an old man sitting in the firelight.  Since they sat down
+the short hand of the clock had nearly circled the dial.  There was
+a little pause.  He did love a horse--that old man of the hills.
+
+"Trove went home with the mare," he continued.  "She recovered the
+sight of one eye, and had a box-stall and the brook pasture--you
+know, that one by the beech grove.  He got home the day before
+Christmas.  Polly met him at the depot--a charming lady, sir, and a
+child of three was with her,--a little girl, dark eyes and flaxen,
+curly hair.  You remember Beryl?--eyes like her mother's.
+
+"I was there at the depot that day.  Well, it looked as if they
+were still in their honeymoon.
+
+"'Dear little wife!' said Trove, as he kissed Polly.  Then he took
+the child in his arms, and I went to dinner with them.  They lived
+half a mile or so out of Hillsborough.
+
+"'Hello!' said Trove, as we entered.  'Here's a merry Christmas!'
+
+"Polly had trimmed the house.  There against the wall was a
+tapering fir-tree, hung with tinsel and popcorn.  All around the
+room were green branches of holly and hemlock.
+
+"'I'm glad you found Phyllis,' said she.
+
+"'Poor Phyllis!' he answered.  'They broke her down with hard work,
+and then sold her.  She'll be here to-morrow.'
+
+"'You saw Darrel on the way?'
+
+"'Yes, and he is the same miracle of happiness.  I think he will
+soon be free.  Leblanc is there in prison--convicted of a crime in
+Whitehall.  As I expected, there is a red mark on the back of his
+left hand.  Day after to-morrow we go again to Dannemora.
+Sweetheart!  I hurried home to see you.'  And then--well, I do like
+to see it--the fondness of young people.
+
+"Night came, dark and stormy, with snow in the west wind.  They
+were sitting there by the Christmas tree, all bright with
+candles--Polly, Trove, and the little child.  They were talking of
+old times.  They heard a rap at the door.  Trove flung it open.  He
+spoke a word of surprise.  There was the old Santa Claus of Cedar
+Hill--upon my word, sir--the very one.  He entered, shaking his
+great coat, his beard full of snow.  He let down his sack there by
+the lighted tree.  He beckoned to the little one.
+
+"'Go and see him--it is old Santa Claus,' said Polly, her voice
+trembling as she led the child.
+
+"Then, quickly, she took the hand of her husband.
+
+"'He is your father,' she whispered.
+
+"A moment they stood with hearts full, looking at Santa Claus and
+the child.  That little one had her arms about a knee, and, dumb
+with great wonder, gazed up at him.  There was a timid appeal in
+her sweet face.
+
+"The man did not move; he was looking down at the child.  In a
+moment she began to prattle and tug at him.  They saw his knees
+bend a bit.  Ah, sir, it seemed as if the baby were pulling him
+down.  He gently pushed the child away.  They heard a little cry--a
+kind of a wailing 'Oh-o-o,'--like that you hear in the chimney.
+Then, sir, down he went in his tracks--a quivering little
+heap,--and lay there at the foot of the tree.  Polly and Trove were
+bending over him.  Cap and wig had fallen from his head.  He was an
+old man.
+
+"'Father!' Trove whispered, touching the long white hair.  'O my
+father! speak to me.  Let me--let me see your face.'
+
+"Slowly--slowly, the old man rose, Trove helping him, and put on
+his cap.  Then, sir, he took a step back and stood straight as a
+king.  He waved them away with his hand.
+
+"'Nay, boy, remember,' he whispered.  'Ye were to let him pass.'
+And then he started for the door.
+
+"Trove went before him and stood against it.
+
+"'Hear me, boy, 'tis better that ye let him sleep until the trumpet
+calls an' ye both stand with all the quick an' the dead.'
+
+"'No, I have waited long, and I love--I love him,' Trove answered.
+
+"Those fair young people knelt beside the old man, clinging to his
+hands.
+
+"The good saint was crying.
+
+"'I came not here to bring shame,' said he presently.
+
+"'We honour and with all our souls we love you,' Trove answered.
+
+"'Who shall stand before it?' said the old man.  'Behold--behold
+how Love hath raised the dead!'  He flung off his cap and beard.
+
+"'If ye will have it so, know ye that I--Roderick Darrel--am thy
+father.'"
+
+
+"Now, sir, you may go.  I wish ye merry Christmas!" said that old
+man of the hills.
+
+But the other tarried, thoughtfully puffing his pipe.
+
+"And the father was not dead?"
+
+"'Twas only the living death," said the old man, now lighting a
+lantern.  "You know that grave in a poem of Sidney Trove:
+
+  'It has neither sod nor stone;
+  It has neither dust nor bone.'
+
+He planned to be as one dead to the world."
+
+"And the other man of mystery--who was he?"
+
+"Some child of misfortune.  He was befriended by the tinker and did
+errands for him."
+
+"He took the money to Trove that night the latter slept in the
+woods?"
+
+"And, for Darrel, returned to Thompson his own with usury.
+Thompson was the chief creditor."
+
+"With usury?"
+
+"Yes; for years it lay under the bed of Darrel.  By and by he put
+the money in a savings bank--all but a few dollars."
+
+"And why did he wait so long, before returning it?"
+
+"He tried to be rid of the money, but was unable to find Thompson.
+And Trove, he lived to repay every creditor.  Ah, sir, he was a man
+of a thousand."
+
+"That story of Darrel's in the little shop--I see--it was fact in a
+setting of fiction."
+
+"That's all it pretended to be," said the old man of the hills.
+
+"One more query," said the other.  He was now mounted.  "I know
+Darrel went to prison for the sake of the boy, but did some one set
+him free?"
+
+"His own character.  Leblanc came to love him--like the other
+prisoners--and, sir, he confessed.  I declare!--it's daylight now
+and here I am with the lantern.   Good-by, and Merry Christmas!"
+
+The other rode away, slowly, looking back at the dim glow of the
+lantern, which now, indeed, was like a symbol of the past.
+
+
+
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+
+
+
+Eben Holden
+
+A Tale of the North Country
+
+By IRVING BACHELLER.  Bound in red silk cloth, decorative cover,
+gilt top, rough edges.  Size, 5 x 7 3/4 Price, $1.50
+
+The most popular book in America.
+
+Within eight months after publication it had reached its two
+hundred and fiftieth thousand.  The most American of recent novels,
+it has indeed been hailed as the long looked for "American novel."
+
+William Dean Howells says of it: "I have read 'Eben Holden' with a
+great joy in its truth and freshness.  You have got into your book
+a kind of life not in literature before, and you have got it there
+simply and frankly.  It is 'as pure as water and as good as bread.'"
+
+Edmund Clarence Stedman says of it: "It is a forest-scented,
+fresh-aired, bracing, and wholly American story of country and town
+life."
+
+
+D'RI AND I
+
+By IRVING BACHELLER, author of "Eben Holden." Seven drawings by F.
+C. Yohn.  Red silk cloth, illustrated cover, gilt top, rough edges.
+Size, 5 1/4 x 7 3/4 Price, $1.50.  160th Thousand.
+
+THE LONDON TIMES says; "Mr. Bacheller is admirable alike in his
+scenes of peace and war.  He paints the silent woods in the fall of
+the year with the rich golden glow of the Indian summer.  He is
+eloquently poetical in the lonely watcher's contemplation of
+thousands of twinkling stars reflected from the broad bosom of the
+St. Lawrence, and he is grimly humorous in some of his dramatic
+episodes.  Nor does anything in Crane's 'Red Badge of Courage'
+bring home to us more forcibly the horrors of war than the
+between-decks and the cockpit of a crippled ship swept from stem to
+stern by the British broadsides in an action brought a entrance on
+Lake Erie."
+
+
+CANDLE LIGHT
+
+Being sundry tales and thoughts in verse.  By IRVING BACHELLER,
+author of "Eben Holden" and "D'ri and I."  Six illustrations by
+prominent illustrators.  Decorative cover, gilt top, rough edges.
+Price, $1.25, net.
+
+MR. BACHELLER'S Poems in a book very handsome in the points of
+typography, binding, and illustration is made up of a collection of
+verse ranging from dramatic incidents of peace and war to lovely
+idyllic pictures and verse read on academic occasions.  The whole
+collection is marked by virility, simplicity of manner, and genuine
+strength and feeling.  It will be widely welcomed by lovers of good
+poetry and the admirers of Mr. Bacheller's famous books of fiction.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Darrel of the Blessed Isles, by Irving Bacheller
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12102 ***
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #12102 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12102)
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+Project Gutenberg's Darrel of the Blessed Isles, by Irving Bacheller
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Darrel of the Blessed Isles
+
+Author: Irving Bacheller
+
+Release Date: April 21, 2004 [EBook #12102]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines
+
+
+
+
+DARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES
+
+
+BY
+
+IRVING BACHELLER
+
+
+
+AUTHOR OF
+
+EBEN HOLDEN
+D'RI AND I
+CANDLE-LIGHT, Etc.
+
+
+ILLUSTRATED BY
+ARTHUR I. KELLER
+
+
+1903
+
+
+
+To the Memory of my Father
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+The author has tried to give some history of that uphill road,
+traversing the rough back country, through which men of power came
+once into the main highways, dusty, timid, foot-sore, and curiously
+old-fashioned.  Now is the up grade eased by scholarships; young
+men labour with the football instead of the buck-saw, and wear high
+collars, and travel on a Pullman car, and dally with slang and
+cigarettes in the smoking-room.   Altogether it is a new Republic,
+and only those unborn shall know if it be greater.
+
+The man of learning and odd character and humble life was quite
+familiar once, and not only in Hillsborough.  Often he was born out
+of time, loving ideals of history and too severe with realities
+around him.  In Darrel it is sought to portray a force held in
+fetters and covered with obscurity, yet strong to make its way and
+widely felt.  His troubles granted, one may easily concede his
+character, and his troubles are, mainly, no fanciful invention.
+There is good warrant for them in the court record of a certain
+case, together with the inference of a great lawyer who lived a
+time in its odd mystery.  The author, it should be added, has given
+success to a life that ended in failure.   He cares not if that
+success be unusual should any one be moved to think it within his
+reach.
+
+A man of rugged virtues and good fame once said: "The forces that
+have made me?  Well, first my mother, second my poverty, third
+Felix Holt.  That masterful son of George Eliot became an ideal of
+my youth, and unconsciously I began to live his life."
+
+It is well that the boy in the book was nobler than any who lived
+in Treby Magna.
+
+As to "the men of the dark," they have long afflicted a man living
+and well known to the author of this tale, who now commits it to
+the world hoping only that these poor children of his brain may
+deserve kindness if not approval.
+
+  NEW YORK CITY,
+  March, 1903.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+PRELUDE
+
+CHAPTER
+     I.  The Story of the Little Red Sleigh
+    II.  The Crystal City and the Traveller
+   III.  The Clock Tinker
+    IV.  The Uphill Road
+     V.  At the Sign o' the Dial
+    VI.  A Certain Rich Man
+   VII.  Darrel of the Blessed Isles
+  VIII.  Dust of Diamonds in the Hour-glass
+    IX.  Drove and Drovers
+     X.  An Odd Meeting
+    XI.  The Old Rag Doll
+   XII.  The Santa Claus of Cedar Hill
+  XIII.  A Christmas Adventure
+   XIV.  A Day at the Linley Schoolhouse
+    XV.  The Tinker at Linley School
+   XVI.  A Rustic Museum
+  XVII.  An Event in the Rustic Museum
+ XVIII.  A Day of Difficulties
+   XIX.  Amusement and Learning
+    XX.  At the Theatre of the Woods
+   XXI.  Robin's Inn
+  XXII.  Comedies of Field and Dooryard
+ XXIII.  A New Problem
+  XXIV.  Beginning the Book of Trouble
+   XXV.  The Spider Snares
+  XXVI.  The Coming of the Cars
+ XXVII.  The Rare and Costly Cup
+XXVIII.  Darrel at Robin's Inn
+  XXIX.  Again the Uphill Road
+   XXX.  Evidence
+  XXXI.  A Man Greater than his Trouble
+ XXXII.  The Return of Thurst Tilly
+XXXIII.  The White Guard
+ XXXIV.  More Evidence
+  XXXV.  At the Sign of the Golden Spool
+ XXXVI.  The Law's Approval
+XXXVII.  The Return of Santa Claus
+
+
+
+
+DARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES
+
+Prelude
+
+Yonder up in the hills are men and women, white-haired, who love to
+tell of that time when the woods came to the door-step and God's
+cattle fed on the growing corn.  Where, long ago, they sowed their
+youth and strength, they see their sons reaping, but now, bent with
+age, they have ceased to gather save in the far fields of memory.
+Every day they go down the long, well-trodden path and come back
+with hearts full.  They are as children plucking the meadows of
+June.  Sit with them awhile, and they will gather for you the
+unfading flowers of joy and love--good sir! the world is full of
+them.  And should they mention Trove or a certain clock tinker that
+travelled from door to door in the olden time, send your horse to
+the stable and God-speed them!--it is a long tale, and you may
+listen far into the night.
+
+"See the big pines there in the dale yonder?" some one will ask.
+"Well, Theron Allen lived there, an' across the pond, that's where
+the moss trail came out and where you see the cow-path--that's near
+the track of the little red sleigh."
+
+Then--the tale and its odd procession coming out of the far past.
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+The Story of the Little Red Sleigh
+
+
+It was in 1835, about mid-winter, when Brier Dale was a narrow
+clearing, and the horizon well up in the sky and to anywhere a
+day's journey.
+
+Down by the shore of the pond, there, Allen built his house.
+To-day, under thickets of tansy, one may see the rotting logs, and
+there are hollyhocks and catnip in the old garden.  He was from
+Middlebury, they say, and came west--he and his wife--in '29.  From
+the top of the hill above Allen's, of a clear day, one could look
+far across the tree-tops, over distant settlements that were as
+blue patches in the green canopy of the forest, over hill and dale
+to the smoky chasm of the St. Lawrence thirty miles north.  The
+Allens had not a child; they settled with no thought of school or
+neighbour.  They brought a cow with them and a big collie whose
+back had been scarred by a lynx.  He was good company and a brave
+hunter, this dog; and one day--it was February, four years after
+their coming, and the snow lay deep--he left the dale and not even
+a track behind him.  Far and wide they went searching, but saw no
+sign of him.  Near a month later, one night, past twelve o'clock,
+they heard his bark in the distance.  Allen rose and lit a candle
+and opened the door.  They could hear him plainer, and now, mingled
+with his barking, a faint tinkle of bells.
+
+It had begun to thaw, and a cold rain was drumming on roof and
+window.
+
+"He's crossing the pond," said Allen, as he listened.  "He's
+dragging some heavy thing over the ice."
+
+Soon he leaped in at the door, the little red sleigh bouncing after
+him.  The dog was in shafts and harness.  Over the sleigh was a
+tiny cover of sail-cloth shaped like that of a prairie schooner.
+Bouncing over the door-step had waked its traveller, and there was
+a loud voice of complaint in the little cavern of sail-cloth.
+Peering in, they saw only the long fur of a gray wolf.  Beneath it
+a very small boy lay struggling with straps that held him down.
+Allen loosed them and took him out of the sleigh, a ragged but
+handsome youngster with red cheeks and blue eyes and light, curly
+hair.  He was near four years of age then, but big and strong as
+any boy of five.  He stood rubbing his eyes a minute, and the dog
+came over and licked his face, showing fondness acquired they knew
+not where.  Mrs. Allen took the boy in her lap and petted him, but
+he was afraid--like a wild fawn that has just been captured--and
+broke away and took refuge under the bed.  A long time she sat by
+her bedside with the candle, showing him trinkets and trying to
+coax him out.  He ceased to cry when she held before him a big,
+shiny locket of silver, and soon his little hand came out to grasp
+it.  Presently she began to reach his confidence with sugar.  There
+was a moment of silence, then strange words came out of his
+hiding-place.  "Anah jouhan" was all they could make of them, and
+they remembered always that odd combination of sounds.  They gave
+him food, which he ate with eager haste.  Then a moment of silence
+and an imperative call for more in some strange tongue.  When at
+last he came out of his hiding-place, he fled from the woman.  This
+time he sought refuge between the knees of Allen, where soon his
+fear gave way to curiosity, and he began to feel her face and gown.
+By and by he fell asleep.
+
+They searched the sleigh and shook out the robe and blanket,
+finding only a pair of warm bricks.
+
+A Frenchman worked for the Allens that winter, and the name, Trove,
+was of his invention.
+
+And so came Sidney Trove, his mind in strange fetters, travelling
+out of the land of mystery, in a winter night, to Brier Dale.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+The Crystal City and the Traveller
+
+The wind, veering, came bitter cold; the rain hardened to hail; the
+clouds, changed to brittle nets of frost, and shaken to shreds by
+the rough wind, fell hissing in a scatter of snow.  Next morning
+when Allen opened his door the wind was gone, the sky clear.  Brier
+Pond, lately covered with clear ice, lay under a blanket of snow.
+He hurried across the pond, his dog following.  Near the far shore
+was a bare spot on the ice cut by one of the sleigh-runners.  Up in
+the woods, opposite, was the Moss Trail.  Sunlight fell on the
+hills above him.  He halted, looking up at the tree-tops.  Twig,
+branch, and trunk glowed with the fire of diamonds through a lacy
+necking of hoar frost.  Every tree had put on a jacket of ice and
+become as a fountain of prismatic hues.  Here and there a dead pine
+rose like a spire of crystal; domes of deep-coloured glass and
+towers of jasper were as the landmarks of a city.  Allen climbed
+the shore, walking slowly.  He could see no track of sleigh or dog
+or any living thing.  A frosted, icy tangle of branches arched the
+trail--a gateway of this great, crystal city of the woods.  He
+entered, listening as he walked.  Branches of hazel and dogwood
+were like jets of water breaking into clear, halted drops and foamy
+spray above him.  He went on, looking up at this long sky-window of
+the woods.  In the deep silence he could hear his heart beating.
+
+"Sport," .said he to the dog, "show me the way;" but the dog only
+wagged his tail.
+
+Allen returned to the house.
+
+"Wife," said he, "look at the woods yonder.  They are like the city
+of holy promise.  'Behold I will lay thy stones with fair colours
+and thy foundations with sapphires, and I will make thy windows of
+agate.'"
+
+"Did you find the track of the little sleigh?" said she.
+
+"No," he answered, "nor will any man, for all paths are hidden."
+
+"Theron--may we keep the boy?" she inquired.
+
+"I think it is the will of God," said Allen.
+
+The boy grew and throve in mind and body.  For a time he prattled
+in a language none who saw him were able to comprehend.  But he
+learned English quickly and soon forgot the jargon of his babyhood.
+The shadows of mystery that fell over his coming lengthened far
+into his life and were deepened by others that fell across them.
+Before he could have told the story, all memory of whom he left or
+whence he came had been swept away.  It was a house of riddles
+where Allen dwelt--a rude thing of logs and ladders and a low roof
+and two rooms.  Yet one ladder led high to glories no pen may
+describe.  The Allens, with this rude shelter, found delight in
+dreams of an eternal home whose splendour and luxury would have
+made them miserable here below.  What a riddle was this!  And then,
+as to the boy Sid, there was the riddle of his coming, and again
+that of his character, which latter was, indeed, not easy to solve.
+There were few books and no learning in that home.  For three
+winters Trove tramped a trail to the schoolhouse two miles away,
+and had no further schooling until he was a big, blond boy of
+fifteen, with red cheeks, and eyes large, blue, and discerning, and
+hands hardened to the axe helve.  He had then discovered the beauty
+of the woods and begun to study the wild folk that live in holes
+and thickets.  He had a fine face.  You would have called him
+handsome, but not they among whom he lived.  With them handsome was
+as handsome did, and the face of a man, if it were cleanly, was
+never a proper cause of blame or compliment.  But there was that in
+his soul, which even now had waked the mother's wonder and set
+forth a riddle none were able to solve.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+The Clock Tinker
+
+The harvesting was over in Brier Dale.  It was near dinner-time,
+and Allen, Trove, and the two hired men were trying feats in the
+dooryard.  Trove, then a boy of fifteen, had outdone them all at
+the jumping.  A stranger came along, riding a big mare with a young
+filly at her side.  He was a tall, spare man, past middle age, with
+a red, smooth-shaven face and long, gray hair that fell to his
+rolling collar.  He turned in at the gate.  A little beyond it his
+mare halted for a mouthful of grass.  The stranger unslung a strap
+that held a satchel to his side and hung it on the pommel.
+
+"Go and ask what we can do for him," Allen whispered to the boy.
+
+Trove went down the drive, looking up at him curiously.
+
+"What can I do for you?" he inquired.
+
+"Give me thy youth," said the stranger, quickly, his gray eyes
+twinkling under silvered brows.
+
+The boy, now smiling, made no answer.
+
+"No?" said the man, as he came on slowly.  "Well, then, were thy
+wit as good as thy legs it would be o' some use to me."
+
+The words were spoken with dignity in a deep, kindly tone.  They
+were also faintly salted with Irish brogue.
+
+He approached the men, all eyes fixed upon him with a look of
+inquiry.
+
+"Have ye ever seen a drunken sailor on a mast?" he inquired of
+Allen,
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, sor," said the stranger, dismounting slowly, "I am not that.
+Let me consider--have ye ever seen a cocoanut on a plum tree?"
+
+"I believe not," said Allen, laughing.
+
+"Well, sor, that is more like me.  'Tis long since I rode a horse,
+an' am out o' place in the saddle."
+
+He stood erect with dignity, a smile deepening the many lines in
+his face.
+
+"Can I do anything for you?" Allen asked.
+
+"Ay--cure me o' poverty--have ye any clocks to mend?"
+
+"Clocks! Are you a tinker?" said Allen.
+
+"I am, sor, an' at thy service.  Could beauty, me lord, have better
+commerce than with honesty?"
+
+They all surveyed him with curiosity and amusement as he tied the
+mare.
+
+All had begun to laugh.  His words came rapidly on a quick
+undercurrent of good nature.  A clock sounded the stroke of midday.
+
+"What, ho! The clock," said he, looking at his watch.  "Thy time
+hath a lagging foot, Marry, were I that slow, sor, I'd never get to
+Heaven."
+
+"Mother," said Allen, going to the doorstep, "here is a tinker, and
+he says the clock is slow."
+
+"It seems to be out of order." said his wife, coming to the step.
+
+"Seems, madam, nay, it is," said the stranger.  "Did ye mind the
+stroke of it?"
+
+"No," said she.
+
+"Marry, 'twas like the call of a dying man."
+
+Allen thought a moment as he whittled.
+
+"Had I such a stroke on me I'd--I'd think I was parralyzed," the
+stranger added.
+
+"You'd better fix it then," said Allen.
+
+"Thou art wise, good man," said the stranger.  "Mind the two hands
+on the clock an' keep them to their pace or they'll beckon thee to
+poverty."
+
+The clock was brought to the door-step and all gathered about him
+as he went to work.
+
+"Ye know a power o' scripter," said one of the hired men.
+
+"Scripter," said the tinker, laughing.  "I do, sor, an' much of it
+according to the good Saint William.  Have ye never read
+Shakespeare?"
+
+None who sat before him knew anything of the immortal bard.
+
+"He writ a book 'bout Dan'l Boone an' the Injuns," a hired man
+ventured.
+
+"'Angels an' ministers o' grace defend us!'" the tinker exclaimed,
+
+Trove laughed.
+
+"I'll give ye a riddle," said the tinker, turning to him.
+
+"How is it the clock can keep a sober face?"
+
+"It has no ears," Trove answered.
+
+"Right," said the old tinker, smiling.  "Thou art a knowing youth.
+Read Shakespeare, boy--a little of him three times a day for the
+mind's sake.  I've travelled far in lonely places and needed no
+other company."
+
+"Ever in India?" Trove inquired.  He had been reading of that far
+land.
+
+"I was, sor," the stranger continued, rubbing a wheel.  "I was five
+years in India, sor, an' part o' the time fighting as hard as ever
+a man could fight."
+
+"Fighting!" said Trove, much interested.
+
+"I was, sor," he asserted, oiling a pinion of the old clock.
+
+"On which side?"
+
+"Inside an' outside."
+
+"With natives?"
+
+"I did, sor; three kinds o' them,--fever, fleas, an' the divvle."
+
+"Give us some more Shakespeare," said the boy, smiling.
+
+The tinker rubbed his spectacles thoughtfully, and, as he resumed
+his work, a sounding flood of tragic utterance came out of him--the
+great soliloquies of Hamlet and Macbeth and Richard III and Lear
+and Antony, all said with spirit and appreciation.  The job
+finished, they bade him put up for dinner.
+
+"A fine colt!" said Allen, as they were on their way to the stable.
+
+"It is, sor," said the tinker, "a most excellent breed o' horses."
+
+"Where from?"
+
+"The grandsire from the desert of Arabia, where Allah created the
+horse out o' the south wind.  See the slender flanks of the
+Barbary?  See her eye?"
+
+He seemed to talk in that odd strain for the mere joy of it, and
+there was in his voice the God-given vanity of bird or poet.
+
+He had caught the filly by her little plume and stood patting her
+forehead.
+
+"A wonderful thing, sor, is the horse's eye," he continued.  "A
+glance! an' they know if ye be kind or cruel.  Sweet Phyllis!  Her
+eyelids are as bows; her lashes like the beard o' the corn.  Have
+ye ever heard the three prayers o' the horse?"
+
+"No," said Allen.
+
+"Well, three times a day, sor, he prays, so they say, in the
+desert.  In the morning he thinks a prayer like this, 'O Allah!
+make me beloved o' me master.'  At noon, 'Do well by me master that
+he may do well by me.'  At even, 'O Allah! grant, at last, I may
+bear me master into Paradise.'
+
+"An' the Arab, sor, he looks for a hard ride an' many jumps in the
+last journey, an' is kind to him all the days of his life, sor, so
+he may be able to make it."
+
+For a moment he led her up and down at a quick trot, her dainty
+feet touching the earth lightly as a fawn's.
+
+"Thou'rt made for the hot leagues o' the great sand sea," said he,
+patting her head.  "Ah! thy neck shall be as the bowsprit; thy dust
+as the flying spray."
+
+"In one thing you are like Isaiah," said Allen, as he whittled.
+"The Lord God hath given thee the tongue of the learned."
+
+"An' if he grant me the power to speak a word in season to him that
+is weary, I shall be content," said the tinker.
+
+Dinner over, they came out of doors.  The stranger stood filling
+his pipe.  Something in his talk and manner had gone deep into the
+soul of the boy, who now whispered a moment with his father.
+
+"Would you sell the filly?" said Allen.  "My boy would like to own
+her."
+
+"What, ho, the boy! the beautiful boy!  An' would ye love her,
+boy?" the tinker asked.
+
+"Yes, sir," the boy answered quickly,
+
+"An' put a ribbon in her forelock, an' a coat o' silk on her back,
+an', mind ye, a man o' kindness in the saddle?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Then take thy horse, an' Allah grant thou be successful on her as
+many times as there be hairs in her skin."
+
+"And the price?" said Allen.
+
+"Name it, an' I'll call thee just."
+
+The business over, the tinker called to Trove, who had led the
+filly to her stall,--
+
+"You, there, strike the tents.  Bring me the mare.  This very day
+she may bear me to forgiveness."
+
+Trove brought the mare.
+
+"Remember," said the old man, turning as he rode away, "in the day
+o' the last judgment God 'll mind the look o' thy horse."
+
+He rode on a few steps and halted, turning in the saddle.
+
+"Thou, too, Phyllis," he called.  "God 'll mind the look o' thy
+master; see that ye bring him safe."
+
+The little filly began to rear and call, the mother to answer.  For
+days she called and trembled, with wet eyes, listening for the
+voice that still answered, though out of hearing, far over the
+hills.  And Trove, too, was lonely, and there was a kind of longing
+in his heart for the music in that voice of the stranger.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+The Uphill Road
+
+For Trove it was a day of sowing.  The strange old tinker had
+filled his heart with a new joy and a new desire.  Next morning he
+got a ride to Hillsborough--fourteen miles--and came back, reading,
+as he walked, a small, green book, its thin pages covered thick
+with execrably fine printing, its title "The Works of Shakespeare."
+He read the book industriously and with keen pleasure.  Allen
+complained, shortly, that Shakespeare and the filly had interfered
+with the potatoes and the corn.
+
+The filly ceased to take food and sickened for a time after the dam
+left her.  Trove lay in the stall nights and gave her milk
+sweetened to her liking.  She grew strong and playful, and forgot
+her sorrow, and began to follow him like a dog on his errands up
+and down the farm.  Trove went to school in the autumn--"Select
+school," it was called.  A two-mile journey it was, by trail, but a
+full three by the wagon road.  He learned only a poor lesson the
+first day, for, on coming in sight of the schoolhouse, he heard a
+rush of feet behind him and saw his filly charging down the trail.
+He had to go back with her and lose the day, a thought dreadful to
+him, for now hope was high, and school days few and precious.  At
+first he was angry.  Then he sat among the ferns, covering his face
+and sobbing with sore resentment.  The little filly stood over him
+and rubbed her silky muzzle on his neck, and kicked up her heels in
+play as he pushed her back.  Next morning he put her behind a
+fence, but she went over it with the ease of a wild deer and came
+bounding after him.  When, at last, she was shut in the box-stall
+he could hear her calling, half a mile away, and it made his heart
+sore.  Soon after, a moose treed him on the trail and held him
+there for quite half a day.  Later he had to help thrash and was
+laid up with the measles.  Then came rain and flooded flats that
+turned him off the trail.  Years after he used to say that work and
+weather, and sickness and distance, and even the beasts of the
+field and wood, resisted him in the way of learning.
+
+He went to school at Hillsborough that winter.  His time, which
+Allen gave him in the summer, had yielded some forty-five dollars.
+He hired a room at thirty-five cents a week.  Mary Allen bought him
+a small stove and sent to him, in the sleigh, dishes, a kettle,
+chair, bed, pillow, and quilt, and a supply of candles.
+
+She surveyed him proudly, as he was going away that morning in
+December,
+
+"Folks may call ye han'some," she said.  "They'd like to make fool
+of ye, but you go on 'bout yer business an' act as if ye didn't
+hear."
+
+He had a figure awkward, as yet, but fast shaping to comeliness.
+Long, light hair covered the tops of his ears and fell to his
+collar.  His ruddy cheeks were a bit paler that morning; the curve
+in his lips a little drawn; his blue eyes had begun to fill and the
+dimple in his chin to quiver, slightly, as he kissed her who had
+been as a mother to him.  But he went away laughing.
+
+Many have seen the record in his diary of those lank and busy days.
+The Saturday of his first week at school he wrote as follows:--
+
+
+"Father brought me a small load of wood and a sack of potatoes
+yesterday, so, after this, I shall be able to live cheaper.  My
+expenses this week have been as follows:--
+
+  Rent                     35 cents
+  Corn meal                14   "
+  Milk                     20   "
+  Bread                     8   "
+  Beef bone                 5   "
+  Honey                     5   "
+  Four potatoes, about      1   "
+                           --
+                           88 cents.
+
+"Two boys who have a room on the same floor got through the week
+for 75 cents apiece, but they are both undersized and don't eat as
+hearty.  This week I was tempted by the sight of honey and was fool
+enough to buy a little which I didn't need.  I have some meal left
+and hope next week to get through for 80 cents.  I wish I could
+have a decent necktie, but conscience doth make cowards of us all.
+I have committed half the first act of 'Julius Caesar.'"
+
+
+And yet, with pudding and milk and beef bone and four potatoes and
+"Julius Caesar" the boy was cheerful.
+
+"Don't like meat any more--it's mostly poor stuff anyway," he said
+to his father, who had come to see him.
+
+"Sorry--I brought down a piece o' venison," said Allen.
+
+"Well, there's two kinds o' meat," said the boy; "what ye can have,
+that's good, an' what ye can't have, that ain't worth havin'."
+
+He got a job in the mill for every Saturday at 75 cents a day, and
+soon thereafter was able to have a necktie and a pair of fine
+boots, and a barber, now and then, to control the length of his
+hair.
+
+Trove burnt the candles freely and was able but never brilliant in
+his work that year, owing, as all who knew him agreed, to great
+modesty and small confidence.  He was a kindly, big-hearted fellow,
+and had wit and a knowledge of animals and of woodcraft that made
+him excellent company.  That schoolboy diary has been of great
+service to all with a wish to understand him.  On a faded leaf in
+the old book one may read as follows:--
+
+
+"I have received letters in the handwriting of girls, unsigned.
+They think they are in love with me and say foolish things.  I know
+what they're up to.  They're the kind my mother spoke of--the kind
+that set their traps for a fool, and when he's caught they use him
+for a thing to laugh at.  They're not going to catch me.
+
+"Expenses for seven days have been $1.14.  Clint McCormick spent 60
+cents to take his girl to a show and I had to help him through the
+week.  I told him he ought to love Caesar less and Rome more."
+
+
+Then follows the odd entry without which it is doubtful if the
+history of Sidney Trove could ever have been written.  At least
+only a guess would have been possible, where now is certainty.  And
+here is the entry:--
+
+
+"Since leaving home the men of the dark have been very troublesome.
+They wake me about every other night and sometimes I wonder what
+they mean."
+
+
+Now an odd thing had developed in the mystery of the boy.  Even
+before he could distinguish between reality and its shadow that we
+see in dreams, he used often to start up with a loud cry of fear in
+the night.  When a small boy he used to explain it briefly by
+saying, "the men in the dark."  Later he used to say, "the men
+outdoors in the dark."  At ten years of age he went off on a three
+days' journey with the Allens.  They put up in a tavern that had
+many rooms and stairways and large windows.  It was a while after
+his return of an evening, before candle-light, when a gray curtain
+of dusk had dimmed the windows, that he first told the story, soon
+oft repeated and familiar, of "the men in the dark"--at least he
+went as far as he knew.
+
+"I dream," he was wont to say in after life, "that I am listening
+in the still night alone--I am always alone.  I hear a sound in the
+silence, of what I cannot be sure.  I discover then, or seem to,
+that I stand in a dark room and tremble, with great fear, of what I
+do not know.  I walk along softly in bare feet--I am so fearful of
+making a noise.  I am feeling, feeling, my hands out in the dark.
+Presently they touch a wall and I follow it and then I discover
+that I am going downstairs.  It is a long journey.  At last I am in
+a room where I can see windows, and, beyond, the dim light of the
+moon.  Now I seem to be wrapped in fearful silence.  Stealthily I
+go near the door.  Its upper half is glass, and beyond it I can see
+the dark forms of men.  One is peering through with face upon the
+pane; I know the other is trying the lock, but I hear no sound.  I
+am in a silence like that of the grave.  I try to speak.  My lips
+move, but, try as I may, no sound comes out of them.  A sharp
+terror is pricking into me, and I flinch as if it were a
+knife-blade.  Well, sir, that is a thing I cannot understand.  You
+know me--I am not a coward.  If I were really in a like scene fear
+would be the least of my emotions; but in the dream I tremble and
+am afraid.  Slowly, silently, the door opens, the men of the dark
+enter, wall and windows begin to reel.  I hear a quick, loud cry,
+rending the silence and falling into a roar like that of flooding
+waters.  Then I wake, and my dream is ended--for that night."
+
+Now men have had more thrilling and remarkable dreams, but that of
+the boy Trove was as a link in a chain, lengthening with his life,
+and ever binding him to some event far beyond the reach of his
+memory.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+At the Sign o' the Dial
+
+It was Sunday and a clear, frosty morning of midwinter.  Trove had
+risen early and was walking out on a long pike that divided the
+village of Hillsborough and cut the waste of snow, winding over
+hills and dipping into valleys, from Lake Champlain to Lake
+Ontario.  The air was cold but full of magic sun-fire.  All things
+were aglow--the frosty roadway, the white fields, the hoary forest,
+and the mind of the beholder.  Trove halted, looking off at the far
+hills.  Then he heard a step behind him and, as he turned, saw a
+tall man approaching at a quick pace.  The latter had no overcoat.
+A knit muffler covered his throat, and a satchel hung from a strap
+on his shoulder.
+
+"What ho, boy!" said he, shivering.  "'I'll follow thee a month,
+devise with thee where thou shalt rest, that thou may'st hear of
+us, an' we o' thee.'  What o' thy people an' the filly?"
+
+"All well," said Trove, who was delighted to see the clock tinker,
+of whom he had thought often.  "And what of you?"
+
+"Like an old clock, sor--a weak spring an' a bit slow.  But, praise
+God!  I've yet a merry gong in me.   An' what think you, sor, I've
+travelled sixty miles an' tinkered forty clocks in the week gone."
+
+"I think you yourself will need tinkering."
+
+"Ah, but I thank the good God, here is me home," the old man
+remarked wearily.
+
+"I'm going to school here," said Trove, "and hope I may see you
+often."
+
+"Indeed, boy, we'll have many a blessed hour," said the tinker.
+"Come to me shop; we'll talk, meditate, explore, an' I'll see what
+o'clock it is in thy country."
+
+They were now in the village, and, halfway down its main
+thoroughfare, went up a street of gloom and narrowness between
+dingy workshops.  At one of them, shaky, and gray with the stain of
+years, they halted.  The two lower windows in front were dim with
+dirt and cobwebs.  A board above them was the rude sign of Sam
+Bassett, carpenter.  On the side of the old shop was a flight of
+sagging, rickety stairs.  At the height of a man's head an old
+brass dial was nailed to the gray boards.  Roughly lettered in
+lampblack beneath it were the words, "Clocks Mended."  They climbed
+the shaky stairs to a landing, supported by long braces, and
+whereon was a broad door, with latch and keyhole in its weathered
+timber.
+
+"All bow at this door," said the old tinker, as he put his long
+iron key in the lock.  "It's respect for their own heads, not for
+mine," he continued, his hand on the eaves that overhung below the
+level of the door-top.
+
+They entered a loft, open to the peak and shingles, with a window
+in each end.  Clocks, dials, pendulums, and tiny cog-wheels of wood
+and brass were on a long bench by the street window.  Thereon,
+also, were a vice and tools.  The room was cleanly, with a crude
+homelikeness about it.  Chromos and illustrated papers had been
+pasted on the rough, board walls.
+
+"On me life, it is cold," said the tinker, opening a small stove
+and beginning to whittle shavings, "'Cold as a dead man's nose.'
+Be seated, an' try--try to be happy."
+
+There was an old rocker and two small chairs in the room.
+
+"I do not feel the cold," said Trove, taking one of them.
+
+"Belike, good youth, thou hast the rose of summer in thy cheeks,"
+said the old man.
+
+"And no need of an overcoat," the boy answered, removing the one he
+wore and passing it to the tinker.  "I wish you to keep it, sir."
+
+"Wherefore, boy?  'Twould best serve me on thy back."
+
+"Please take it," said Trove.  "I cannot bear to think of you
+shivering in the cold.  Take it, and make me happy."
+
+"Well, if it keep me warm, an' thee happy, it will be a wonderful
+coat," said the old man, wiping his gray eyes.
+
+Then he rose and filled the stove with wood and sat down, peering
+at Trove between the upper rim of his spectacles and the feathery
+arches of silvered hair upon his brows.
+
+"Thy coat hath warmed me heart already--thanks to the good God!"
+said he, fervently.  "Why so kind?"
+
+"If I am kind, it is because I must be," said the boy.  "Who were
+my father and mother, I never knew.  If I meet a man who is in
+need, I say to myself, 'He may be my father or my brother, I must
+be good to him;' and if it is a woman, I cannot help thinking that,
+maybe, she is my mother or my sister.  So I should have to be kind
+to all the people in the world if I were to meet them."
+
+"Noble suspicion! by the faith o' me fathers!" said the old man,
+thoughtfully, rubbing his long nose.  "An' have ye thought further
+in the matter?  Have ye seen whither it goes?"
+
+"I fear not."
+
+"Well, sor, under the ancient law, ye reap as ye have sown, but
+more abundantly.  I gave me coat to one that needed it more, an' by
+the goodness o' God I have reaped another an' two friends.  Hold to
+thy course, boy, thou shalt have friends an' know their value.  An'
+then thou shalt say, 'I'll be kind to this man because he may be a
+friend;' an' love shall increase in thee, an' around thee, an'
+bring happiness.  Ah, boy! in the business o' the soul, men pay
+thee better than they owe.  Kindness shall bring friendship, an'
+friendship shall bring love, an' love shall bring happiness, an'
+that, sor, that is the approval o' God.  What speculation hath such
+profit?  Hast thou learned to think?"
+
+"I hope I have," said the boy.
+
+"Prithee--think a thought for me.  What is the first law o' life?"
+
+There was a moment of silence.
+
+"Thy pardon, boy," said the venerable tinker, filling a clay pipe
+and stretching himself on a lounge.  "Thou art not long out o' thy
+clouts.  It is, 'Thou shalt learn to think an' obey.' Consider how
+man and beast are bound by it.  Very well--think thy way up.  Hast
+thou any fear?"
+
+The old man was feeling his gray hair, thoughtfully.
+
+"Only the fear o' God," said the boy, after a moment of hesitation.
+
+"Well, on me word, I am full sorry," said the tinker.  "Though mind
+ye, boy, fear is an excellent good thing, an' has done a work in
+the world.  But, hear me, a man had two horses the same age, size,
+shape, an' colour, an' one went for fear o' the whip, an' the other
+went as well without a whip in the wagon.  Now, tell me, which was
+the better horse?"
+
+"The one that needed no whip."
+
+"Very well!" said the old man, with emphasis.  "A man had two sons,
+an' one obeyed him for fear o' the whip, an' the other, because he
+loved his father, an' could not bear to grieve him.  Tell me again,
+boy, which was the better son?"
+
+"The one that loved him," said the boy.
+
+"Very well! very well!" said the old man, loudly.  "A man had two
+neighbours, an' one stole not his sheep for fear o' the law, an'
+the other, sor, he stole them not, because he loved his neighbour.
+Now which was the better man?"
+
+"The man that loved him."
+
+"Very well! very well! and again very well!" said the tinker,
+louder than before.  "There were two kings, an' one was feared, an'
+the other, he was beloved; which was the better king?"
+
+"The one that was beloved."
+
+"Very well! and three times again very well!" said the old man,
+warmly.  "An' the good God is he not greater an' more to be loved
+than all kings?  Fear, boy, that is the whip o' destiny driving the
+dumb herd.  To all that fear I say 'tis well, have fear, but pray
+that love may conquer it.  To all that love I say, fear only lest
+ye lose the great treasure.  Love is the best thing, an' with too
+much fear it sickens.  Always keep it with thee--a little is a
+goodly property an' its revenoo is happiness.  Therefore, be happy,
+boy--try ever to be happy."
+
+There was a moment of silence broken by the sound of a church bell.
+
+"To thy prayers," said the clock tinker, rising, "an' I'll to mine.
+Dine with me at five, good youth, an' all me retinoo--maids,
+warders, grooms, attendants--shall be at thy service."
+
+"I'll be glad to come," said the boy, smiling at his odd host.
+
+"An' see thou hast hunger."
+
+"Good morning, Mr. ---- ?" the boy hesitated.
+
+"Darrel--Roderick Darrel--" said the old man, "that's me name, sor,
+an' ye'll find me here at the Sign o' the Dial."
+
+A wind came shrieking over the hills, and long before evening the
+little town lay dusky in a scud of snow mist.  The old stairs were
+quivering in the storm as Trove climbed them.
+
+"Welcome, good youth," said the clock tinker, shaking the boy's
+hand as he came in.  "Ho there! me servitors.  Let the feast be
+spread," he called in a loud voice, stepping quickly to the stove
+that held an upper deck of wood, whereon were dishes.  "Right Hand
+bring the meat an' Left Hand the potatoes an' Quick Foot give us
+thy help here."
+
+He suited his action to the words, placing a platter of ham and
+eggs in the centre of a small table and surrounding it with hot
+roast potatoes, a pot of tea, new biscuit, and a plate of honey.
+
+"Ho!  Wit an' Happiness, attend upon us here," said he, making
+ready to sit down.
+
+Then, as if he had forgotten something, he hurried to the door and
+opened it.
+
+"Care, thou skeleton, go hence, and thou, Poverty, go also, and see
+thou return not before cock-crow," said he, imperatively.
+
+"You have many servants," said Trove.
+
+"An' how may one have a castle without servants?  Forsooth, boy,
+horses an' hounds, an' lords an' ladies have to be attended to.
+But the retinoo is that run down ye'd think me home a hospital.
+Wit is a creeping dotard, and Happiness he is in poor health an'
+can barely drag himself to me table, an' Hope is a tippler, an'
+Right Hand is getting the palsy.  Alack! me best servant left me a
+long time ago."
+
+"And who was he?"
+
+"Youth! lovely, beautiful Youth! but let us be happy.  I would not
+have him back--foolish, inconstant Youth! dreaming dreams an'
+seeing visions.  God love ye, boy! what is thy dream?"
+
+This rallying style of talk, in which the clock tinker indulged so
+freely, afforded his young friend no little amusement.  His tongue
+had long obeyed the lilt of classic diction; his thought came easy
+in Elizabethan phrase.  The slight Celtic brogue served to enhance
+the piquancy of his talk.  Moreover he was really a man of wit and
+imagination.
+
+"Once," said the boy, after a little hesitation, "I thought I
+should try to be a statesman, but now I am sure I would rather
+write books."
+
+"An' what kind o' books, pray?"
+
+"Tales."
+
+"An' thy merchandise be truth, capital!" exclaimed the tinker.
+"Hast thou an ear for tales?"
+
+"I'm very fond of them."
+
+"Marry, I'll tell thee a true tale, not for thy ear only but for
+thy soul, an' some day, boy, 'twill give thee occupation for thy
+wits."
+
+"I'd love to hear it," said the boy.
+
+The pendulums were ever swinging like the legs of a procession
+trooping through the loft, some with quick steps, some with slow.
+Now came a sound as of drums beating.  It was for the hour of
+eight, and when it stopped the tinker began.
+
+"Once upon a time," said he, as they rose from the table and the
+old man went for his pipe, "'twas long ago, an' I had then the rose
+o' youth upon me, a man was tempted o' the devil an' stole money--a
+large sum--an' made off with it.  These hands o' mine used to serve
+him those days, an' I remember he was a man comely an' well set up,
+an', I think, he had honour an' a good heart in him."
+
+The old man paused.
+
+"I should not think it possible," said Trove, who was at the age of
+certainty in his opinions and had long been trained to the
+uncompromising thought of the Puritan.  "A man who steals can have
+no honour in him."
+
+"Ho!  Charity," said the clock tinker, turning as if to address one
+behind him.  "Sweet Charity! attend upon this boy.  Mayhap, sor,"
+he continued meekly.  "God hath blessed me with little knowledge o'
+what is possible.  But I speak of a time before guilt had sored
+him.  He was officer of a great bank--let us say--in Boston.  Some
+thought him rich, but he lived high an' princely, an' I take it,
+sor, his income was no greater than his needs.  It was a proud race
+he belonged to--grand people they were, all o' them--with houses
+an' lands an' many servants.  His wife was dead, sor, an' he'd one
+child--a little lad o' two years, an' beautiful.  One day the boy
+went out with his nurse, an' where further nobody knew.  He never
+came back.  Up an' down, over an' across they looked for him, night
+an' day, but were no wiser, A month went by an' not a sight or sign
+o' him, an' their hope failed.  One day the father he got a
+note,--I remember reading it in the papers, sor,--an' it was a call
+for ransom money--one hundred thousand dollars."
+
+"Kidnapped!" Trove exclaimed with much interest.
+
+"He was, sor," the clock tinker resumed.  "The father he was up to
+his neck in trouble, then, for he was unable to raise the money.
+He had quarrelled with an older brother whose help would have been
+sufficient.  Well, God save us all! 'twas the old story o' pride
+an' bitterness.  He sought no help o' him.  A year an' a half
+passes an' a gusty night o' midwinter the bank burns.  Books,
+papers, everything is destroyed.  Now the poor man has lost his
+occupation.  A week more an' his good name is gone; a month an'
+he's homeless.  A whisper goes down the long path o' gossip.  Was
+he a thief an' had he burned the record of his crime?  The scene
+changes, an' let me count the swift, relentless years."
+
+The old man paused a moment, looking up thoughtfully.
+
+"Well, say ten or mayhap a dozen passed--or more or less it matters
+little.  Boy an' man, where were they?  O the sad world, sor!  To
+all that knew them they were as people buried in their graves.
+Think o' this drowning in the flood o' years--the stately ships
+sunk an' rotting in oblivion; some word of it, sor, may well go
+into thy book."
+
+The tinker paused a moment, lighting his pipe, and after a puff or
+two went on with the tale.
+
+"It is a winter day in a great city--there are buildings an' crowds
+an' busy streets an' sleet'in the bitter wind.  I am there,--an' me
+path is one o' many crossing each other like--well, sor, like lines
+on a slate, if thou were to make ten thousand o' them an' both eyes
+shut.  I am walking slowly, an' lo! there is the banker.  I meet
+him face to face--an ill-clad, haggard, cold, forgotten creature.
+I speak to him.
+
+"'The blessed Lord have mercy on thee,' I said.
+
+"'For meeting thee?' said the poor man.  'What is thy name?'
+
+"'Roderick Darrel.'
+
+"'An' I,' said he, sadly, 'am one o' the lost in hell.  Art thou
+the devil?'
+
+"'Nay, this hand o' mine hath opened thy door an' blacked thy boots
+for thee often,' said I.  'Dost thou not remember?'
+
+"'Dimly--it was a long time ago,' he answered.
+
+"We said more, sor, but that is no part o' the story.  Very well!
+I went with him to his lodgings,--a little cold room in a
+garret,--an' there alone with me he gave account of himself.  He
+had shovelled, an' dug, an' lifted, an' run errands until his
+strength was low an' the weight of his hand a burden.  What hope
+for him--what way to earn a living!
+
+"'Have courage, man,' I said to him.  'Thou shalt learn to mend
+clocks.  It's light an' decent work, an' one may live by it an' see
+much o' the world.'
+
+"There was an old clock, sor, in a heap o' rubbish that lay in a
+corner.  I took it apart, and soon he saw the office of each wheel
+an' pinion an' the infirmity that stopped them an' the surgery to
+make them sound.  I tarried long in the great city, an' every
+evening we were together in the little room.  I bought him a kit o'
+tools an' some brass, an' we would shatter the clockworks an' build
+them up again until he had skill, sor, to make or mend.
+
+"'Me good friend,' said he, one evening after we had been a long
+time at work, 'I wish thou could'st teach me how to mend a broken
+life.  For God's sake, help me!  I am fainting under a great
+burden.'
+
+"'What can I do?' said I to him.
+
+"Then, sor, he went over his story with me from beginning to end.
+It was an impressive, a sacred confidence.  Ah, boy, it would be
+dishonour to tell thee his name, but his story, that I may tell
+thee, changing the detail, so it may never add a straw to his
+burden.  I shall quote him in substance only, an' follow the long
+habit o' me own tongue.
+
+"'Well, ye remember how me son was taken,' said he.  'I could not
+raise the ransom, try as I would.  Now, large sums were in me
+keeping an' I fell.  I remember that day.  Ah! man, the devil
+seemed to whisper to me.  But, God forgive! it was for love that I
+fell.  Little by little I began to take the money I must have an'
+cover its absence.   I said to meself, some time I'll pay it
+back--that ancient sophistry o' the devil.  When me thieving had
+gone far, an' near its goal, the bank burned.  As God's me witness
+I'd no hand in that.  I weighed the chances an' expected to go to
+prison--well, say for ten years, at least.  I must suffer in order
+to save the boy, an' was ready for the sacrifice.  Free again, I
+would help him to return the money.  That burning o' the records
+shut off the prison, but opened the fire o' hell upon me.  Half a
+year had gone by, an' not a word from the kidnappers.  I took a
+note to the place appointed,--a hollow log in the woods, a bit east
+of a certain bridge on the public highway twenty miles out o' the
+city,--but no answer,--not a word,--not a line up to this moment.
+They must have relinquished hope an' put the boy to death.
+
+"'In that old trunk there under the bed is a dusty, moulding,
+cursed heap o' money done up in brown paper an' tied with a string.
+It is a hundred thousand dollars, an' the price o' me soul.'
+
+"'An' thou in rags an' a garret,' said I.
+
+"'An' I in rags an' hell,' said he, sor, looking down at himself.
+
+"He drew out the trunk an' showed me the money, stacks of it,
+dirty, an' stinking o' damp mould.
+
+"'There it is,' said he, 'every dollar I stole is there.  I brought
+it with me an' over these hundreds o' miles I could hear the tongue
+o' gossip.  Every night as I lay down I could hear the whispering
+of all the people I ever knew.  I could see them shake their heads.
+Then came this locket o' gold.'
+
+"A beautiful, shiny thing it was, an' he took out of it a little
+strand o' white hair an' read these words cut in the gleaming
+case:--
+
+  "'Here are silver an' gold,
+  The one for a day o' remembrance between thee an' dishonour,
+  The other for a day o' plenty between thee an' want.'
+
+"It was an odd thought an' worth keeping, an' often I have repeated
+the words.  The silvered hair, that was for remembrance; an' the
+gold he might sell and turn it into a day o' plenty.
+
+"'In the locket was a letter,' said the poor man.  'Here it is,'
+an' he held it in the light o' the candle.  'See, it is signed
+"mother."'
+
+"An' he read from the letter words o' sorrow an' bitter shame, an'
+firm confidence in his honour,
+
+"'It ground me to the very dust,' he went on.  'I put the money in
+that bundle, every dollar.  I could not return it, an' so confirm
+the disgrace o' her an' all the rest.  I could not use it, for if I
+lived in comfort they would ask--all o' them--whence came his
+money?  For their sake I must walk in poverty all me days.  An' I
+went to work at heavy toil, sor, as became a poor man.  As God's me
+judge I felt a pride in rags an' the horny hand.'"
+
+The tinker paused a moment in which all the pendulums seemed to
+quicken pace, tick lapping upon tick, as if trying to get ahead of
+each other.
+
+"Think of it, boy," Darrel continued.  "A pride in rags an'
+poverty.  Bring that into thy book an' let thy best thinking bear
+upon it.  Show us how patch an' tatter were for the poor man as
+badges of honour an' success.
+
+"'I thought to burn the money,' me host went on.  'But no, that
+would have robbed me o' one great possibility--that o' restoring
+it.  Some time, when they were dead, maybe, an' I could suffer
+alone, I would restore it, or, at least, I might see a way to turn
+it into good works.  So I could not be quit o' the money.  Day an'
+night these slow an' heavy years it has been me companion, cursing
+an' accusing me.
+
+"'I lie here o' nights thinking.  In that heap o' money I seem to
+hear the sighs an' sobs o' the poor people that toiled to earn it.
+I feel their sweat upon me, an' God! this heart o' mine is crowded
+to bursting with the despair o' hundreds.  An', betimes, I hear the
+cry o' murder in the cursed heap as if there were some had blood
+upon it.  An' then I dream it has caught fire beneath me an' I am
+burning raw in the flame.'"
+
+The tinker paused again, crossing the room and watching the swing
+of a pendulum.
+
+"Boy, boy," said he, returning to his chair, "think' o' that
+complaining, immovable heap lying there like the blood of a murder.
+An' thy reader must feel the toil an' sweat an' misery an' despair
+that is in a great sum, an' how it all presses on the heart o' him
+that gets it wrongfully.
+
+"'Well, sor,' the poor fellow continued, 'now an' then I met those
+had known me, an' reports o' me poverty went home.  An' those dear
+to me sent money, the sight o' which filled me with a mighty
+sickness, an' I sent it back to them.  Long ago, thank God! they
+ceased to think me a thief, but only crazy.  Tell me, man, what
+shall I do with the money?  There be those living I have to
+consider, an' those dead, an' those unborn.'
+
+"'Hide it,' said I, 'an' go to thy work an' God give thee counsel.'"
+
+Man and boy rose from the table and drew up to the little stove.
+
+"Now, boy," said the clock tinker, leaning toward him with knitted
+brows, "consider this poor thief who suffered so for his friends.
+Think o' these good words, 'Greater love hath no man than this,
+that he lay down his life for his friends.'  If thou should'st ever
+write of it, thy problem will be to reckon the good an' evil, an'
+give each a careful estimate an' him his proper rank!"
+
+"What a sad tale!" said the boy, thoughtfully.  "It's terrible to
+think he may be my father."
+
+"I'd have no worry o' that, sor," said the clock tinker.  "There be
+ten thousand--ay, more--who know not their fathers.  An', moreover,
+'twas long, long ago."
+
+"Please tell me when was the boy taken," said Trove.
+
+"Time, or name, or place, I cannot tell thee, lest I betray him,"
+said the old man, "Neither is necessary to thy tale.  Keep it with
+thee a while; thou art young yet an' close inshore.  Wait until ye
+sound the further deep.  Then, sor, write, if God give thee power,
+and think chiefly o' them in peril an' about to dash their feet
+upon the stones."
+
+For a moment the clocks' ticking was like the voice of many ripples
+washing the shore of the Infinite.  A new life had begun for Trove,
+and they were cutting it into seconds.  He looked up at them and
+rose quickly and stood a moment, his thumb on the door-latch.
+Outside they could hear the rush and scatter of the snow.
+
+"Poor youth!" said the old man.  "Thou hast no coat--take mine.
+Take it, I say.  It will give thee comfort an' me happiness."
+
+He would hear no refusal, and again the coat changed owners, giving
+happiness to the old and comfort to the new.
+
+Then Trove went down the rickety stairs and away in the darkness.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+A Certain Rick Man
+
+Riley Brooke had a tongue for gossip, an ear for evil report, an
+eye for rascals.  Every day new suspicions took root in him, while
+others grew and came to great size and were as hard to conceal as
+pumpkins.  He had meanness enough to equip all he knew, and gave it
+with a lavish tongue.  In his opinion Hillsborough came within one
+of having as many rascals in it as there were people.  He had tried
+to bring them severally to justice by vain appeals to the law,
+having sued for every cause in the books, but chiefly for trespass
+and damages, real and exemplary.  He was a money-lender, shaving
+notes or taking them for larger sums than he lent, with chattel
+mortgages for security.  Foreclosure and sale were a perennial
+source of profit to him.  He was tall and well past middle age,
+with a short, gray beard, a look of severity, a stoop in his
+shoulders, and a third wife whom nobody, within the knowledge of
+the townfolk, had ever seen.  If he had no other to gossip with, he
+provided imaginary company and talked to his own ears.  He thought
+himself a most powerful and agile man, boasting often that he still
+kept the vigour of his youth.  On his errands in the village he
+often broke into an awkward gallop, like a child at play.  When he
+slackened pace it was to shake his head solemnly, as if something
+had reminded him of the wickedness of the world.
+
+"If I dared tell all I knew," he would whisper suggestively, and
+then proceed to tell much more than he could possibly have known.
+Any one of many may have started his tongue, but the shortcomings
+of one Ezekiel Swackhammer were for him an ever present help and
+provocation.  If there were nothing new to talk about, there was
+always Swackhammer.  Poor Swackhammer had done everything he ought
+not to have done.  The good God himself was the only being that had
+the approval of old Riley Brooke.  It was curious--that turning of
+his tongue from the slander of men to the praise of God.  And of
+the goodness of the Almighty he was quite as sure as of the badness
+of men.  Assurance of his own salvation had come to him one day
+when he was shearing sheep, and when, as he related often, finding
+himself on his knees to shear, he remained to pray.  Sundays and
+every Wednesday evening he wore a stove-pipe hat and a long frock
+coat of antique and rusty aspect.  On his way to church--with
+hospitality even for the like of him, thank God!--he walked slowly
+with head bent until, remembering his great agility and strength,
+he began to run, giving a varied exhibition of skips and jumps
+terminating in a sort of gallop.  Once in the sacred house he
+looked to right and left accusingly, and aloft with encouraging
+applause.  His God was one of wrath, vengeance, and destruction;
+his hell the destination of his enemies.  They who resented the
+screw of his avarice, and pulled their thumbs away; they who
+treated him with contempt, and whose faults, compared to his own,
+were as a mound to a mountain--they were all to burn with
+everlasting fire, while he, on account of that happy thought the
+day of the sheep-shearing, was to sit forever with the angels in
+heaven.
+
+"Ye're going t' heaven, I hear," said Darrel, who had repaired a
+clock for him, and heard complaint of his small fee.
+
+"I am," was the spirited reply.
+
+"God speed ye!" said the tinker, as he went away.
+
+In such disfavour was the poor man, that all would have been glad
+to have him go anywhere, so he left Hillsborough.
+
+One day in the Christmas holidays, a boy came to the door of Riley
+Brooke, with a buck-saw on his arm.
+
+"I'm looking for work," said the boy, "and I'd be glad of the
+chance to saw your wood."
+
+"How much a cord?" was the loud inquiry.
+
+"Forty cents."
+
+"Too much," said Brooke.  "How much a day?"
+
+"Six shillings."
+
+"Too much," said the old man, snappishly.  "I used to git six
+dollars a month, when I was your age, an' rise at four o'clock in
+the mornin' an' work till bedtime.   You boys now-days are a lazy
+good-fer-nothin' lot.  What's yer name?"
+
+"Sidney Trove."
+
+"Don't want ye."
+
+"Well, mister," said the boy, who was much in need of money, "I'll
+saw your wood for anything you've a mind to give me."
+
+"I'll give ye fifty cents a day," said the old man.
+
+Trove hesitated.  The sum was barely half what he could earn, but
+he had given his promise, and fell to.  Riley Brooke spent half the
+day watching and urging him to faster work.  More than once the boy
+was near quitting, but kept his good nature and a strong pace.
+When, at last, Brooke went away, Trove heard a sly movement of the
+blinds, and knew that other eyes were on the watch.  He spent three
+days at the job--laming, wearisome days, after so long an absence
+from heavy toil.
+
+"Wal, I suppose y& want money," Brooke snapped, as the boy came to
+the door.  "How much?"
+
+"One dollar and a half."
+
+"Too much, too much; I won't pay it."
+
+"That was the sum agreed upon."
+
+"Don't care, ye hain't earned no dollar 'n a half.  Here, take that
+an' clear out;" having said which, Brooke tossed some money at the
+boy and slammed the door in his face.  Trove counted the money--it
+was a dollar and a quarter.  He was sorely tempted to open the door
+and fling it back at him, but wisely kept his patience and walked
+away.  It was the day before Christmas.  Trove had planned to walk
+home that evening, but a storm had come, drifting the snow deep,
+and he had to forego the visit.  After supper he went to the Sign
+of the Dial.  The tinker was at home in his odd little shop and
+gave him a hearty welcome.  Trove sat by the fire, and told of the
+sawing for Riley Brooke.
+
+"God rest him!" said the tinker, thoughtfully puffing his pipe.
+"What would happen, think ye, if a man like him were let into
+heaven?"
+
+"I cannot imagine," said the boy.
+
+"Well, for one thing," said the tinker, "he'd begin to look for
+chattels, an' I do fear me there'd soon be many without harps."
+
+"What is one to do with a man like that?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Only this," said the tinker; "put him in thy book.  He'll make
+good history.  But, sor, for company he's damnably poor."
+
+"It's a new way to use men," said Trove.
+
+"Nay, an old way--a very old way.  Often God makes an example o'
+rare malevolence an' seems to say, 'Look, despise, and be anything
+but this.'  Like Judas and Herod he is an excellent figure in a
+book.  Put him in thine, boy."
+
+"And credit him with full payment?" the boy asked.
+
+"Long ago, praise God, there was a great teacher," said the old
+man.  "It is a day to think of Him.  Return good for evil--those
+were His words.  We've never tried it, an' I'd like to see how it
+may work.  The trial would be amusing if it bore no better fruit."
+
+"What do you propose?"
+
+"Well, say we take him a gift with our best wishes," said the
+tinker.
+
+"If I can afford it," the boy replied.
+
+The tinker answered quickly: "Oh, I've always a little for a
+Christmas, an' I'll buy the gifts.  Ah, boy, let's away for the
+gifts.  We'll--we'll punish him with kindness."
+
+They went together and bought a pair of mittens and a warm muffler
+for Riley Brooke and walked to his door with them and rapped upon
+it.  Brooke came to the door with a candle.
+
+"What d'ye want?" he demanded.
+
+"To wish you Merry Christmas and present you gifts," said Trove.
+
+The old man raised his candle, surveying them with surprise and
+curiosity.
+
+"What gifts?" he inquired in a milder tone.
+
+"Well," said the boy, "we've brought you mittens and a muffler."
+
+"Ha! ha! Yer consciences have smote ye," said Brooke, "Glory to God
+who brings the sinner to repentance!"
+
+"And fills the bitter cup o' the ungrateful," said the tinker.  And
+they went away.
+
+"I'd like to bring one other gift," said Darrel.
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"God forgive me!  A rope to hang him.  But mind thee, boy, we are
+trying the law o' the great teacher, and let us see if we can learn
+to love this man."
+
+"Love Riley Brooke?" said Trove, doubtfully.
+
+"A great achievement, I grant thee," said the tinker.  "For if we
+can love him, we shall be able to love anybody.  Let us try and see
+what comes of it."
+
+A man was waiting for Darrel at the foot of the old stairs--a tall
+man, poorly dressed, whom Trove had not seen before, and whom, now,
+he was not able to see clearly in the darkness.
+
+"The mare is ready," said Darrel.  "Tis a dark night."
+
+He to whom the tinker had spoken made no answer.
+
+"Good night," said the tinker, turning.  "A Merry Christmas to
+thee, boy, an' peace an' plenty."
+
+"I have peace, and you have given me plenty to think about," said
+Trove.
+
+On his way home the boy thought of the stranger at the stairs,
+wondering if he were the other tinker of whom Darrel had told him.
+At his lodging he found a new pair of boots with only the Christmas
+greeting on a card.
+
+"Well," said Trove, already merrier than most of far better
+fortune, "he must have been somebody that knew my needs."
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+Darrel of the Blessed Isles
+
+The clock tinker was off in the snow paths every other week.  In
+more than a hundred homes, scattered far along road lines of the
+great valley, he set the pace of the pendulums.  Every winter the
+mare was rented for easy driving and Darrel made his journeys
+afoot.  Twice a day Trove passed the little shop, and if there were
+a chalk mark on the dial, he bounded upstairs to greet his friend.
+Sometimes he brought another boy into the rare atmosphere of the
+clock shop--one, mayhap, who needed some counsel of the wise old
+man.
+
+Spring had come again.  Every day sowers walked the hills and
+valleys around Hillsborough, their hands swinging with a godlike
+gesture that summoned the dead to rise; everywhere was the odour of
+broken field or garden.  Night had come again, after a day of magic
+sunlight, and soon after eight o'clock Trove was at the door of the
+tinker with a schoolmate.
+
+"How are you?" said Trove, as Darrel opened the door.
+
+"Better for the sight o' you," said the old man, promptly.  "Enter
+Sidney Trove and another young gentleman."
+
+The boys took the two chairs offered them in silence.
+
+"Kind sor," the tinker added, turning to Trove, "thou hast thy cue;
+give us the lines."
+
+"Pardon me," said the boy.  "Mr. Darrel, my friend Richard Kent."
+
+"Of the Academy?" said Darrel, as he held to the hand of Kent.
+
+"Of the Academy," said Trove.
+
+"An', I make no doubt, o' good hope," the tinker added.  "Let me
+stop one o' the clocks--so I may not forget the hour o' meeting a
+new friend."
+
+Darrel crossed the room and stopped a pendulum.
+
+"He would like to join this night-school of ours," Trove answered.
+
+"Would he?" said the tinker.  "Well, it is one o' hard lessons.
+When ye come t' multiply love by experience, an' subtract vanity
+an' add peace, an' square the remainder, an' then divide by the
+number o' days in thy life--it is a pretty problem, an' the result
+may be much or little, an' ye reach it--"
+
+He paused a moment, thoughtfully puffing the smoke.
+
+"Not in this term o' school," he added impressively.
+
+All were silent a little time.
+
+"Where have you been?" Trove inquired presently.
+
+"Home," said the old man.
+
+There was a puzzled look on Trove's face.
+
+"Home?" he repeated with a voice of inquiry.
+
+"I have, sor," the clock tinker went on.  "This poor shelter is not
+me home--it's only for a night now an' then.  I've a grand house
+an' many servants an' a garden, sor, where there be flowers--lovely
+flowers--an' sunlight an' noble music.  Believe me, boy, 'tis
+enough to make one think o' heaven."
+
+"I did not know of it," said Trove.
+
+"Know ye not there is a country in easy reach of us, with fair
+fields an' proud cities an' many people an' all delights, boy, all
+delights?  There I hope thou shalt found a city thyself an' build
+it well so nothing shall overthrow it--fire, nor flood, nor the
+slow siege o' years."
+
+"Where?" Trove inquired eagerly.
+
+"In the Blessed Isles, boy, in the Blessed Isles.  Imagine the
+infinite sea o' time that is behind us.  Stand high an' look back
+over its dead level.  King an' empire an' all their striving
+multitudes are sunk in the mighty deep.  But thou shalt see rising
+out of it the Blessed Isles of imagination.  Green--forever green
+are they--and scattered far into the dim distance.  Look! there is
+the city o' Shakespeare--Norman towers and battlements and Gothic
+arches looming above the sea.  Go there an' look at the people as
+they come an' go.  Mingle with them an' find good
+company--merry-hearted folk a-plenty, an' God knows I love the
+merry-hearted!  Talk with them, an' they will teach thee wisdom.
+Hard by is the Isle o' Milton, an' beyond are many--it would take
+thee years to visit them.  Ah, sor, half me time I live in the
+Blessed Isles.  What is thy affliction, boy?"
+
+He turned to Kent--a boy whose hard luck was proverbial, and whose
+left arm was in a sling.
+
+"Broke it wrestling," said the boy.
+
+"Kent has bad luck," said Trove.  "Last year he broke his leg."
+
+"Obey the law, or thou shalt break the bone o' thy neck," said
+Darrel, quickly.
+
+"I do obey the law," said Trent.
+
+"Ay--the written law," said the clock tinker, "an' small credit to
+thee.  But the law o' thine own discovery,--the law that is for
+thyself an' no other,--hast thou ne'er thought of it?  Ill luck is
+the penalty o' law-breaking.  Therefore study the law that is for
+thyself.  Already I have discovered one for thee, an' it is, 'I
+have not limberness enough in me bones, so I must put them in no
+unnecessary peril.'  Listen, I'll read thee me own code."
+
+The clock tinker rose and got his Shakespeare, ragged from long
+use, and read from a fly-leaf, his code of private law, to wit:--
+
+"Walk at least four miles a day.
+
+"Eat no pork and be at peace with thy liver.
+
+"Measure thy words and cure a habit of exaggeration.
+
+"Thine eyes are faulty--therefore, going up or down, look well to
+thy steps.
+
+"Beware of ardent spirits, for the curse that is in thy blood.  It
+will turn thy heart to stone.
+
+"In giving, remember Darrel.
+
+"Bandy no words with any man.
+
+"Play at no game of chance.
+
+"Think o' these things an' forget thyself."
+
+"Now there is the law that is for me alone," Darrel continued,
+looking up at the boys.  "Others may eat pork or taste the red cup,
+or dally with hazards an' suffer no great harm--not I.  Good
+youths, remember, ill luck is for him only that is ignorant,
+neglectful, or defiant o' private law."
+
+"But suppose your house fall upon you," Trove suggested.
+
+"I speak not o' common perils," said the tinker.  "But
+enough--let's up with the sail.  Heave ho! an' away for the Blessed
+Isles.  Which shall it be?"
+
+He turned to a rude shelf, whereon were books,--near a score,--some
+worn to rags.
+
+"What if it be yon fair Isle o' Milton?" he inquired, lifting an
+old volume.
+
+"Let's to the Isle o' Milton," Trove answered.
+
+"Well, go to one o' the clocks there, an' set it back," said the
+tinker.
+
+"How much?" Trove inquired with a puzzled look.
+
+"Well, a matter o' two hundred years," said Darrel, who was now
+turning the leaves.  "List ye, boy, we're up to the shore an' hard
+by the city gates.  How sweet the air o' this enchanted isle!
+
+  "'And west winds with musky wing
+  Down the cedarn alleys fling
+  Nard and cassia's balmy smells.'"
+
+He quoted thoughtfully, turning the leaves.  Then he read the
+shorter poems,--a score of them,--his voice sounding the noble
+music of the lines.  It was revelation for those raw youths and led
+them high.  They forgot the passing of the hours and till near
+midnight were as those gone to a strange country.  And they long
+remembered that night with Darrel of the Blessed Isles.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+Dust of Diamonds in the Hour-glass
+
+The axe of Theron Allen had opened the doors of the wilderness.
+One by one the great trees fell thundering and were devoured by
+fire.  Now sheep and cattle were grazing on the bare hills.  Around
+the house he left a thicket of fir trees that howled ever as the
+wind blew, as if "because the mighty were spoiled."   Neighbours
+had come near; every summer great rugs of grain, vari-hued, lay
+over hill and dale.
+
+Allen bad prospered, and begun to speculate in cattle.  Every year
+late in April he went to Canada for a drove and sent them south--a
+great caravan that filled the road for half a mile or more,
+tramping wearily under a cloud of dust.  He sold a few here and
+there, as the drove went on--a far journey, often, to the sale of
+the last lot.
+
+The drove came along one morning about the middle of May, 1847.
+Trove met them at the four corners on Caraway Pike.  Then about
+sixteen years of age, he made his first long journey into the world
+with Allen's drove.  He had his time that summer and fifty cents
+for driving.  It was an odd business, and for the boy full of new
+things.
+
+A man went ahead in a buckboard wagon that bore provisions.  One
+worked in the middle and two behind.  Trove was at the heels of the
+first section.  It was easy work after the cattle got used to the
+road and a bit leg weary.  They stopped them for water at the
+creeks and rivers; slowed them down to browse or graze awhile at
+noontime; and when the sun was low, if they were yet in a land of
+fences, he of the horse and wagon hurried on to get pasturage for
+the night.
+
+That first day some of the leaders had begun to wander and make
+trouble.  For that reason Trove was walking beside the buckboard in
+front of the drove.
+
+"We'll stop to-night on Cedar Hill," said the boss, about
+mid-afternoon.  "Martha Vaughn has got the best pasture and the
+prettiest girl in this part o' the country.  If you don't fall in
+love with that girl, you ought t' be licked."
+
+Now Trove had no very high opinion of girls.  Up there in Brier
+Dale he had seen little of them.  At the red schoolhouse, even,
+they were few and far from his ideal.  And they were a foolish lot
+there in Hillsborough, it seemed to him--all save two or three who
+were, he owned, very sweet and beautiful; but he had seen how they
+tempted other boys to extravagance, and was content with a sly
+glance at them now and then.
+
+"I don't ever expect to fall in love," said Trove, confidently.
+
+"Wal, love is a thing that always takes ye by surprise," the other
+answered.  "Mrs. Vaughn is a widow, an' we generally stop there the
+first day out.  She's a poor woman, an' it gives her a lift."
+
+They came shortly to the little weather-stained house of the widow.
+As they approached, a girl, with arms bare to the elbow, stood
+looking at them, her hand shading her eyes.
+
+"Co' boss!  Co' boss!  Co' boss!" she was calling, in a sweet,
+girlish treble.
+
+Trove came up to the gate, and presently her big, dark eyes were
+looking into his own.  That very moment he trembled before them as
+a reed shaken by the wind.  Long after then, he said that something
+in her voice had first appealed to him.  Her soft eyes were,
+indeed, of those that quicken the hearts of men.  It is doubtful if
+there were, in all the world, a lovelier thing than that wild
+flower of girlhood up there in the hills.  She was no dream of
+romance, dear reader.  In one of the public buildings of a certain
+capital her portrait has been hanging these forty years, and wins,
+from all who pass it, the homage of a long look.  But Trove said,
+often, that she was never quite so lovely as that day she stood
+calling the cows--her shapely, brown face aglow with the light of
+youth, her dark hair curling on either side as it fell to her
+shoulders.
+
+"Good day," said he, a little embarrassed.
+
+"Good day," said she, coolly, turning toward the house.
+
+Trove was now in the midst of the cattle.  Suddenly a dog rushed
+upon them, and they took fright.  For a moment the boy was in
+danger of being trampled, but leaped quickly to the backs of the
+cows and rode to safety.  After supper the men sat talking in the
+stable door, beyond which, on the hay, they were to sleep that
+night.  But Trove stood a long time with the girl, whose name was
+Polly, at the little gate of the widow.
+
+They seemed to meet there by accident.  For a moment they were
+afraid of each other.  After a little hesitation Polly picked a
+sprig of lilac.  He could see a tremble in her hand as she gave it
+to him, and he felt his own blushes.
+
+"Couldn't you say something?" she whispered with a smile.
+
+"I--I've been trying to think of something," he stammered.
+
+"Anything would do," said the girl, laughing, as she retreated a
+step or two and stood with an elbow leaning on the board fence.
+She had on her best gown.
+
+It was a curious interview, the words of small account, the
+silences full of that power which has been the very light of the
+world.  If there were only some way of reporting what followed the
+petty words,--swift arrows of the eye, lips trembling with the
+peril of unuttered thought, faces lighting with sweet discovery or
+darkening with doubt,--well, the author would have better
+confidence.
+
+Their glances met--the boy hesitated.
+
+"I--don't think you look quite as lovely in that dress," he
+ventured.
+
+A shadow of disappointment came into her face, and she turned away.
+The boy was embarrassed.  He had taken a misstep.  She turned
+impatiently and gave him a glance from head to foot.
+
+"But you're lovely enough now," he ventured again.
+
+There was a quick movement of her lips, a flicker of contempt in
+her eyes.  It seemed an age before she answered him.
+
+"Flatterer!" said she, presently, looking down and jabbing the
+fence top with a pin.  "I suppose you think I'm very homely."
+
+"I always mean what I say."
+
+"Then you'd better be careful--you might spoil me."  She smiled
+faintly, turning her face away.
+
+"How so?"
+
+"Don't you know," said she, seriously, "that when a girl thinks
+she's beautiful she's spoiled?"
+
+Their blushes had begun to fade; their words to come easier.
+
+"Guess I'm spoilt, too," said the boy, looking away thoughtfully.
+"I don't know what to say--but sometime, maybe, you will know me
+better and believe me."  He spoke with some dignity.
+
+"I know who you are," the girl answered, coming nearer and looking
+into his eyes.  "You're the boy that came out of the woods in a
+little red sleigh."
+
+"How did you know?" Trove inquired; for he was not aware that any
+outside his own home knew it.
+
+"A man told us that came with the cattle last year.  And he said
+you must belong to very grand folks."
+
+"And how did he know that?"
+
+"By your looks."
+
+"By my looks?"
+
+"Yes, I--I suppose he thought you didn't look like other boys
+around here." She was now plying the pin very attentively.
+
+"I must be a very curious-looking boy."
+
+"Oh, not very," said she, looking at him thoughtfully.  "I--I--well
+I shall not tell you what I think," She spoke decisively.
+
+She had begun to blush again.
+
+Their eyes met, and they both looked away, smiling.  Then a moment
+of silence.
+
+"Don't you like brown?" She was now looking down at her dress, with
+a little show of trouble in her eyes.
+
+"I liked the brown of your arms," he answered.
+
+The pin stopped; there was a puzzled look in her face.
+
+"I'm afraid it's a very homely dress, anyway," said she, looking
+down upon it, as she moved her foot impatiently.
+
+Her mother came out of doors.  "Polly," said she, "you'd better go
+over to the post-office."
+
+"May I go with her?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Ask Polly," said the widow Vaughn, laughing.
+
+"May I?" he asked.
+
+Polly turned away smiling.  "If you care to," said she, in a low
+voice.
+
+"You must hurry and not be after dark," said the widow.
+
+They went away, but only the moments hurried.  They that read here,
+though their heads be gray and their hearts heavy, will understand;
+for they will remember some little space of time, with seconds
+flashing as they went, like dust of diamonds in the hour-glass.
+
+"Don't you remember how you came in the little red sleigh?" she
+asked presently.
+
+"No."
+
+"I think it's very grand," said she.  "It's so much like a story."
+
+"Do you read stories?"
+
+"All I can get.  I've been reading 'Greytower.'"
+
+"I read it last winter," said the boy.  "What did you like best in
+it?"
+
+"I'm ashamed to tell you," said she, with a quick glance at him.
+
+"Please tell me."
+
+"Oh, the love scenes, of course," said she, looking down with a
+sigh, and a little hesitation.
+
+"He was a fine lover."
+
+"I've something in my eye," said she, stopping.
+
+"Perhaps I can get it," said he; "let me try."
+
+"I'm afraid you'll hurt me," said she, looking up with a smile.
+
+"I'll be careful."
+
+He lifted her face a little, his fingers beneath her pretty chin.
+Then, taking her long, dark lashes between thumb and finger, he
+opened the lids.
+
+"You are hurting," said she, soberly; and now the lashes were
+trying to pull free.
+
+"I can see it," said he.
+
+"It must be a bear--you look so frightened."
+
+"It's nothing to be afraid of," said the boy.
+
+"Well, your hands tremble," said she, laughing.
+
+"There," he answered, removing a speck of dust with his
+handkerchief.
+
+"It is gone now, thank you," said Polly, winking.
+
+She stood close to him, and as she spoke her lips trembled.  He
+could delay no longer with a subject knocking at the gate of speech.
+
+"Do you believe in love at first sight?" he asked.
+
+She turned, looking up at him seriously.  Her lips parted in a
+smile that showed her white teeth.  Then her glance fell.  "I shall
+not tell you that," said she, in a half whisper.
+
+"I hope we shall meet again," he said,
+
+"Do you?" said she, glancing up at him shyly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, if I were you and wanted to see a girl,--I'd--I'd come and
+see her."
+
+"What if you didn't know whether she was willing or not?" he asked.
+
+"I'd take my chances," said she, soberly.
+
+There were pauses in which their souls went far beyond their words
+and seemed to embrace each other fondly with arms of the spirit
+invisible and resistless.  And whatever was to come, in that hour
+the great priest of Love in the white robe of innocence had made
+them one.  The air about them was full of strange delight, They
+were in deep dusk as they neared the house.  For one moment of
+long-remembered joy she let him put his arm about her waist, but
+when he kissed her cheek she drew herself away.
+
+They walked a little time in silence.
+
+"I am no flirt," she whispered presently.  Neither spoke for a
+moment.
+
+Then she seemed to feel and pity his emotion.  Something slowed the
+feet of both.
+
+"There," she whispered; "you may kiss my hand if you care to."
+
+He kissed the pretty hand that was offered to him, and her whisper
+seemed to ring in the dusky silence like the dying rhythm of a bell.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+Drove and Drovers
+
+A little after daybreak they went on with the cows.   For half a
+mile or more until the little house had sunk below the hill crest
+Trove was looking backward.  Now and ever after he was to think and
+tarry also in the road of life and look behind him for the golden
+towers of memory.  The drovers saw a change in Trove and flung at
+him with their stock of rusty, ancestral witticisms.  But Thurst
+Tilly had a way of saying and doing quite his own,
+
+"Never see any one knocked so flat as you was," said he.  "Ye
+didn't know enough t' keep ahead o' the cattle.  I declare I
+thought they'd trample ye 'fore ye could git yer eye unsot."
+
+Trove made no answer.
+
+"That air gal had a mighty power in her eye," Thurst went on.
+"When I see her totin' you off las' night I says t' the boys, says
+I, 'Sid is goin' t' git stepped on.  He ain't never goin' t' be the
+same boy ag'in.'"
+
+The boy held his peace, and for days neither ridicule nor
+excitement--save only for the time they lasted--were able to bring
+him out of his dream.
+
+That night they came to wild country, where men and cattle lay down
+to rest by the roadway--a thing Trove enjoyed.  In the wagon were
+bread and butter and boiled eggs and tea and doughnuts and cake and
+dried herring.  The men built fires and made tea and ate their
+suppers, and sang, as the night fell, those olden ballads of the
+frontier--"Barbara Allen," "Bonaparte's Dream," or the "Drover's
+Daughter."
+
+For days they were driving in the wild country.  At bedtime each
+wound himself in a blanket and lay down to rest, beneath a rude
+lean-to if it were raining, but mostly under the stars.  On this
+journey Trove got his habit of sleeping, out-of-doors in fair
+weather.  After it, save in midwinter, walls seemed to weary and
+roofs to smother him.  The drove began to low at daybreak, and soon
+they were all cropping the grass or browsing in the briers.  Then
+the milking, and breakfast over a camp fire, and soon after sunrise
+they were all tramping in the road again.
+
+It was a pleasant journey--the waysides glowing with the blue of
+violets, the green of tender grass, the thick-sown, starry gold of
+dandelions.  Wild fowl crossed the sky in wedge and battalion,
+their videttes out, their lines now firm, now wheeling in a long
+curve to take the path of the wind.  Every thicket was a fount of
+song that fell to silence when darkness came and the low chant of
+the marshes.
+
+When they came into settled country below the big woods they began
+selling.  At length the drove was reduced to one section; Trove
+following with the helper named Thurston Tilly, familiarly known as
+"Thurst."
+
+He was a tall, heavy, good-natured man, distinguished for fat,
+happiness, and singular aptitudes.  He had lifted a barrel of salt
+by the chimes and put it on a wagon; once he had eaten two mince
+pies at a meal; again he had put his heel six inches above his head
+on a barn door, and, any time, he could wiggle one ear or both or
+whistle on his thumb.  At every lodging place he had left a feeling
+of dread and relief as well as a perennial topic of conversation.
+At every inn he added something to his stock of fat and happiness.
+Then, often, he seemed to be overloaded with the latter and would
+sit and shake his head and roar with laughter, now and then giving
+out a wild yell.  He had a story of which no one had ever heard the
+finish.  He began it often, but, somehow, never got to the end.  He
+always clung to the lapel of his hearer's coat as if in fear of
+losing him, and never tried his tale but once on the same pair of
+ears.  Having got his inspiration he went in quest of his hearer,
+and having hitched him, as it were, by laying hold of his elbow or
+coat collar, began the tale.  It was like pouring molasses on a
+level place--it moved slowly and spread and got nowhere in
+particular.  At first his manner was slow, dignified, and
+confidential, changing to fit his emotion.  He whispered, he
+shouted, he laughed, he looked sorrowful, he nudged the stranger in
+his abdomen, he glared upon him, eye close to eye, he shook him by
+the shoulder, and slowly wore him out.  Some endured long and were
+patient, but soon or late all began to back and dodge, and finally
+broke away, and seeing the hand of the narrator reach for them,
+dodged quickly and, being pursued, ran.  Often this odd chase took
+them around trees and stumps and buildings, the stranger escaping,
+frequently, through some friendly door which he could lock or hold
+fast.  Then Thurst, knocking loudly, gave out a wild yell or two,
+peered in at the nearest window, and came at last to his chair,
+sorrowful and much out of breath, his tale unfinished.  There was
+in the man a saving element of good nature, and no one ever got
+angry with him.  At each new attempt be showed a grimmer
+determination to finish, but even there, in a land of strong and
+patient men, not one, they used to say, had ever the endurance to
+hear the end of that unfinished tale.
+
+It was not easy to dispose of cattle in the southern counties that
+year, but they found a better market as they bore west, and were
+across the border of Ohio when the last of the drove were sold.
+That done, Trove and Thurst Tilly took the main road to Cleveland,
+whence they were to return home by steamboat.
+
+It led them into woods and by stumpy fields and pine-odoured
+hamlets.  The first day of their walk was rainy, and they went up a
+toteway into thick timber and built a fire and kept dry and warm
+until the rain ceased.  That evening they fell in with emigrants on
+their way to the far west.
+
+The latter were camped on the edge of a wood, near the roadway, and
+cooking supper as the two came along.  Being far from a town, Trove
+and Tilly were glad to accept the hospitality of the travellers.
+
+They had come to the great highway of travel from east to west.
+Every day it was cut by wagons of the mover overloaded with Lares
+and Penates, with old and young, enduring hardships and the loss of
+home and old acquaintance for hope of better fortune.
+
+A man and wife and three boys were the party, travelling with two
+wagons.  They were bound for Iowa and, being heavy loaded, were
+having a hard time.  All sat on a heap of boughs in the firelight
+after supper.
+
+"It's a long, long road to Iowa, father," said the woman.
+
+"It'll soon be over," said he, with a tone of encouragement.
+
+"I've been thinking all day of the lilacs and the old house," said
+she.
+
+They looked in silence at the fire a moment.
+
+"We're a bit homesick," said the man, turning to Trove, "an' no
+wonder.  It's been hard travelling, an' we've broke down every few
+miles.  But we'll have better luck the rest o' the journey."
+
+Evidently his cheerful courage had been all that kept them going.
+
+"Lost all we had in the great fire of '35," said he, thoughtfully.
+"I went to bed a rich man, but when I rose in the morning I had not
+enough to pay a week's board.  Everything had been swept away."
+
+"A merchant?" Trove inquired.
+
+"A partner in the great Star Mill on East River," said the man.  "I
+could have got a fortune for my share--at least a hundred thousand
+dollars--and I had worked hard for it."
+
+"And were you not able to succeed again?"
+
+"No," said the traveller, sadly, shaking his head.  "If some time
+you have to lose all you possess.  God grant you still have youth
+and a strong arm.  I tried--that is all--I tried."
+
+The boy looked up at him, his heart touched.  The man was near
+sixty years of age; his face had deep lines in it; his voice the
+dull ring of loss, and failure, and small hope.  The woman covered
+her face and began to sob.
+
+"There, mother," said the man, touching her head; "we'd better
+forget.  I'll never speak of that again--never.  We're going to
+seek our fortune.  Away in the great west we'll seek our fortune."
+
+His effort to be cheerful was perhaps the richest colour of that
+odd scene there in the still woods and the firelight.
+
+"We're going to take a farm in the most beautiful country in the
+world.  It's easy to make money there."
+
+"If you've no objection I'd like to go with you," said Thurst
+Tilly.  "I'm a good farmer."
+
+"Can you drive a team?" said the man.
+
+"Drove horses all my life," said Thurst; whereupon they made a
+bargain.
+
+Trove and Tilly went away to the brook for water while the
+travellers went to bed in their big, covered wagon.  Trove lay down
+with his blanket on the boughs, reading over the indelible record
+of that day.  And he said, often, as he thought of it, years after,
+that the saddest thing in all the world is a man of broken courage.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+An Odd Meeting
+
+They were up betimes in the morning, and Trove ate hastily from his
+own store and bade them all good-by and made off, for he had yet a
+long road to travel.
+
+That day Trove fell in with a great, awkward country boy, slouching
+along the road on his way to Cleveland.  He was an odd figure, with
+thick hair of the shade of tow that burst out from under a slouch
+hat and muffled his neck behind; his coat was thread-bare and a bit
+too large; his trousers of satinet fell loosely far enough to break
+joints with each bootleg; the dusty cowhide gave his feet a lonely
+and arid look.  He carried a bundle tied to a stick that lay on his
+left shoulder.  They met near a corner, nodded, and walked on a
+while together in silence.  For a little time they surveyed each
+other curiously.  Then each began to quicken the pace.
+
+"Maybe you think you can walk the fastest," said he of the long
+hair.
+
+They were going a hot pace, their free arms flying.  Trove bent to
+his work stubbornly.  They both began to tire and slow up.  The big
+boy looked across at the other and laughed loudly.
+
+"Wouldn't give up if ye broke a leg, would ye?" said he.
+
+"Not if I could swing it," said Trove.
+
+"Goin' t' Cleveland?"
+
+"Yes; are you?"
+
+"Yes.  I'm goin' t' be a sailor," said the strange boy.
+
+"Goin' off on the ocean?" Trove inquired with deep interest.
+
+"Yes; 'round the world, maybe.  Then I'll come back an' go t'
+school--if I don't git wrecked like Robi'son Crusoe."
+
+"My stars!" said Trove, with a look of awe.
+
+"Like t' go?" the other inquired.
+
+"Guess I would!"
+
+"Better stay t' home; it's a hard life." This with an air of
+parental wisdom.
+
+"I've read 'Robi'son Crusoe,'" said Trove, as if it were some
+excuse.
+
+"So 've I; an' Grimshaw's 'Napoleon,' an' Weems's 'Life o' Marion,'
+an' 'The Pirates' Book,' an' the Bible."
+
+"I've got half through the Bible," said Trove.
+
+"Who slew Absolum?" the other inquired doubtfully.
+
+Trove remembered the circumstances, but couldn't recall the name.
+
+They sat down to rest and eat luncheon.
+
+"You going to be a statesman?" Trove inquired.
+
+"No; once I thought I'd try t' go t' Congress, but I guess I'd
+rather go t' sea.  What you goin' t' be?"
+
+"I shall try to be an author," said Trove.
+
+"Why, if I was you, I'd go into politics," said the other.  "Ye
+might be President some day, no telling.  Do ye know how t' chop er
+hoe er swing a scythe?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Wal, then, if ye don't ever git t' be President, ye won't have t'
+starve.  I saw an author one day."
+
+"You did?"
+
+"He was an awful-lookin' cuss," said the other, with a nod of
+affirmation.
+
+The strange boy took another bite of bread and butter.
+
+"Wrote dime novels an' drank whisky an' wore a bearskin vest," he
+added presently.
+
+"Do you know the Declaration of Independence?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I do," said the strange boy, and gave it word for word.
+
+They chatted and tried tricks and spent a happy hour there by the
+roadside.  It was an hour of pure democracy--neither knew even the
+name of the other so far.
+
+They got to Cleveland late in the afternoon.
+
+"Now keep yer hand on yer wallet," said the strange boy, as they
+were coming into the city.  "I've got three dollars an'
+seventy-five cents in mine, an' I don't propose t' have it took
+away from me."
+
+Trove went to a tavern, the other to stay with friends.  Near noon
+next day both boys met on the wharf, where Trove was to board a
+steamboat.
+
+"Got a job?" Trove inquired.
+
+"No," said the other, with a look of dejection.  "I tried, an' they
+cursed an' damned me awful.  I got away as quick as I could.  Dunno
+but I'll have t' go back an' try t' be a statesman er something o'
+that kind.  Guess it's easier than goin' t' sea.  Give me yer name
+an' address, an' maybe I'll write ye a letter."
+
+Trove complied.
+
+"Please give me yours," said he.
+
+"It's James Abram Garfield, Orange, O.," said the other.
+
+Then they spoke a long good-by.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+The Old Rag Doll
+
+The second week of September Trove went down the hills again to
+school, with food and furniture beside him in the great wagon.  He
+had not been happy since he got home.  Word of that evening with
+the pretty "Vaughn girl" had come to the ears of Allen.
+
+"You're too young for that, boy," said he, the day Trove came.
+"You must promise me one thing--that you'll keep away from her
+until you are eighteen."
+
+In every conviction Allen was like the hills about him--there were
+small changes on the surface, but underneath they were ever the
+same rock-boned, firm, unmoving hills.
+
+"But I'm in love with her," said the boy, with dignity. "It is more
+than I can bear.  I tell you, sir, that I regard the young lady
+with--with deep affection."  He had often a dignity of phrase and
+manner beyond his years.
+
+"Then it will last," said Allen.  "You're only a boy, and for a
+while I know what is best for you."
+
+Trove had to promise, and, as that keen edge of his feeling wore
+away, doubted no more the wisdom of his father.  He wrote Polly a
+letter, quaint with boyish chivalry and frankness--one of a package
+that has lain these many years in old ribbons and the scent of
+lavender.
+
+He went to the Sign of the Dial as soon as he got to Hillsborough
+that day.  Darrel was at home, and a happy time it was, wherein
+each gave account of the summer.  A stranger sat working at the
+small bench.  Darrel gave him no heed, chatting as if they were
+quite alone.
+
+"And what is the news in Hillsborough?" said Trove, his part of the
+story finished.
+
+"Have ye not heard?" said Darrel, in a whisper.  "Parson Hammond
+hath swapped horses."
+
+Trove began to laugh.
+
+"Nay, that is not all," said the tinker, his pipe in hand.  "Deacon
+Swackhammer hath smitten the head o' Brooke.  Oh, sor, 'twas a
+comedy.   Brooke gave him an ill-sounding word.  Swackhammer
+removed his coat an' flung it down.  'Deacon, lie there,' said he.
+Then each began, as it were, to bruise the head o' the serpent.
+Brooke--poor man!--he got the worst of it.  An' sad to tell! his
+wife died the very next day."
+
+"Of what?" Trove inquired,
+
+"Marry, I do not know; it may have been joy," said the tinker,
+lighting his pipe.  "Ah, sor, Brooke is tough.  He smites the
+helping hand an' sickens the heart o' kindness.  I offered him help
+an' sympathy, an' he made it all bitter with suspicion o' me.  I
+turned away, an' said I to meself, 'Darrel, thy head is soft--a
+babe could brain thee with a lady's fan.'"
+
+Darrel puffed his pipe in silence a little time.
+
+"Every one hates Brooke," said Trove.
+
+"Once," said Darrel, presently, "a young painter met a small animal
+with a striped back, in the woods.  They exchanged compliments an'
+suddenly the painter ran, shaking his head.  As he came near his
+own people, they all began to flee before him.  He followed them
+for days, an' every animal in the woods ran as he came near.  By
+an' by he stopped to rest.  Then he looked down at himself an'
+spat, sneeringly.  When, after weeks o' travel, he was at length
+admitted to the company of his kind, they sat in judgment on him.
+
+"'Tell us,' said one, 'what evil hath befallen thee?'
+
+"'Alas!' said the poor cat, 'I met a little creature with a striped
+back.'
+
+"'A little creature! an' thee so put about?' said another, with
+great contempt.
+
+"'Ay; but he hath a mighty talent,' said the sad painter.  'Let him
+but stand before thee, an' he hath spoiled the earth, an' its
+people, an' thou would'st even flee from thyself.  But in fleeing
+thou shalt think thyself on the way to hell.'"
+
+For a moment Darrel shook with silent laughter.  Then he rose and
+put his pipe on the shelf.
+
+"Well, I'd another chance to try the good law on him," said Darrel,
+presently.  "In July he fell sick o' fever, an' I delayed me trip
+to nurse him.  At length, when he was nearly well, an' I had come
+to his home one evening, the widow Glover met me at his door.
+
+"'If ye expect money fer comin' here, ye better go on 'bout yer
+business,' Brooke shouted from the bedroom.  'I don't need ye any
+more, an' I'll send ye a bushel o' potatoes by 'n by.  Good day.'
+
+"Not a word o' thanks!" the tinker exclaimed.  "Wrath o' God!  I
+fear there is but one thing would soften him."
+
+"And what is that?"
+
+"A club," said Darrel.  "But God forgive me!  I must put away
+anger.  Soon it went about that Brooke was to marry the widow.  All
+were delighted, for each party would be in the nature of a
+punishment.  God's justice!  they did deserve each other."
+
+Darrel shook with happiness, and relighted his pipe.
+
+"Mayhap ye've seen the dear lady," Darrel went on.  "She is large,
+bony, quarrelsome--a weaver of some fifty years--neither amiable
+nor fair to look upon.  Every one knows her--a survivor o' two
+husbands an' many a battle o' high words.
+
+"'Is it a case o' foreclosure, Brooke?' says I to him one day in
+the road.
+
+"'No, sor,' he snaps out; 'I had a little mortgage on her
+furniture, but I'm going t' marry her for a helpmeet.  She is a
+great worker an' neat an' savin'.'
+
+"'An' headstrong,' says I. 'Ye must have patience with her.'
+
+"'I can manage her,' said Brooke.   'The first morning after we are
+married I always say to my wife, "Here's the breeches; now if ye
+want 'em, take 'em, an' I'll put on the dress."'
+
+"He looked wise, then, as if 'twere a great argument.
+
+"'Always?' says I.  'God bless thee, 'tis an odd habit.'
+
+"Well, the boast o' Brooke went from one to another an' at last to
+the widow's ear.  They say a look o' firmness an' resolution came
+into her face, an' late in August they were married of an evening
+at the home o' Brooke.  Well, about then, I had been having
+trouble."
+
+"Trouble?" said Trove.
+
+"It was another's trouble--that of a client o' mine, a poor woman
+out in the country.  Brooke had a mortgage on her cattle, an' she
+could not pay, an' I undertook to help her.  I had some money due
+me, but was unable to put me hand on it.  That day before the
+wedding I went to the old sinner.
+
+"'Brooke, I came to see about the Martha Vaughn mortgage,' says I."
+
+"Martha Vaughn!" said Trove, turning quickly.
+
+"Yes, one o' God's people," said the tinker.
+
+"Ye may have seen her?"
+
+"I have seen her," said Trove.
+
+"'At ten o'clock to-morrow I shall foreclose,' says Brooke, waving
+his fist.
+
+"'Give her a little time--till the day after to-morrow,--man, it is
+not much to ask,' says I.
+
+"'Not an hour,' says he; an' I came away."
+
+Darrel rose and put on his glasses and brought a newspaper and gave
+it to the boy.
+
+"Read that," said he, his finger on the story, "an' see what came
+of it."
+
+The article was entitled "A Rag Doll--The Story of a Money-lender
+whose Name, let us say, is Brown."
+
+After some account of the marriage and of bride and groom, the
+story went on as follows:--
+
+
+"At midnight the charivari was heard--a noisy beating of pans and
+pots in the door-yard of the unhappy groom, who flung sticks of
+wood from the window, and who finally dispersed the crowd with an
+old shotgun.  Bright and early next day came the milkman--a veteran
+of the war of 1812--who, agreeably with his custom, sounded the
+call of boots and saddles on his battered bugle at Brown's door.
+But none came to open it.   The noon hour passed with no sign of
+life in the old house.
+
+"'Suthin' hes happened over there,' said his nearest neighbour,
+peering out of the window.  'Mebbe they've fit an' disabled each
+other.'
+
+"'You'd better go an' rap on the door,' said his wife.
+
+"He started, halting at his gate and looking over at the house of
+mystery.  While he stood there, the door of the money-lender opened
+a little, and a head came out beckoning for help.  He hurried to
+the door, that swung open as he came near it.
+
+"'Heavens!' said he,  'What is the matter?'
+
+"Brown stood behind the door, in a gown of figured calico, his feet
+bare, his shock of gray hair dishevelled.  The gown was a poor fit,
+stopping just below the knees.
+
+"'That woman!' he gasped, sinking into a chair and making an angry
+gesture with his fist.  'That woman has got every pair o' breeches
+in the house.'
+
+"His wife appeared in the rusty, familiar garments of the
+money-lender.
+
+"'He tried to humble me this morning,' said she, 'an' I humbled
+him.  He began to order me around, an' I told him I wouldn't hev
+it.  "Then," says he, "you better put on the breeches an' I'll put
+on the dress."  "Very well," says I, and grabbed the breeches, an'
+give him the dress.   I know ye, Brown; ye'll never abuse me.'
+
+"'I'll get a divorce--I'll have the law on ye,' said the old man,
+angrily, as he walked the floor in his gown of calico.
+
+"'Go on,' said she.  'Go to the lawyer now.'
+
+"'Will ye git me a pair o' breeches?'
+
+"'No; I took yer offer, an' ye can't have 'em 'til ye've done the
+work that goes with the dress.  Come, now, I want my dinner.'
+
+"'I can't find a stitch in the house,' said he, turning to his
+neighbour.  'I wish ye'd bring me some clothes.'
+
+"The caller made no reply, but came away smiling, and told of
+Brown's dilemma.
+
+"'It's good for him,' said the neighbour's wife.  'Don't ye take
+him any clothes.  He's bullied three wives to death, an' now I'm
+glad he's got a wife that can bully him.'
+
+"Brown waited long, but no help arrived.  The wife was firm and he
+very hungry.  She called him 'wife'--a title not calculated to
+soothe a man of his agility and vigour.  He galloped across the
+room at her, yelling as he brandished a poker.  She quickly took it
+away and drove him into a corner.  He had taken up the poker and
+now seemed likely to perish by it.  Then, going to the stove with
+this odd weapon, she stuck its end in the fire, and Brown had no
+sooner flung a wash-basin across the room at her head than she ran
+after him with the hot poker.  Then, calling for help, he ran
+around the stove and out of doors like a wild man, his dress of
+calico and his long hair flying in the breeze.  Pedestrians halted,
+men and women came out of their homes.  The bare feet of the
+money-lender were flying with great energy.
+
+"'She's druv him crazy,' a man shouted.
+
+"'An' knocked the socks off him,' said another.
+
+"'Must have been tryin' t' make him into a rag doll,' was the
+comment of a third.
+
+"'Brown, if yer goin' t' be a womern,' said one, as they surrounded
+him, 'ye'd ought to put on a longer dress.  Yer enough t' scare a
+hoss.'
+
+"Brown was inarticulate with anger.
+
+"A number of men judging him insane, seized and returned him to his
+punishment.  They heard the unhappy story with loud laughter.
+
+"'You'd better give up an' go to the kitchen.  Brown,' said one of
+them; and there are those who maintain that he got the dinner
+before he got the trousers."
+
+
+"Well, God be praised!" said Darrel, when Trove had finished
+reading the story; "Brooke was unable to foreclose that day, an'
+the next was Sunday, an' bright an' early on Monday morning I paid
+the debt."
+
+"Mrs.  Vaughn has a daughter," said Trove, blushing.
+
+"Ay; an' she hath a pretty redness in her lip," said Darrel,
+quickly, "an' a merry flash in her eye.  Thou hast yet far to go,
+boy.  Look not upon her now, or she will trip thee.  By an' by,
+boy, by an' by."
+
+There was an odd trait in Darrel.  In familiar talk he often made
+use of "ye"--a shortened you--in speaking to those of old
+acquaintance.  But when there was man or topic to rouse him into
+higher dignity it was more often "thee" or "thou" with him.  Trove
+made no answer and shortly went away.
+
+In certain court records one may read of the celebrated suit for
+divorce which enlivened the winter of that year in the north
+country.  It is enough to quote the ringing words of one Colonel
+Jenkins, who addressed the judge as follows:--
+
+
+"Picture to yourself, sir, this venerable man, waking from his
+dream of happiness to be robbed of his trousers--the very insignia
+of his manhood.  Picture him, sir, sitting in calico and despair,
+mingled with hunger and humiliation.  Think of him being addressed
+as 'wife.'  Being called 'wife,' sir, by this woman he had taken to
+his heart and home.  That, your Honour, was ingratitude sharper
+than a serpent's tooth.  Picture him driven from his fireside in
+skirts,--the very drapery of humiliation,--skirts, your Honour,
+that came barely to the knees and left his nether limbs exposed to
+the autumnal breeze and the ridicule of the unthinking.  Sir, it is
+for you to say how far the widow may go in her oppression.  If such
+conduct is permitted, in God's name, who is safe?"
+
+"May it please your Honour," said the opposing lawyer, "having
+looked upon these pictures of the learned counsel, it is for you to
+judge whether you ever saw any that gave you greater joy.  They are
+above all art, your Honour.  In the galleries of memory there are
+none like them--none so charming, so delightful.  If I were to die
+to-morrow, sir, I should thank God that my last hour came not until
+I had seen these pictures of Colonel Jenkins; and it may be sir,
+that my happiness would even delay the hand of death.  My only
+regret is that mine is the great misfortune of having failed to
+witness the event they portray.  Sir, you have a great
+responsibility, for you have to judge whether human law may
+interfere with the working of divine justice.  It was the decree of
+fate, your Honour, following his own word and action, that this man
+should become as a rag doll in the hands of a termagant.  I submit
+to you that Providence, in the memory of the living, has done no
+better job."
+
+
+A tumult of applause stopped him, and he sat down.
+
+Brooke was defeated promptly, and known ever after as "The Old Rag
+Doll."
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+The Santa Claus of Cedar Hill
+
+Christmas Eve had come and the year of 1850.  For two weeks snow
+had rushed over the creaking gable of the forest above Martha
+Vaughn's, to pile in drifts or go hissing down the long hillside.
+A freezing blast had driven it to the roots of the stubble and sown
+it deep and rolled it into ridges and whirled it into heaps and
+mounds, or flung it far in long waves that seemed to plunge, as if
+part of a white sea, and break over fence and roof and chimney in
+their downrush.  Candle and firelight filtered through frosty panes
+and glowed, dimly, under dark fathoms of the snow sheet now flying
+full of voices.  Mrs. Vaughn opened her door a moment to peer out.
+A great horned owl flashed across the light beam with a snap and
+rustle of wings and a cry "oo-oo-oo," lonely, like that, as if it
+were the spirit of darkness and the cold wind.  Mrs. Vaughn
+started, turning quickly and closing the door.
+
+"Ugh! what a sound," said Polly.  "It reminds me of a ghost story."
+
+"Well," said the widow, "that thing belongs to the only family o'
+real ghosts in the world."
+
+"What was it?" said a small boy.  There were Polly and three
+children about the fireplace.
+
+"An air cat," said she, shivering, her back to the fire.  "They go
+'round at night in a great sheet o' feathers an' rustle it, an' I
+declare they do cry lonesome.  Got terrible claws, too!"
+
+"Ever hurt folks?" one of the boys inquired.
+
+"No; but they're just like some kinds o' people--ye want to let 'em
+alone.  Any one that'll shake hands with an owl would be fool
+enough to eat fish-hooks.  They're not made for friendship--those
+owls."
+
+"What are they made for?" another voice inquired.
+
+"Just to kill," said she, patting a boy's head tenderly.  "They're
+Death flying round at night--the angel o' Death for rats an'
+rabbits an' birds an' other little creatures.  Once,--oh, many
+years ago,--it seemed so everything was made to kill.  Men were
+like beasts o' prey, most of 'em; an' they're not all gone yet.
+Went around day an' night killing.  I declare they must have had
+claws.  Then came the Prince o' Peace."
+
+"What did he do to 'em, mother?" said Paul--a boy of seven.
+
+"Well, he began to cut their claws for one thing," said the mother.
+"Taught 'em to love an' not to kill.  Shall I read you the
+story--how he came in a manger?"
+
+"B'lieve I'd rather hear about Injuns," said the boy.
+
+"We shall hear about them too," the mother added.  "They're like
+folks o' the olden time.  They make a terrible fuss; but they've
+got to hold still an' have their claws cut."
+
+Presently she sat down by a table, where there were candles, and
+began reading aloud from a county paper.  She read anecdotes of
+men, remarkable for their success and piety, and an account of
+Indian fighting, interrupted, as a red man lifted his tomahawk to
+slay, by the rattle of an arrow on the buttery door.
+
+It was off the cross-gun of young Paul.  He had seen everything in
+the story and had taken aim at the said Indian just in the nick of
+time.
+
+She read, also, the old sweet story of the coming of the Christ
+Child.
+
+"Some say it was a night like this," said she, as the story ended.
+
+Paul had listened, his thin, sober face glowing.
+
+"I'll bet Santa Claus was good to him," said he.  "Brought him
+sleds an' candy an' nuts an' raisins an' new boots an' everything."
+
+"Why do you think so?" asked his mother, who was now reading
+intently.
+
+"'Cos he was a good boy.  He wouldn't cry if he had to fill the
+wood box; would he, mother?"
+
+That query held a hidden rebuke for his brother Tom.
+
+"I do not know, but I do not think he was ever saucy or spoke a bad
+word."
+
+"Huh!" said Tom, reflectively; "then I guess he never had no
+mustard plaster put on him."
+
+The widow bade him hush.
+
+"Er never had nuthin' done to him, neither," the boy continued,
+rocking vigorously in his little chair.
+
+"Mustn't speak so of Christ," the mother added.
+
+"Wal," said Paul, rising, "I guess I'll hang up my stockin's."
+
+"One'll do, Paul," said his sister Polly, with a knowing air.
+
+"No, 'twon't," the boy insisted.  "They ain't half 's big as yours.
+I'm goin' t' try it, anyway, an' see what he'll do to 'em."
+
+He drew off his stockings and pinned them carefully to the braces
+on the back of a chair.
+
+"Well, my son," said Mrs. Vaughn, looking over the top of her
+paper, "it's bad weather; Santa Claus may not be able to get here."
+
+"Oh, yes, he can," said the boy, confidently, but with a little
+quiver of alarm in his voice.  "I'm sure he'll come.  He has a team
+of reindeers.  'An' the deeper the snow the faster they go.'"
+
+Soon the others bared their feet and hung their stockings on four
+chairs in a row beside the first.
+
+Then they all got on the bed in the corner and pulled a quilt over
+them to wait for Santa Claus.  The mother went on with her reading
+as they chattered.
+
+Sleep hushed them presently.  But for the crackling of the fire,
+and the push and whistle of the wind, that room had become as a
+peaceful, silent cave under the storm.
+
+The widow rose stealthily and opened a bureau drawer.  The row of
+limp stockings began to look cheerful and animated.  Little
+packages fell to their toes, and the shortest began to reach for
+the floor.  But while they were fat in the foot they were still
+very lean in the leg.
+
+Her apron empty, Mrs. Vaughn took her knitting to the fire, and
+before she began to ply the needles, looked thoughtfully at her
+hands.  They had been soft and shapely before the days of toil.  A
+frail but comely woman she was, with pale face, and dark eyes, and
+hair prematurely white.
+
+She had come west--a girl of nineteen--with her young husband, full
+of high hopes.  That was twenty-one years ago, and the new land had
+poorly kept its promise.
+
+And the children--"How many have you?" a caller had once inquired.
+"Listen," said she, "hear 'em, an' you'd say there were fifteen,
+but count 'em an' they're only four."
+
+The low, weathered house and sixty acres were mortgaged.  Even the
+wilderness had not wholly signed off its claim.  Every year it
+exacted tribute, the foxes taking a share of her poultry, and the
+wild deer feeding on her grain.
+
+A little beggar of a dog, that now lay in the firelight, had
+offered himself one day, with cheerful confidence, and been
+accepted.  Small, affectionate, cowardly, irresponsible, and
+yellow, he was in the nature of a luxury, as the widow had once
+said.  He had a slim nose, no longer than a man's thumb, and ever
+busy.  He was a most prudent animal, and the first day found a
+small opening in the foundation of the barn through which he betook
+himself always at any sign of danger.  He soon buried his bones
+there, and was ready for a siege if, perchance, it came.   One blow
+or even a harsh word sent him to his refuge in hot haste.  He had
+learned early that the ways of hired men were full of violence and
+peril.  Hospitality and affection had won his confidence but never
+deprived him of his caution.
+
+Presently there came a heavy step and a quick pull at the
+latch-string.  An odd figure entered in a swirl of snow--a real
+Santa Claus, the mystery and blessing of Cedar Hill.  For five
+years, every Christmas Eve, in good or bad weather, he had come to
+four little houses on the Hill, where, indeed, his coming had been
+as a Godsend.  Whence he came and who he might be none had been
+able to guess.  He never spoke in his official capacity, and no
+citizen of Faraway had such a beard or figure as this man.  Now his
+fur coat, his beard, and eyebrows were hoary with snow and frost.
+Icicles hung from his mustache around the short clay pipe of
+tradition.  He lowered a great sack and brushed the snow off it.
+He had borne it high on his back, with a strap at each shoulder.
+
+The sack was now about half full of things.  He took out three big
+bundles and laid them on the table.  They were evidently for the
+widow herself, who quickly stepped to the bedside.
+
+"Come, children," she whispered, rousing them; "here is Santa
+Claus."
+
+They scrambled down, rubbing their eyes.  Polly took the hands of
+the two small boys and led them near him.  Paul drew his hand away
+and stood spellbound, eyes and mouth open.  He watched every motion
+of the good Saint, who had come to that chair that held the little
+stockings.  Santa Claus put a pair of boots on it.  They were
+copper-toed, with gorgeous front pieces of red morocco at the top
+of the leg.  Then, as if he had some relish of a joke, he took them
+up, looked them over thoughtfully, and put them in the sack again,
+whereupon the boy Paul burst into tears.  Old Santa Claus, shaking
+with silent laughter, replaced them in the chair quickly,
+
+As if to lighten the boy's heart he opened a box and took out a
+mouth-organ.  He held it so the light sparkled on its shiny side.
+Then he put his pipe in his pocket and began to dance and play
+lively music.  Step and tune quickened.  The bulky figure was
+flying up and down above a great clatter of big boots, his head
+wagging to keep time.  The oldest children were laughing, and the
+boy Paul, he began to smile in the midst of a great sob that shook
+him to the toes.  The player stopped suddenly, stuffed the
+instrument in a stocking, and went on with his work.  Presently he
+uncovered a stick of candy long as a man's arm.  There were spiral
+stripes of red from end to end of it.  He used it for a fiddle-bow,
+whistling with terrific energy and sawing the air.  Then he put
+shawls and tippets and boots and various little packages on the
+other chairs.
+
+At last he drew out of the sack a sheet of pasteboard, with string
+attached, and hung it on the wall.  It bore the simple message,
+rudely lettered in black, as follows:--
+
+  "Mery Crismus.  And Children i have the
+  honnor to remane, Yours Respec'fully
+    SANDY CLAUS."
+
+His work done, he swung the pack to his shoulders and made off as
+they all broke the silence with a hearty "Thank you, Santa Claus!"
+
+They listened a moment, as he went away with a loud and merry laugh
+sounding above the roar of the wind.  It was the voice of a big and
+gentle heart, but gave no other clew.  In a moment cries of
+delight, and a rustle of wrappings, filled the room.  As on wings
+of the bitter wind, joy and good fortune had come to them, and, in
+that little house, had drifted deep as the snow without.
+
+The children went to their beds with slow feet and quick pulses.
+Paul begged for the sacred privilege of wearing his new boots to
+bed, but compromised on having them beside his pillow.  The boys
+went to sleep at last, with all their treasures heaped about them.
+Tom shortly rolled upon the little jumping-jack, that broke away
+and butted him in the face with a loud squawk.  It roused the boy,
+who promptly set up a defence in which the stuffed hen lost her
+tail-feathers and the jumping-jack was violently put out of bed.
+When the mother came to see what had happened, order had been
+restored--the boys were both sleeping.
+
+It was an odd little room under bare shingles above stairs.  Great
+chests, filled with relics of another time and country, sat against
+the walls.  Here and there a bunch of herbs or a few ears of corn,
+their husks braided, hung on the bare rafters.  The aroma of the
+summer fields--of peppermint, catnip, and lobelia--haunted it.
+Chimney and stovepipe tempered the cold.  A crack in the gable end
+let in a sift of snow that had been heaping up a lonely little
+drift on the bare floor.  The widow covered the boys tenderly and
+took their treasures off the bed, all save the little wooden
+monkey, which, as if frightened by the melee, had hidden far under
+the clothes.  She went below stairs to the fire, which every cold
+day was well fed until after midnight, and began to enjoy the sight
+of her own gifts.  They were a haunch of venison, a sack of flour,
+a shawl, and mittens.  A small package had fallen to the floor.  It
+was neatly bound with wrappings of blue paper.  Under the last
+layer was a little box, the words "For Polly" on its cover.  It
+held a locket of wrought gold that outshone the light of the
+candles.  She touched a spring, and the case opened.  Inside was a
+lock of hair, white as her own.  There were three lines cut in the
+glowing metal, and she read them over and over again:--
+
+  "Here are silver and gold,
+  The one for a day of remembrance between thee and dishonour,
+  The other for a day of plenty between thee and want."
+
+She went to her bed, presently, where the girl lay sleeping, and,
+lifting dark masses of her hair, kissed a ruddy cheek.  Then the
+widow stood a moment, wiping her eyes.
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+A Christmas Adventure
+
+Long before daylight one could hear the slowing of the wind.  Its
+caravan now reaching eastward to mid-ocean was nearly passed.
+Scattered gusts hurried on like weary and belated followers.  Then,
+suddenly, came a silence in which one might have heard the dust of
+their feet falling, their shouts receding in the far woodland.  The
+sun rose in a clear sky above the patched and ragged canopy of the
+woods--a weary multitude now resting in the still air.
+
+The children were up looking for tracks of reindeer and breaking
+paths in the snow.  Sunlight glimmered in far-flung jewels of the
+Frost King.  They lay deep, clinking as the foot sank in them.  At
+the Vaughn home it was an eventful day.  Santa Claus--well, he is
+the great Captain that leads us to the farther gate of childhood
+and surrenders the golden key.  Many ways are beyond the gate, some
+steep and thorny; and some who pass it turn back with bleeding feet
+and wet eyes, but the gate opens not again for any that have
+passed.  Tom had got the key and begun to try it.  Santa Claus had
+winked at him with a snaring eye, like that of his aunt when she
+had sugar in her pocket, and Tom thought it very foolish.  The boy
+had even felt of his greatcoat and got a good look at his boots and
+trousers.  Moreover, when he put his pipe away, Tom saw him take a
+chew of tobacco--an abhorrent thing if he were to believe his
+mother.
+
+"Mother," said he, "I never knew Santa Claus chewed tobacco."
+
+"Well, mebbe he was Santa Claus's hired man," said she.
+
+"Might 'a' had the toothache," Paul suggested, for Lew Allen, who
+worked for them in the summer time, had an habitual toothache,
+relieved many times a day by chewing tobacco.
+
+Tom sat looking into the fire a moment.
+
+Then he spoke of a matter Paul and he had discussed secretly.
+
+"Joe Bellus he tol' me Santa Claus was only somebody rigged up t'
+fool folks, an' hadn't no reindeers at all."
+
+The mother turned away, her wits groping for an answer.
+
+"Hadn't ought 'a' told mother, Tom," said Paul, with a little
+quiver of reproach and pity.  "'Tain't so, anyway--we know 'tain't
+so."
+
+He was looking into his mother's face.
+
+"Tain't so," Paul repeated with unshaken confidence.
+
+"Mus'n't believe all ye hear," said the widow, who now turned to
+the doubting Thomas.
+
+And that very moment Tom was come to the last gate of childhood,
+whereon are the black and necessary words, "Mus'n't believe all ye
+hear."
+
+The boys in their new boots were on the track of a painter.  They
+treed him, presently, at the foot of the stairs.
+
+"How'll we kill him?" one of them inquired.
+
+"Just walk around the tree once," said the mother, "an' you'll
+scare him to death.  Why don't ye grease your boots?"
+
+"'Fraid it'll take the screak out of 'em," said Paul, looking down
+thoughtfully at his own pair.
+
+"Well," said she, "you'll have me treed if you keep on.  No hunter
+would have boots like that.  A loud foot makes a still gun."
+
+That was her unfailing method of control--the appeal to
+intelligence.  Polly sat singing, thoughtfully, the locket in her
+hand.  She had kissed the sacred thing and hung it by a ribbon to
+her neck and bathed her eyes in the golden light of it and begun to
+feel the subtle pathos in its odd message.  She was thinking of the
+handsome boy who came along that far May-day with the drove, and
+who lately had returned to be her teacher at Linley School.  Now,
+he had so much dignity and learning, she liked him not half so well
+and felt he had no longer any care for her.  She blushed to think
+how she had wept over his letter and kissed it every day for weeks.
+Her dream was interrupted, presently, by the call of her brother
+Tom.  Having cut the frost on a window-pane, he stood peering out.
+A man was approaching in the near field.  His figure showed to the
+boot-top, mounting hills of snow, and sank out of sight in the deep
+hollows.  It looked as if he were walking on a rough sea.  In a
+moment he came striding over the dooryard fence on a pair of
+snowshoes.
+
+"It's Mr. Trove, the teacher," said Polly, who quickly began to
+shake her curls.
+
+As the door swung open all greeted the young man.  Loosening his
+snow-shoes, he flung them on the step and came in, a foxtail
+dangling from his fur cap.
+
+He shook hands with Polly and her mother, and lifted Paul to the
+ceiling.  "Hello, young man!" said he.  "If one is four, how many
+are two?"
+
+"If you're speaking of new boots," said the widow, "one is at least
+fifteen."
+
+The school teacher made no reply, but stood a moment looking down
+at the boy.
+
+"It's a cold day," said Polly.
+
+"I like it," said the teacher, lifting his broad shoulders and
+smiting them with his hands.  "God has been house cleaning.  The
+dome of the sky is all swept and dusted.  There isn't a cobweb
+anywhere.  Santa Claus come?"
+
+"Yes," said the younger children, who made a rush for their gifts
+and laid them on chairs before him.
+
+"Grand old chap!" said he, staring thoughtfully at the flannel cat
+in his hands.  "Any idea who it is?"
+
+"Can't make out," said Mrs. Vaughn; "very singular man."
+
+"Generous, too," the teacher added.  "That's the best cat I ever
+saw, Tom.  If I had my way, the cats would all be made of flannel.
+Miss Polly, what did you get?"
+
+"This," said Polly, handing him the locket.
+
+"Beautiful!" said he, turning it in his hand.  "Anything inside?"
+
+Polly showed him how to open it.  He sat a moment or more looking
+at the graven gold.
+
+"Strange!" said he, presently, surveying the wrought cases,
+
+Mrs. Vaughn was now at his elbow.
+
+"Strange?" she inquired.
+
+"Well, long ago," said he, "I heard of one like it.  Some time it
+may solve the mystery of your Santa Claus."
+
+An ear of the teacher had begun to swell and redden.
+
+"Should have pulled my cap down," said he, as the widow spoke of
+it.  "Frost-bitten years ago, and if I'm out long in the cold, I
+begin to feel it."
+
+"Must be very painful," said Polly, as indeed it was.
+
+"No," said he, with a little squint as he touched the aching
+member.  "It's good--I rather like it.  I wouldn't take anything
+for that ear.  It--it--" He hesitated, as if trying to recall the
+advantages of a chilled ear.  "Well, I shouldn't know I had any
+ears if it weren't for that one.  Come, Paul, put on your cap an'
+mittens.  We'll take a sack and get some green boughs for your
+mother."
+
+He put on snow-shoes, wrapped the boy snugly in a shawl, and,
+seating him on a snowboat, made off, hauling it with a rope over
+white banks and hollows toward the big timber.  The dog, Bony, came
+along with them, wallowing to his ears and barking merrily.  Since
+morning the sun had begun to warm the air, and a light breeze had
+risen.  The boy sat bracing on a rope fastened before and looped
+around him.  As they went along he was oversown with sparkling
+crystals.  They made his cheeks tingle, and almost took his breath
+as he went plunging into steep hollows.  Often he tipped over and
+sank in the white deep.  Then Trove hauled him out, brushed him a
+little, and set him back on the boat again.  Snow lay deep and
+level in the woods--a big, white carpet, seamed with tiny tracks
+and figured with light and shadow.  Trove stopped a moment, looking
+up at the forest roof.  They could hear a baying of hounds in the
+far valley.  Down the dingle near them a dead leaf was drumming on
+a bough--a clock of the wood telling the flight of seconds.  Above,
+they could hear the low creak of brace and rafter and great waves
+of the upper deep sweeping over and breaking with a loud wash on
+reefs of evergreen.  The little people of this odd winter land had
+begun to make roads from tree to tree and from thicket to thicket.
+A partridge had broken out of her cave, and they followed the track
+of her snow-shoes down the side-hill to a little brook.  Under its
+ice roof they could hear the tinkling water.  Above them the brook
+fell from a rock shelf, narrow and high as a man's head.  The fall
+was muted to a low murmur under its vault of ice.
+
+"Come, Paul," said Trove, as he lifted the small boy; "here's a
+castle of King Frost.  There are thousands in his family, and he's
+many castles.  Building new ones every day somewhere.  Goes north
+in the spring, and when he moves out they begin to rot and tumble."
+
+He cleared a space for the boy to stand upon.  Then he brushed away
+the snow blanket flung loosely over the vault of ice.  A wonderful
+bit of masonry stood exposed.  Near its centre were two columns,
+large and rugose, each tapering to a capital and cornice.  Between
+them was a deep lattice of crystal.  Some bars were clear, some
+yellow as amber, and all were powdered over with snow, ivory-white.
+Under its upper part they could see a grille of frostwork,
+close-wrought, glistening, and white.  It was the inner gate of the
+castle, and each ray of light, before entering, had to pay a toll
+of its warmth.  On either side was a rough wall of ice, with here
+and there a barred window.  The snow cleared away, they could hear
+the song of falling water.  The teacher put his ear to the ice
+wall.  Then he called the boy.
+
+"Listen," said he; "it's the castle bell." Indeed, the whole
+structure rang like a bell, if one put his ear down to hear it.
+
+"See!" said he, presently, stirring a heap of tiny crystals in his
+palm.  "Here are the bricks he builds with, and the water of the
+brook is his mortar."
+
+Near the bank was an opening partly covered with snow.  It led to a
+cavern behind the ice curtain under the rock floor of the brook
+above.
+
+The teacher took off his snow-shoes.  In a moment they had crawled
+through and were crouching on a frosty bed of pebbles.  A warm glow
+lit the long curtain of ice.  Beams of sunlight fell through
+windows oddly mullioned with icicles and filtered in at the lattice
+of crystal.  They jewelled the grille of frostwork and flung a
+sprinkle of gold on the falling water.  The breath of the
+waterfall, rising out of bubbles, filled its castle with the very
+wine of life.  The narrow hall rang with its music.
+
+"See the splendour of a king's home," said the teacher, his eyes
+brimming.
+
+The boy, young as he was, had seen and felt the beauty and mystery
+of the place, and never forgot it.
+
+"See how it sifts the sunlight to take the warmth out of it," the
+teacher continued.  "Warmth is poison to the King, and every ray of
+light is twisted and turned upside down to see if he has any in his
+pocket."
+
+They could now hear a loud baying on the hill above.
+
+As they turned to listen, a young fox leaped in at the hole and, as
+he saw them, checked a foot in the air.  He was panting, his tongue
+out, and blood was dripping from his long fur at the shoulder.  He
+turned, stilling his breath a little as the hounds came near.  Then
+he trembled,--a pitiful sight,--for he was near spent and between
+two perils.
+
+"Come--poor fellow!" said the teacher, stroking him gently.
+
+The fox ran aside, shaking with fear, his foot lifted appealingly.
+With a quick movement the teacher caught him by the nape of his
+neck and thrust him into the sack.  The leader now had his nose in
+the hole.
+
+"Back there!" Trove shouted, kicking at him.
+
+In a moment he had rolled a heavy stone to the hole and made it too
+small for the hounds to enter.    Half a dozen of them were now
+baying outside.
+
+"We'll give him air," said the teacher, as he cut a hole in the
+sack and tied it.  "Don't know how we'll get him out of here alive.
+They'd be all over me like a pack of wolves."
+
+He stood a moment thinking.  Bony had wriggled away from Paul and
+begun to bark loudly.
+
+"I've an idea," said the teacher, as he cut the foxtail from his
+cap.  Then he rubbed it in the blood and spittle of the fox and
+tied it to the stub tail of Bony.  The dog's four feet were scented
+in the same manner.  The smell of them irked him sorely.  His hair
+rose, and his head fell with a sense of injury.  He made a rush at
+his new tail and was rudely stopped.
+
+"He's fresh, and they'll not be able to catch him," said the young
+man, as Paul protested.  "Wouldn't hurt anything but the tail if
+they did."
+
+Then breaking the ice curtain, as far from the hole as possible, he
+gave Bony a spank and flung him out on the snow above with a loud
+"go home."  The pack saw him and scrambled up the bank in full cry.
+He had turned for a glance at his new tail, but seeing the pack
+rush at him started up the hillside with a yelp of fear and the
+energy of a wildcat.  When the two came out of the cavern they saw
+him leaping like a rabbit in the snow, his hair on end, his brush
+flying, and the hounds in full pursuit.
+
+"My stars!  See that dog run," said the teacher, laughing, as he
+put on his snow-shoes.  "He don't intend to be caught with such a
+tail and smell on him."
+
+He put the sack over his shoulder.
+
+"All aboard, Paul," said he; "now we can go home in peace."
+
+Coming down out of the woods, they saw a pack of hounds digging at
+one side of the stable.  Bony had gone to his refuge under the barn
+floor.
+
+As he entered, one of them had evidently caught hold of his new
+tail, and the pack had torn it in shreds.  Two hunters came along
+shortly, and, after a talk with the teacher, took their dogs away.
+But for three days Bony came not forth and was seen no more of men,
+save only when he crept to the hole for a lap of water and to seize
+a doughnut from the hand of Paul, whereupon he retired promptly.
+
+"He ain't going to take any chances," said the widow, laughing.
+
+When at last he came forth, it was with a soft step and new
+resolutions.  And a while later, when Trove heard Darrel say that
+caution was the only friend of weakness, he understood him
+perfectly.
+
+"Not every brush has a fox on it," said the widow, and the words
+went from lip to lip until they were a maxim of those country-folk.
+
+And Trove was to think of it when he himself was like the poor dog
+that wore a fox's tail.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+A Day at the Linley Schoolhouse
+
+A remarkable figure was young Sidney Trove, the new teacher in
+District No. 1.  He was nearing nineteen years of age that winter.
+
+"I like that," he said to the trustee, who had been telling him of
+the unruly boys--great, hulking fellows that made trouble every
+winter term.  "Trouble--it's a grand thing I--but I'm not selfish,
+and if I find any, I'll agree to divide it with the boys.  I don't
+know but I'll be generous and let them have the most of it.  If
+they put me out of the schoolhouse, I'll have learned something."
+
+The trustee looked at the six feet and two inches of bone and
+muscle that sat lounging in a chair--looked from end to end of it.
+
+"What's that?" he inquired, smiling.
+
+"That I've no business there," said young Mr. Trove.
+
+"I guess you'll dew," said the trustee.  "Make 'em toe the line;
+that's all I got t' say."
+
+"And all I've got to do is my best--I don't promise any more," the
+other answered modestly, as he rose to leave.
+
+Linley School was at the four corners in Pleasant Valley,--a low,
+frame structure, small and weathered gray.  Windows, with no shade,
+or shutter, were set, two on a side, in perfect apposition.  A
+passing traveller could see through them to the rocky pasture
+beyond.  Who came there for knowledge, though a fool, was dubbed a
+"scholar."  It was a word sharply etched in the dialect of that
+region.  If one were to say _skollur-r-r_, he might come near it.
+Every winter morning the scholar entered a little vestibule which
+was part of the woodshed.  He passed an ash barrel and the odour of
+drying wood, hung cap and coat On a peg in the closet, lifted the
+latch of a pine door, and came into the schoolroom.  If before
+nine, it would be noisy with shout and laughter, the buzz of
+tongues, the tread of running feet.  Big girls, in neat aprons,
+would be gossiping at the stove hearth; small boys would be chasing
+each other up and down aisles and leaping the whittled desks of
+pine; little girls, in checked flannel, or homespun, would be
+circling in a song play; big boys would be trying feats of strength
+that ended in loud laughter.  So it was, the first morning of that
+winter term in 1850.  A tall youth stood by the window.  Suddenly
+he gave a loud "sh--h--h!" Running feet fell silently and halted;
+words begun with a shout ended in a whisper.  A boy making
+caricatures at the blackboard dropped his chalk, that now fell
+noisily.  A whisper, heavy with awe and expectation, flew hissing
+from lip to lip--"The teacher!"  There came a tramping in the
+vestibule, the door-latch jumped with a loud rattle, and in came
+Sidney Trove.  All eyes were turned upon him.  A look of rectitude,
+dovelike and too good to be true, came over many faces.
+
+"Good morning!" said the young man, removing his cap, coat, and
+overshoes.  Some nodded, dumb with timidity.  Only a few little
+ones had the bravery to speak up, as they gave back the words in a
+tone that would have fitted a golden text.  He came to the roaring
+stove and stood a moment, warming his hands.  A group of the big
+boys were in a corner whispering.  Two were sturdy and quite six
+feet tall,--the Beach boys.
+
+"Big as a bull moose," one whispered,
+
+"An' stouter," said another.
+
+The teacher took a pencil from his pocket and tapped the desk.
+
+"Please take your seats," said he.
+
+All obeyed.  Then he went around with the roll and took their
+names, of which there were thirty-four.
+
+"I believe I know your name," said Trove, smiling, as he came to
+Polly Vaughn.
+
+"I believe you do," said she, glancing up at him, with half a smile
+and a little move in her lips that seemed to ask, "How could you
+forget me?"
+
+Then the teacher, knowing the peril of her eyes, became very
+dignified as he glanced over the books she had brought to school.
+He knew it was going to be a hard day.  For a little, he wondered
+if he had not been foolish, after all, in trying a job so difficult
+and so perilous.  If he should be thrown out of school, he felt
+sure it would ruin him--he could never look Polly in the face
+again.  As he turned to begin the work of teaching, it seemed to
+him a case of do or die, and he felt the strength of an ox in his
+heavy muscles.
+
+The big boys had settled themselves in a back corner side by
+side--a situation too favourable for mischief.  He asked them to
+take other seats.  They complied sullenly and with hesitation.  He
+looked over books, organized the school in classes, and started one
+of them on its way.  It was the primer class, including a half
+dozen very small boys and girls.  They shouted each word in the
+reading lesson, laboured in silence with another, and gave voice
+again with unabated energy.  In their pursuit of learning they
+bayed like hounds.  Their work began upon this ancient and
+informing legend, written to indicate the shout and skip of the
+youthful student:--
+
+The--sun--is--up--and--it--is--day--day?--day.
+
+"You're afraid," the teacher began after a little.  "Come up here
+close to me."
+
+They came to his chair and stood about him.  Some were confident,
+others hung back suspicious and untamed.
+
+"We're going to be friends," said he, in a low, gentle voice.  He
+took from his pocket a lot of cards and gave one to each.
+
+"Here's a story," he continued.  "See--I put it in plain print for
+you with pen and ink.  It's all about a bear and a boy, and is in
+ten parts.  Here's the first chapter.  Take it home with you
+to-night--"
+
+He stopped suddenly.  He had turned in his chair and could see none
+of the boys.  He did not move, but slowly took off a pair of
+glasses he had been wearing.
+
+"Joe Beach," said he, coolly, "come out here on the floor."
+
+There was a moment of dead silence.  That big youth--the terror of
+Linley School--was now red and dumb with amazement.  His deviltry
+had begun, but how had the teacher seen it with his back turned?
+
+"I'll think it over," said the boy, sullenly.
+
+The teacher laid down his book, calmly, walked to the seat of the
+young rebel, took him by the collar and the back of the neck, tore
+him out of the place where his hands and feet were clinging like
+the roots of a tree, dragged him roughly to the aisle and over the
+floor space, taking part of the seat along, and stood him to the
+wall with a bang that shook the windows.  There was no halting--it
+was all over in half a minute.
+
+"You'll please remain there," said he, coolly, "until I tell you to
+sit down."
+
+He turned his back on the bully, walked slowly to his chair, and
+opened his book again.
+
+"Take it home with you to-night," said he, continuing his talk to
+the primer class.  "Spell it over, so you won't have to stop long
+between words.  All who read it well to-morrow will get another
+chapter."
+
+They began to study at home.  Wonder grew, and pleasure came with
+labour as the tale went on.
+
+He dismissed the primer readers, calling the first class in
+geography.  As they took their places he repaired the broken seat,
+a part of which had been torn off the nails.  The fallen rebel
+stood leaning, his back to the school.  He had expected help, but
+the reserve force had failed him.
+
+"Joe Beach--you may take your seat," said the teacher, in a kind of
+parenthetical tone.
+
+"Geography starts at home," he continued, beginning the recitation.
+"Who can tell me where is the Linley schoolhouse?"
+
+A dozen hands went up.
+
+"You tell," said he to one.
+
+"It's here," was the answer.
+
+"Where's here?"
+
+A boy looked thoughtful.
+
+"Nex' t' Joe Linley's cow-pastur'," he ventured presently,
+
+"Will you tell us?" the teacher asked, looking at a bright-eyed
+girl.
+
+"In Faraway, New York," said she, glibly.
+
+"Tom Linley, I'll take that," said the teacher, in a lazy tone.  He
+was looking down at his book.  Where he sat, facing the class, he
+could see none of the boys without turning.  But he had not turned.
+To the wonder of all, up he spoke as Tom Linley was handing a slip
+of paper to Joe Beach.  There was a little pause.  The young man
+hesitated, rose, and walked nervously down the aisle.
+
+"Thank you," said the teacher, as he took the message and flung it
+on the fire, unread.  "Faraway, New York;" he continued on his way
+to the blackboard as if nothing had happened.
+
+He drew a circle, indicating the four points of the compass on it.
+Then he mapped the town of Faraway and others, east, west, north,
+and south of it.  So he made a map of the county and bade them copy
+it.  Around the county in succeeding lessons he built a map of the
+state.  Others in the middle group were added, the structure
+growing, day by day, until they had mapped the hemisphere.
+
+At the Linley schoolhouse something had happened.  Cunning no
+sooner showed its head than it was bruised like a serpent, brawny
+muscles had been easily outdone, boldness had grown timid, conceit
+had begun to ebb.  A serious look had settled upon all faces.
+Every scholar had learned one thing, learned it well and
+quickly--it was to be no playroom.
+
+There was a recess of one hour at noon.  All went for their dinner
+pails and sat quietly, eating bread and butter followed by
+doughnuts, apples, and pie.
+
+The young men had walked to the road.  Nothing had been said.  They
+drew near each other.  Tom Linley looked up at Joe Beach.  In his
+face one might have seen a cloud of sympathy that had its silver
+lining of amusement.
+
+"Powerful?" Tom inquired, soberly.
+
+"What?" said Joe.
+
+"Powerful?" Tom repeated.
+
+"Powerful! Jiminy crimps!" said Joe, significantly.
+
+"Why didn't ye kick him?"
+
+"Kick him?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Kick _him_?
+
+"Kick _him_."
+
+"Huh! dunno," said Joe, with a look of sadness turning into
+contempt.
+
+"Scairt?" the other inquired.
+
+"Scairt?  Na--a--w," said Joe, scornfully.
+
+"What was ye, then?"
+
+"Parr'lyzed--seems so."
+
+There was an outbreak of laughter.
+
+"You was goin' t' help," said Joe, addressing Tom Linley.
+
+A moment of silence followed.
+
+"_You_ was goin' t' help," the fallen bully repeated, with large
+emphasis on the pronoun.
+
+"Help?" Tom inquired, sparring for wind as it were.
+
+"Yes, help."
+
+"You was licked 'fore I had time."
+
+"Didn't dast--that's what's the matter--didn't dast," said big Joe,
+with a tone of irreparable injury.
+
+"Wouldn't 'a' been nigh ye fer a millyun dollars," said Tom,
+soberly.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"'Twant safe; that's why."
+
+"'Fraid o' him! ye coward!"
+
+"No; 'fraid o' you."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"'Cos if one o' yer feet had hit a feller when ye come up ag'in
+that wall," Tom answered slowly, "there wouldn't 'a' been nuthin'
+left uv him."
+
+All laughed loudly.
+
+Then there was another silence.  Joe broke it after a moment of
+deep thought.
+
+"Like t' know how he seen me," said he.
+
+"'Tis cur'us," said another.
+
+"Guess he's one o' them preformers like they have at the circus--"
+was the opinion of Sam Beach.  "See one take a pig out o' his hat
+las' summer."
+
+"'Tain't fair 'n' square," said Tom Linley; "not jest eggzac'ly."
+
+"Gosh!  B'lieve I'll run away," said Joe, after a pause.  "Ain' no
+fun here for me."
+
+"Better not," said Archer Town; "not if ye know when yer well off."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Wal, he'd see ye wherever ye was an' do suthin' to ye," said
+Archer.  "Prob'ly he's heard all we been sayin' here."
+
+"Wal, I ain't said nuthin' I'm 'shamed of," said Sam Beach,
+thoughtfully.
+
+A bell rang, and all hurried to the schoolhouse.  The afternoon was
+uneventful.  Those rough-edged, brawny fellows had become serious.
+Hope had died in their breasts, and now they looked as if they had
+come to its funeral.  They began to examine their books as one
+looks at a bitter draught before drinking it.  In every subject the
+teacher took a new way not likely to be hard upon tender feet.  For
+each lesson he had a method of his own.  He angled for the interest
+of the class and caught it.  With some a term of school had been as
+a long sickness, lengthened by the medicine of books and the
+surgery of the beech rod.  They had resented it with ingenious
+deviltry.   The confusion of the teacher and some incidental fun
+were its only compensations.  The young man gave his best thought
+to the correction of this mental attitude.  Four o'clock came at
+last--the work of the day was over.  Weary with its tension all sat
+waiting the teacher's word.  For a little he stood facing them.
+
+"Tom Linley and Joe Beach," said he, in a low voice, "will you wait
+a moment after the others have gone?  School's dismissed."
+
+There was a rush of feet and a rattle of dinner pails.  All were
+eager to get home with the story of that day--save the two it had
+brought to shame.  They sat quietly as the others went away.  A
+deep silence fell in that little room.  Of a sudden it had become a
+lonely place.
+
+The teacher damped the fire and put on his overshoes.
+
+"Boys," said he, drawing a big silver watch, "hear that watch
+ticking.  It tells the flight of seconds.  You are--eighteen, did
+you say?  They turn boys into oxen here in this country; just a
+thing of bone and muscle, living to sweat and lift and groan.
+Maybe I can save you, but there's not a minute to lose.  With you
+it all depends on this term of school.  When it's done you'll
+either be ox or driver.  Play checkers?"
+
+Tom nodded.
+
+"I'll come over some evening, and we'll have a game.  Good night!"
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+The Tinker at Linley School
+
+Every seat was filled at the Linley School next morning.  The
+tinker had come to see Trove and sat behind the big desk as work
+began.
+
+"There are two kinds of people," said the teacher, after all were
+seated--"those that command--those that obey.  No man is fit to
+command until he has learned to obey--he will not know how.  The
+one great thing life has to teach you is--obey.  There was a young
+bear once that was bound to go his own way.  The old bear told him
+it wouldn't do to jump over a precipice, but, somehow, he couldn't
+believe it and jumped.  'Twas the last thing he ever did.  It's
+often so with the young.  Their own way is apt to be rather steep
+and to end suddenly.  There are laws everywhere,--we couldn't live
+without them,--laws of nature, God, and man.  Until we learn the
+law and how to obey it, we must go carefully and take the advice of
+older heads.  We couldn't run a school without laws in it--laws
+that I must obey as well as you.  I must teach, and you must learn.
+The two first laws of the school are teach and learn--you must help
+me to obey mine; I must help you to obey yours.  And we'll have as
+much fun as possible, but we must obey."
+
+Then Trove invited Darrel to address the school.
+
+"Dear children," the tinker began with a smile, "I mind ye're all
+looking me in the face, an' I do greatly fear ye.  I fear I may say
+something ye will remember, an' again I fear I may not.  For when I
+speak to the young--ah! then it seems to me God listens.  I heard
+the teacher speaking o' the law of obedience.  Which o' ye can tell
+me who is the great master--the one ye must never disobey?"
+
+"Yer father," said one of the boys.
+
+"Nay, me bright lad, one o' these days ye may lose father an'
+mother an' teacher an' friend.  Let me tell a story, an' then,
+mayhap, ye'll know the great master.  Once upon a time there was a
+young cub who thought his life a burden because he had to mind his
+mother.  By an' by a bullet killed her, an' he was left alone.  He
+wandered away, not knowing' what to do, and came near the land o'
+men.  Soon he met an old bear.
+
+"'Foolish cub!  Why go ye to the land o' men?' said the old bear.
+'Thy legs are not as long as me tail.  Go home an' obey thy mother.'
+
+"'But I've none to obey,' said the young bear; an' before he could
+turn, a ball came whizzing over a dingle an' ripped into his ham.
+The old bear had scented danger an' was already out o' the way.
+The cub made off limping, an' none too quickly.  They followed him
+all day, an' when night came he was the most weary an' bedraggled
+bear in the woods.  But he stopped the blood an' went away on a dry
+track in the morning.  He came to a patch o' huckleberries that day
+and began to help himself.  Then quick an' hard he got a cuff on
+the head that tore off an ear and knocked him into the bushes.
+When he rose there stood the old bear.  "'Ah, me young cub,' said
+he, 'ye'll have a master now.'
+
+"'An' no more need o' him,' said the young bear, shaking his bloody
+head.
+
+"'Nay, ye will prosper,' said the old bear.  'There are two ways o'
+learning,--by hearsay an' by knocks.  Much ye may learn by knocks,
+but they are painful.  There be two things every one has to
+learn,--respect for himself; respect for others.  Ye'll know,
+hereafter, in the land o' men a bear has to keep his nose up an'
+his ears open--because men hurt.  Ye'll know better, also, than to
+feed on the ground of another bear--because he hurts.  Now, were I
+a cub an' had none to obey, I'd obey meself.  Ye know what's right,
+do it; ye know what's wrong, do it not.'
+
+"'One thing is sure,' said the young bear, as he limped away; 'if I
+live, there'll not be a bear in the woods that'll take any better
+care of himself.'
+
+"Now the old bear knew what he was talking about.  He was, I
+maintain, a wise an' remarkable bear.  We learn to obey others, so
+that by an' by we may know how to obey ourselves.  The great master
+of each man is himself.  By words or by knocks ye will learn what
+is right, and ye must do it.  Dear children, ye must soon be yer
+own masters.  There be many cruel folk in the world, but ye have
+only one to fear--yerself.  Ah! ye shall find him a hard man, for,
+if he be much offended, he will make ye drink o' the cup o' fire.
+Learn to obey yerselves, an' God help ye."
+
+Thereafter, many began to look into their own hearts for that
+fearful master, and some discovered him.
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+A Rustic Museum
+
+That first week Sidney Trove went to board at the home of "the two
+old maids," a stone house on Jericho Road, with a front door
+rusting on idle hinges and blinds ever drawn.  It was a hundred
+feet or more from the highway, and in summer there were flowers
+along the path from its little gate and vines climbing to the upper
+windows.  In winter its garden was buried deep under the snow.  One
+family--the Vaughns--came once in awhile to see "the two old
+maids."  Few others ever saw them save from afar.  A dressmaker
+came once a year and made gowns for them, that were carefully hung
+in closets but never worn.  To many of their neighbours they were
+as dead as if they had been long in their graves.  Tales of their
+economy, of their odd habits, of their past, went over hill and
+dale to far places.  They had never boarded the teacher and were
+put in a panic when the trustee came to speak of it.
+
+"He's a grand young man," said he; "good company--and you'll enjoy
+it."
+
+They looked soberly at each other.  According to tradition, one was
+fifty-four the other fifty-five years of age.  An exclamation broke
+from the lips of one.  It sounded like the letter _y_ whispered
+quickly.
+
+"Y!" the other answered.
+
+"It might make a match," said Mr. Blount, the trustee, smiling.
+
+"Y!  Samuel Blount!" said the younger one, coming near and smiting
+him playfully on the elbow.  "You stop!"
+
+Miss Letitia began laughing silently.  They never laughed aloud.
+
+"If he didn't murder us," said Miss S'mantha, doubtfully.
+
+"Nonsense," said the trustee; "I'll answer for him."
+
+"Can't tell what men'll do," she persisted weakly.  "When I was in
+Albany with Alma Haskins, a man came 'long an' tried t' pass the
+time o' day with us.  We jes' looked t'other way an' didn't preten'
+t' hear him.  It's awful t' think what might 'a' happened."
+
+She wiped invisible tears with an embroidered handkerchief.  The
+dear lady had spent a good part of her life thinking of that narrow
+escape.
+
+"If he wa'n't too partic'lar," said Miss Letitia, who had been
+laughing at this maiden fear of her sister.
+
+"If he would mind his business, we--we might take him for one
+week," said Miss S'mantha.  She glanced inquiringly at her sister.
+
+Letitia and S'mantha Tower, "the two old maids," had but one near
+relative--Ezra Tower, a brother of the same neighbourhood.
+
+There were two kinds of people in Faraway,--those that Ezra Tower
+spoke to and those he didn't.  The latter were of the majority.  As
+a forswearer of communication he was unrivalled.  His imagination
+was a very slaughter-house, in which all who crossed him were
+slain.  If they were passing, he looked the other way and never
+even saw them again.  Since the probate of his father's will both
+sisters were of the number never spoken to.  He was a thin, tall,
+sullen, dry, and dusty man.  Dressed for church of a Sunday, he
+looked as if he had been stored a year in some neglected cellar.
+His broadcloth had a dingy aspect, his hair and beard and eyebrows
+the hue of a cobweb.  He had a voice slow and rusty, a look arid
+and unfruitful.  Indeed, it seemed as if the fires of hate and envy
+had burned him out.
+
+The two old maids, feeling the disgrace of it and fearing more,
+ceased to visit their neighbours or even to pass their own gate.
+Poor Miss S'mantha fell into the deadly mire of hypochondria.  She
+often thought herself very ill and sent abroad for every medicine
+advertised in the county paper.  She had ever a faint look and a
+thin, sickly voice.  She had the man-fear,--a deep distrust of
+men,--never ceasing to be on her guard.  In girlhood, she had been
+to Albany, Its splendour and the reckless conduct of one Alma
+Haskins, companion of her travels, had been ever since a day-long
+perennial topic of her conversation.  Miss Letitia was more
+amiable.  She had a playful, cheery heart in her, a mincing and
+precise manner, and a sweet voice.  What with the cleaning,
+dusting, and preserving, they were ever busy.  A fly, driven hither
+and thither, fell of exhaustion if not disabled with a broom.  They
+were two weeks getting ready for the teacher.  When, at last, he
+came that afternoon, supper was ready and they were nearly worn out.
+
+"Here he is!" one whispered suddenly from a window.  Then, with a
+last poke at her hair, Miss Letitia admitted the teacher.  They
+spoke their greeting in a half whisper and stood near, waiting
+timidly for his coat and cap.
+
+"No, thank you," said he, taking them to a nail.  "I can do my own
+hanging, as the man said when he committed suicide."
+
+Miss S'mantha looked suspicious and walked to the other side of the
+stove.  Impressed by the silence of the room, much exaggerated by
+the ticking of the clock, Sidney Trove sat a moment looking around
+him.   Daylight had begun to grow dim.  The table, with its cover
+of white linen, was a thing to give one joy.  A ruby tower of
+jelly, a snowy summit of frosted cake, a red pond of preserved
+berries, a mound of chicken pie, and a corduroy marsh of mince,
+steaming volcanoes of new biscuit, and a great heap of apple
+fritters, lay in a setting of blue china.  They stood a moment by
+the stove,--the two sisters,--both trembling in this unusual
+publicity.  Miss Letitia had her hand upon the teapot.
+
+"Our tea is ready," said she, presently, advancing to the table.
+She spoke in a low, gentle tone.
+
+"This is grand!" said he, sitting down with them.  "I tell you,
+we'll have fun before I leave here."
+
+They looked up at him and then at each other, Letitia laughing
+silently, S'mantha suspicious.  For many years fun had been a thing
+far from their thought.
+
+"Play checkers?" he inquired.
+
+"Afraid we couldn't," said Miss Letitia, answering for both.
+
+"Old Sledge?"
+
+She shook her head, smiling.
+
+"I don't wish to lead you into recklessness," the teacher remarked,
+"but I'm sure you wouldn't mind being happy."
+
+Miss S'mantha had a startled look.
+
+"In--in a--proper way," he added.  "Let's be joyful.  Perhaps we
+could play 'I spy.'"
+
+"Y!" they both exclaimed, laughing silently.
+
+"Never ate chicken pie like that," he added in all sincerity.  "If
+I were a poet, I'd indite an ode 'written after eating some of the
+excellent chicken pie of the Misses Tower.' I'm going to have some
+like it on my farm."
+
+In reaching to help himself he touched the teapot, withdrawing his
+hand quickly.
+
+"Burn ye?" said Miss S'mantha.
+
+"Yes; but I like it!" said he, a bit embarrassed.  "I often go
+and--and put my hand on a hot teapot if I'm having too much fun."
+
+They looked up at him, puzzled.
+
+"Ever slide down hill?" he inquired, looking from one to the other,
+after a bit of silence.
+
+"Oh, not since we were little!" said Miss Letitia, holding her
+biscuit daintily, after taking a bite none too big for a bird to
+manage.
+
+"Good fun!" said be.  "Whisk you back to childhood in a jiffy.
+Folks ought to slide down hill more'n they do.  It isn't a good
+idea to be always climbing."
+
+"'Fraid we couldn't stan' it," said Miss S'mantha, tentatively.
+Under all her man-fear and suspicion lay a furtive recklessness.
+
+"Y, no!" the other whispered, laughing silently.
+
+The pervading silence of that house came flooding in between
+sentences.  For a moment Trove could hear only the gurgle of
+pouring tea and the faint rattle of china softly handled.  When he
+felt as if the silence were drowning him, he began again:--
+
+"Life is nothing but a school.  I'm a teacher, and I deal in rules.
+If you want to kill misery, load your gun with pleasure."
+
+"Do you know of anything for indigestion?" said Miss S'mantha,
+charging her sickly voice with a firmness calculated to discourage
+any undue familiarity.
+
+"Just the thing--a sure cure!" said he, emphatically.
+
+"Come high?" she inquired.
+
+"No, it's cheap and plenty."
+
+"Where do you send?"
+
+"Oh!" said he; "you will have to go after it."
+
+"What is it called ?"
+
+"Fun," said the teacher, quickly; "and the place to find it is out
+of doors.  It grows everywhere on my farm.  I'd rather have a pair
+of skates than all the medicine this side of China."
+
+She set down her teacup and looked up at him.  She was beginning to
+think him a fairly safe and well-behaved man, although she would
+have been more comfortable if he had been shut in a cage.
+
+"If I had a pair o' skates," said she, faintly, with a look of
+inquiry at her sister, "I dunno but I'd try 'em."
+
+Miss Letitia began to laugh silently.
+
+"I'd begin with overshoes," said the teacher, "A pair of overshoes
+and a walk on the crust every morning before breakfast; increase
+the dose gradually."
+
+The two old maids were now more at ease with their guest.  His
+kindly manner and plentiful good spirits had begun to warm and
+cheer them.  Miss S'mantha even cherished a secret resolve to slide
+if the chance came.
+
+After tea Sidney Trove, against their protest, began to help with
+the dishes.  Miss S'mantha prudently managed to keep the stove
+between him and her.  A fire and candles were burning in the
+parlour.  He asked permission, however, to stay where he could talk
+with them.  Tunk Hosely, the man of all work, came in for his
+supper.  He was an odd character.  Some, with a finger on their
+foreheads, confided the opinion that he was "a little off."  All
+agreed he was no fool--in a tone that left it open to argument.  He
+had a small figure and a big squint.  His perpetual squint and
+bristly, short beard were a great injustice to him.  They gave him
+a look severer than he deserved.  A limp and leaning shoulder
+complete the inventory of external traits.  Having eaten, he set a
+candle in the old barn lantern.
+
+"Wal, mister," said he, when all was ready, "come out an' look at
+my hoss."
+
+The teacher went with him out under a sky bright with stars to the
+chill and gloomy stable.
+
+"Look at me," said Tunk, holding up the lantern as he turned about.
+"Gosh all fish-hooks!  I'm a wreck."
+
+"What's the matter?" Sidney Trove inquired.
+
+"All sunk in--right here," Tunk answered impressively, his hand to
+his chest.
+
+"How did it happen?"
+
+"Kicked by a boss; that's how it happened," was the significant
+answer.  "Lord! I'm all shucked over t' one side--can't ye see it?"
+
+"A list t' sta'b'rd--that's what they call it, I believe," said the
+teacher.
+
+"See how I limp," Tunk went on, striding to show his pace.  "Ain't
+it awful!"
+
+"How did that happen?"
+
+"Sprung my ex!" he answered, turning quickly with a significant
+look.  "Thrown from a sulky in a hoss race an' sprung my ex.  Lord!
+can't ye see it?"
+
+The teacher nodded, not knowing quite how to take him.
+
+"Had my knee unsot, too," he went on, lifting his knee as he turned
+the light upon it.  "Jes' put yer finger there," said he,
+indicating a slight protuberance.  "Lord! it's big as a bog spavin."
+
+He had planned to provoke a query, and it came.
+
+"How did you get it?"
+
+"Kicked ag'in," said Tunk, sadly.  "Heavens!  I've had my share o'
+bangin'.  Can't conquer a skittish hoss without sufferin' some--not
+allwus.  Now, here's a boss," he added, as they walked to a stall.
+"He ain't much t' look at, but--"
+
+He paused a moment as he neared the horse--a white and ancient
+palfrey.  He stood thoughtfully on "cocked ankles," every leg in a
+bandage, tail and mane braided,
+
+"Get ap, Prince," Tunk shouted, as he gave him a slap.  Prince
+moved aside, betraying evidence of age and infirmity.
+
+"But--" Tunk repeated with emphasis.
+
+"Ugly?" the teacher queried.
+
+"Ugly!" said Tunk, as if the word were all too feeble for the fact
+in hand.  "Reg'lar hell on wheels!--that's what he is.  Look out!
+don't git too nigh him.  He ain't no conscience--that hoss ain't."
+
+"Is he fast?"
+
+"Greased lightnin'!" said Tunk, shaking his head.  "Won
+twenty-seven races."
+
+"You're a good deal of a horseman, I take it." said the teacher.
+
+"Wal, some," said he, expectorating thoughtfully.  "But I don't
+have no chance here.  What d'ye 'spect of a man livin,' with them
+ol' maids ?"
+
+He seemed to have more contempt than his words would carry.
+
+"Every night they lock me upstairs," he continued with a look of
+injury; "they ain't fit fer nobody t' live with.  Ain't got no hoss
+but that dummed ol' plug."
+
+He had forgotten his enthusiasm of the preceding moment.  His
+intellect was a museum of freaks.  Therein, Vanity was the
+prodigious fat man, Memory the dwarf, and Veracity the living
+skeleton.  When Vanity rose to show himself, the others left the
+stage.
+
+Tunk's face had become suddenly thoughtful and morose.  In truth,
+he was an arrant and amusing humbug.  It has been said that
+children are all given to lying in some degree, but seeing the
+folly of it in good time, if, indeed, they are not convinced of its
+wickedness, train tongue and feeling into the way of truth.  The
+respect for truth that is the beginning of wisdom had not come to
+Tunk.  He continued to lie with the cheerful inconsistency of a
+child.  The' hero of his youth had been a certain driver of
+trotting horses, who had a limp and a leaning shoulder.  In Tunk,
+the limp and the leaning shoulder were an attainment that had come
+of no sudden wrench.  Such is the power of example, he admired,
+then imitated, and at last acquired them.  One cannot help thinking
+what graces of character and person a like persistency would have
+brought to him.  But Tunk had equipped himself with horsey heroism,
+adorning it to his own fancy.  He had never been kicked, he had
+never driven a race or been hurled from a sulky at full speed.
+Prince, that ancient palfrey, was the most harmless of all
+creatures, and would long since have been put out of misery but for
+the tender consideration of his owners.  And Tunk--well, they used
+to say of him, that if he had been truthful, he couldn't have been
+alive.
+
+"Sometime," Trove thought, "his folly may bring confusion upon wise
+heads."
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+An Event in the Rustic Museum
+
+Sidney Trove sat talking a while with Miss Letitia.  Miss S'mantha,
+unable longer to bear the unusual strain of danger and publicity,
+went away to bed soon after supper.  Tunk Hosely came in with a
+candle about nine.
+
+"Wal, mister," said he, "you ready t' go t' bed?"
+
+"I am," said Trove, and followed him to the cold hospitality of the
+spare room, a place of peril but beautifully clean.  There was a
+neat rag carpet on the floor, immaculate tidies on the bureau and
+wash table, and a spotless quilt of patchwork on the bed.  But,
+like the dungeon of mediaeval times, it was a place for sighs and
+reflection, not for rest.  Half an inch of frost on every
+window-pane glistened in the dim light of the candle.
+
+"As soon as they unlock my door, I'll come an' let ye out in the
+mornin'," Tunk whispered.
+
+"Are they going to lock me in?"
+
+"Wouldn't wonder," said Tunk, soberly.
+
+"What can ye 'spect from a couple o' dummed ol' maids like them?"
+
+There was a note of long suffering in his half-whispered tone,
+
+"Good night, mister," said he, with a look of dejection.  "Orter
+have a nightcap, er ye'll git hoar-frost on yer hair."
+
+Trove was all a-shiver in the time it took him to undress, and his
+breath came out of him in spreading shafts of steam.  Sheets of
+flannel and not less than half a dozen quilts and comfortables made
+a cover, under which the heat of his own blood warmed his body.  He
+became uncomfortably aware of the presence of his head and face,
+however.  He could hear stealthy movements beyond the door, and
+knew they were barricading it with furniture.  Long before daylight
+a hurried removal of the barricade awoke him.  Then he heard a rap
+at the door, and the excited voice of Tunk.
+
+"Say, mister! come here quick," it called.
+
+Sidney Trove leaped out of bed and into his trousers.  He hurried
+through the dark parlour, feeling his way around a clump of chairs
+and stumbling over a sofa.  The two old maids were at the kitchen
+door, both dressed, one holding a lighted candle.  Tunk Hosely
+stood by the door, buttoning suspenders with one hand and holding a
+musket in the other.   They were shivering and pale.  The room was
+now cold.
+
+"Hear that!" Tunk whispered, turning to the teacher.
+
+They all listened, hearing a low, weird cry outside the door.
+
+"Soun's t' me like a raccoon," Miss S'mantha whispered thoughtfully.
+
+"Or a lamb," said Miss Letitia.
+
+"Er a painter," Tunk ventured, his ear turning to catch the sound.
+
+"Let's open the door," said Sidney Trove, advancing.
+
+"Not me," said Tunk, firmly, raising his gun.
+
+Trove had not time to act before they heard a cry for help on the
+doorstep.  It was the voice of a young girl.  He opened the door,
+and there stood Mary Leblanc--a scholar of Linley School and the
+daughter of a poor Frenchman.   She came in lugging a baby wrapped
+in a big shawl, and both crying.
+
+"Oh, Miss Tower," said she; "pa has come out o' the woods drunk an'
+has threatened to kill the baby.  Ma wants to know if you'll keep
+it here to-night."
+
+The two old maids wrung their hands with astonishment and only said
+"y!"
+
+"Of course we'll keep it," said Trove, as he took the baby,
+
+"I must hurry back," said the girl, now turning with a look of
+relief.
+
+Tunk shied off and began to build a fire; Miss S'mantha sat down
+weeping, the girl ran away in the darkness, and Trove put the baby
+in Miss Letitia's arms.
+
+"I'll run over to Leblanc's cabin," said he, getting his cap and
+coat.  "They're having trouble over there."
+
+He left them and hurried off on his way to the little cabin.
+
+Loud cries of the baby rang in that abode of silence.   It began to
+kick and squirm with determined energy.  Poor Miss Letitia had the
+very look of panic in her face.  She clung to the fierce little
+creature, not knowing what to do.  Miss S'mantha lay back in a fit
+of hysterics.  Tunk advanced bravely, with brows knit, and stood
+looking down at the baby.
+
+"Lord! this is awful!" said he.  Then a thought struck him.  "I'll
+git some milk," he shouted, running into the buttery.
+
+The baby thrust the cup away, and it fell noisily, the milk
+streaming over a new rag carpet.
+
+"It's sick; I'm sure it's sick," said Miss Letitia, her voice
+trembling.  "S'mantha, can't you do something?"
+
+Miss S'mantha calmed herself a little and drew near.
+
+"Jes' like a wil'cat," said Tunk, thoughtfully.  "Powerful, too,"
+he added, with an effort to control one of the kicking legs.
+
+"What shall we do?" said Miss Letitia.
+
+"My sister had a baby once," said Tunk, approaching it doubtfully
+but with a studious look.
+
+He made a few passes with his hand in front of the baby's face.
+Then he gave it a little poke in the ribs, tentatively.  The effect
+was like adding insult to injury.
+
+"If 'twas mine," said Tunk, "which I'm glad it ain't--I'd rub a
+little o' that hoss liniment on his stummick,"
+
+The two old maids took the baby into their bedroom.  It was an hour
+later when Trove came back.  Tunk sat alone by the kitchen fire.
+There was yet a loud wail in the bedroom.
+
+"What's the news?" said Tunk, who met him at the door.
+
+"Drunk, that's all," said Trove.  "I took this bottle, sling-shot,
+and bar of iron away from him.  The woman thought I had better
+bring them with me and put them out of his way."
+
+He laid them on the floor in a corner.
+
+"I got him into bed," he continued, "and then hid the axe and came
+away.  I guess they're all right now.  When I left he had begun to
+snore."
+
+"Wal,--we ain't all right," said Tunk, pointing to the room.  "If
+you can conquer that thing, you'll do well.  Poor Miss Teeshy!" he
+added, shaking his head.
+
+"What's the matter with her?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Kicked in the stummick 'til she dunno where she is," said Tunk,
+gloomily.
+
+He pulled off his boots.
+
+"If she don't go lame t'morrer, I'll miss my guess," he added.
+"She looks a good deal like Deacon Haskins after he had milked the
+brindle cow."
+
+He leaned back, one foot upon the stove-hearth.  Shrill cries rang
+in the old house.
+
+"'Druther 'twould hev been a painter," said Tunk, sighing.
+
+"Why so?"
+
+"More used to 'em," said Tunk, sadly.
+
+They listened a while longer without speaking.
+
+"Ye can't drive it, ner coax it, ner scare it away, ner do nuthin'
+to it," said Tunk, presently.
+
+He rose and picked up the things Trove had brought with him.  "I'll
+take these to the barn," said he; "they'd have a fit--if they was
+t' see 'em.  What be they?"
+
+"I do not know what they are," said Trove.
+
+"Wal!" said Tunk.  "They're queer folks--them Frenchmen.  This
+looks like an iron bar broke in two in the middle."
+
+He got his lantern, picked up the bottle, the sling-shot, and the
+iron, and went away to the barn.
+
+Trove went to the bedroom door and rapped, and was admitted.  He
+went to work with the baby, and soon, to his joy, it lay asleep on
+the bed.  Then he left the room on tiptoe, and a bit weary.
+
+"A very full day!" he said to himself.
+
+"Teacher, counsellor, martyr, constable, nurse--I wonder what next!"
+
+And as he went to his room, he heard Miss S'mantha say to her
+sister, "I'm thankful it's not a boy, anyway."
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+A Day of Difficulties
+
+All were in their seats and the teacher had called a class.  Carlt
+Homer came in.
+
+"You're ten minutes late," said the teacher.
+
+"I have fifteen cows to milk," the boy answered.
+
+"Where do you live?"
+
+"'Bout a mile from here, on the Beach Plains."
+
+"What time do you begin milking?"
+
+"'Bout seven o'clock."
+
+"I'll go to-morrow morning and help you," said the teacher.  "We
+must be on time--that's a necessary law of the school."
+
+At a quarter before seven in the morning, Sidney Trove presented
+himself at the Homers'.  He had come to help with the milking, but
+found there were only five cows to milk.
+
+"Too bad your father lost so many cows--all in a day," said he.
+"It's a great pity.  Did you lose anything?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Have you felt to see?"
+
+The boy put his hand in his pocket.
+
+"Not there--it's an inside pocket, way inside o' you.  It's where
+you keep your honour and pride."
+
+"Wal," said the boy, his tears starting, "I'm 'fraid I have."
+
+"Enough said--good morning," the teacher answered as he went away.
+
+One morning a few days later the teacher opened his school with
+more remarks.
+
+"The other day," said he, "I spoke of a thing it was very necessary
+for us to learn.  What was it?"
+
+"To obey," said a youngster.
+
+"Obey what?" the teacher inquired.
+
+"Law," somebody ventured.
+
+"Correct; we're studying law--every one of us--the laws of grammar,
+of arithmetic, of reading, and so on.  We are learning to obey
+them.  Now I am going to ask you what is the greatest law in the
+world?"
+
+There was a moment of silence.  Then the teacher wrote these words
+in large letters on the blackboard; "Thou shalt not lie."
+
+"There is the law of laws," said the teacher, solemnly.  "Better
+never have been born than not learn to obey it.  If you always tell
+the truth, you needn't worry about any other law.  Words are like
+money--some are genuine, some are counterfeit.  If a man had a bag
+of counterfeit money and kept passing it, in a little while nobody
+would take his money.  I knew a man who said he killed four bears
+at one shot.   There's some that see too much when they're looking
+over their own gun-barrels.  Don't be one of that kind.  Don't ever
+kill too many bears at a shot."
+
+After that, in the Linley district, a man who lied was said to be
+killing too many bears at a shot.
+
+Good thoughts spread with slow but sure contagion.  There were some
+who understood the teacher.  His words went home and far with them,
+even to their graves, and how much farther who can say?  They went
+over the hills, indeed, to other neighbourhoods, and here they are,
+still travelling, and going now, it may be, to the remotest corners
+of the earth.  The big boys talked about this matter of lying and
+declared the teacher was right.
+
+"There's Tunk Hosely," said Sam Price.  "Nobody'd take his word for
+nuthin'."
+
+"'Less he was t' say he was a fool out an' out," another boy
+suggested.
+
+"Dunno as I'd b'lieve him then," said Sam.  "Fer I'd begin t' think
+he knew suthin'."
+
+A little girl came in, crying, one day.
+
+"What is the trouble?" said the teacher, tenderly, as he leaned
+over and put his arm around her.
+
+"My father is sick," said the child, sobbing.
+
+"Very sick?" the teacher inquired.
+
+For a moment she could not answer, but stood shaken with sobs.
+
+"The doctor says he can't live," said she, brokenly.
+
+A solemn stillness fell in the little schoolroom.  The teacher
+lifted the child and held her close to his broad breast a moment.
+
+"Be brave, little girl," said he, patting her head gently.
+"Doctors don't always know.  He may be better to-morrow."
+
+He took the child to her seat, and sat beside her and whispered a
+moment, his mouth close to her ear.  And what he said, none knew,
+save the girl herself, who ceased to cry in a moment but never
+ceased to remember it.
+
+A long time he sat, with his arm around her, questioning the
+classes.  He seemed to have taken his place between her and the
+dark shadow.
+
+Joe Beach had been making poor headway in arithmetic.
+
+"I'll come over this evening, and we'll see what's the trouble.
+It's all very easy," the teacher said.
+
+He worked three hours with the young man that evening, and filled
+him with high ambition after hauling him out of his difficulty.
+
+But of all difficulties the teacher had to deal with, Polly Vaughn
+was the greatest.  She was nearly perfect in all her studies, but a
+little mischievous and very dear to him.  "Pretty;" that is one
+thing all said of her there in Faraway, and they said also with a
+bitter twang that she loved to lie abed and read novels.  To Sidney
+Trove the word "pretty" was inadequate.  As to lying abed and
+reading novels, he was free to say that he believed in it.
+
+"We get very indignant about slavery in the south," he used to say;
+"but how about slavery on the northern farms?  I know people who
+rise at cock-crow and strain their sinews in heavy toil the
+livelong day, and spend the Sabbath trembling in the lonely shadow
+of the Valley of Death.  I know a man who whipped his boy till he
+bled because he ran away to go fishing.  It's all slavery, pure and
+simple."
+
+"In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread till thou return
+unto the ground," said Ezra Tower.
+
+"If God said it, he made slaves of us all," said young Trove.
+"When I look around here and see people wasted to the bone with
+sweat and toil, too weary often to eat the bread they have earned,
+when I see their children dying of consumption from excess of
+labour and pork fat, I forget the slaves of man and think only of
+these wretched slaves of God."
+
+But Polly was not of them the teacher pitied.  She was a bit
+discontented; but surely she was cheerful and well fed.  God gave
+her beauty, and the widow saw it, and put her own strength between
+the curse and the child.  Folly had her task every day, but Polly
+had her way, also, in too many things, and became a bit selfish, as
+might have been expected.  But there was something very sweet and
+fine about Polly.  They were plain clothes she wore, but nobody
+save herself and mother gave them any thought.  Who, seeing her
+big, laughing eyes, her finely modelled face, with cheeks pink and
+dimpled, her shapely, white teeth, her mass of dark hair, crowning
+a form tall and straight as an arrow, could see anything but the
+merry-hearted Polly?
+
+"Miss Vaughn, you will please remain a few moments after school,"
+said the teacher one day near four o'clock.  Twice she had been
+caught whispering that day, with the young girl who sat behind her.
+Trove had looked down, stroking his little mustache thoughtfully,
+and made no remark.  The girl had gone to work, then, her cheeks
+red with embarrassment.
+
+"I wish you'd do me a favour, Miss Polly," said the teacher, when
+they were alone.
+
+She blushed deeply, and sat looking down as she fussed with her
+handkerchief.  She was a bit frightened by the serious air of that
+big young man.
+
+"It isn't much," he went on.  "I'd like you to help me teach a
+little.  To-morrow morning I shall make a map on the blackboard,
+and while I am doing it I'd like you to conduct the school.  When
+you have finished with the primer class I'll be ready to take hold
+again."
+
+She had a puzzled look.
+
+"I thought you were going to punish me," she answered, smiling.
+
+"For what?" he inquired.
+
+"Whispering," said she.
+
+"Oh, yes!  But you have read Walter Scott, and you know ladies are
+to be honoured, not punished.  I shouldn't know how to do such a
+thing.  When you've become a teacher you'll see I'm right about
+whispering.  May I walk home with you?"
+
+Polly had then a very serious look.  She turned away, biting her
+lip, in a brief struggle for self-mastery.
+
+"If you care to," she whispered.
+
+They walked away in silence.
+
+"Do you dance?" she inquired presently.
+
+"No, save attendance on your pleasure," said he.  "Will you teach
+me?"
+
+"Is there anything I can teach you?" She looked up at him playfully.
+
+"Wisdom," said he, quickly, "and how to preserve blueberries, and
+make biscuit like those you gave us when I came to tea.  As to
+dancing, well--I fear 'I am not shaped for sportive tricks.'"
+
+"If you'll stay this evening," said she, "we'll have some more of
+my blueberries and biscuit, and then, if you care to, we'll try
+dancing."
+
+"You'll give me a lesson?" he asked eagerly.
+
+"If you'd care to have me."
+
+"Agreed; but first let us have the blueberries and biscuit," said
+he, heartily, as they entered the door.  "Hello, Mrs. Vaughn, I
+came over to help you eat supper.  I have it all planned.  Paul is
+to set the table, I'm to peel the potatoes and fry the pork, Polly
+is to make the biscuit and gravy and put the kettle on.  You are to
+sit by and look pleasant."
+
+"I insist on making the tea," said Mrs. Vaughn, with amusement.
+
+"Shall we let her make the tea?" he asked, looking thoughtfully at
+Polly.
+
+"Perhaps we'd better," said she, laughing.
+
+"All right; we'll let her make the tea--we don't have to drink it."
+
+"You," said the widow, "are like Governor Wright, who said to Mrs.
+Perkins, 'Madam, I will praise your tea, but hang me if I'll drink
+it.'"
+
+"I'm going to teach the primer class in the morning," said Polly,
+as she filled the tea-kettle.
+
+"Look out, young man," said Mrs. Vaughn, turning to the teacher.
+"In a short time she'll be thinking she can teach you."
+
+"I get my first lesson to-night," said the young man.  "She's to
+teach me dancing."
+
+"And you've no fear for your soul?"
+
+"I've more fear for my body," said he, glancing down upon his long
+figure.  "I've never lifted my feet save for the purpose of
+transportation.  I'd like to learn how to dance because Deacon
+Tower thinks it wicked and I've learned that happiness and sin mean
+the same thing in his vocabulary."
+
+"I fear you're a downward and backsliding youth," said the widow.
+
+"You know what Ezra Tower said of Ebenezer Fisher, that he was 'one
+o' them mush-heads that didn't believe in hell'?  Are you one o'
+that kind?"  Proclaimers of liberal thought were at work there in
+the north.
+
+"Since I met Deacon Tower I'm sure it's useful and necessary.  He's
+got to have some place for his enemies.  If it were not for hell,
+the deacon would be miserable here and, maybe, happy hereafter."
+
+"It's a great hope and comfort to him," said the widow, smiling.
+
+"Well, God save us all!" said Trove, who had now a liking for both
+the phrase and philosophy of Darrel.  They had taken chairs at the
+table.
+
+"Tom," said he, "we'll pause a moment, while you give us the fourth
+rule of syntax."
+
+"Correct," said he, heartily, as the last word was spoken.  "Now
+let us be happy."
+
+"Paul," said the teacher, as he finished eating, "what is the
+greatest of all laws?"
+
+"Thou shalt not lie," said the boy, promptly.
+
+"Correct," said Trove; "and in the full knowledge of the law, I
+declare that no better blueberries and biscuit ever passed my lips."
+
+Supper over, Polly disappeared, and young Mr. Trove helped with the
+dishes.  Soon Polly came back, glowing in her best gown and
+slippers.
+
+"Why, of all things!  What a foolish child!" said her mother.  For
+answer Polly waltzed up and down the room, singing gayly.
+
+She stopped before the glass and began to fuss with her ribbons.
+The teacher went to her side.
+
+"May I have the honour, Miss Vaughn," Said he, bowing politely.
+"Is that the way to do?"
+
+"You might say, 'Will you be my pardner,'" said she, mimicking the
+broad dialect of the region.
+
+"I'll sacrifice my dignity, but not my language," said he.  "Let us
+dance and be merry, for to-morrow we teach."
+
+"If you'll watch my feet, you'll see how I do it," said she; and
+lifting her skirt above her dainty ankles, glided across the floor
+on tiptoe, as lightly as a fawn at play.  But Sidney Trove was not
+a graceful creature.  The muscles on his lithe form, developed in
+the school of work or in feats of strength at which he had met no
+equal, were untrained in all graceful trickery.  He loved dancing
+and music and everything that increased the beauty and delight of
+life, but they filled him with a deep regret of his ignorance.
+
+"Hard work," said he, breathing heavily, "and I don't believe I'm
+having as much fun as you are."
+
+The small company of spectators had been laughing with amusement.
+
+"Reminds me of a story," said the teacher.  "'What are all the
+animals crying about?' said one elephant to another.  'Why, don't
+you know?--it's about the reindeer,' said the other elephant; 'he's
+dead.  Never saw anything so sad in my life.  He skipped so, and
+made a noise like that, and then he died.'  The elephant jumped up
+and down, trying the light skip of the reindeer and gave a great
+roar for the bleat of the dying animal,  'What,' said the first
+elephant, 'did he skip so, and cry that way?'  And he tried it.
+'No, not that way but this way,' said the other; and he went
+through it again.  By this time every animal in the show had begun
+to roar with laughter.  'What on earth are you doing?' said the
+rhinoceros.  'It's the way the reindeer died,' said one of the
+elephants.
+
+"'Never saw anything so funny,' said the rhinoceros; 'if the poor
+thing died that way, it's a pity he couldn't repeat the act.'
+
+"'This is terrible,' said the zebra, straining at his halter.  'The
+reindeer is dead, and the elephants have gone crazy.'"
+
+"Sidney Trove," said the teacher, as he was walking away that
+evening, "you'll have to look out for yourself.  You're a teacher
+and you ought to be a man--you must be a man or I'll have nothing
+more to do with you."
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+Amusement and Learning
+
+There was much doing that winter in the Linley district.  They were
+a month getting ready for the school "exhibition."  Every home in
+the valley and up Cedar Hill rang with loud declamations.   The
+impassioned utterances of James Otis, Daniel Webster, and Patrick
+Henry were heard in house, and field, and stable.  Every evening
+women were busy making costumes for a play, while the young
+rehearsed their parts.  Polly Vaughn, editor of a paper to be read
+that evening, searched the countryside for literary talent.  She
+found a young married woman, who had spent a year in the State
+Normal School, and who put her learning at the service of Polly, in
+a composition treating the subject of intemperance.  Miss Betsey
+Leech sent in what she called "a piece" entitled "Home."  Polly,
+herself, wrote an editorial on "Our Teacher," and there was hemming
+and hawing when she read it, declaring they all had learned much,
+even to love him.  Her mother helped her with the alphabetical
+rhymes, each a couplet of sentimental history, as, for example:--
+
+  "A is for Alson, a jolly young man,
+  He'll marry Miss Betsey, they say, if he can."
+
+They trimmed the little schoolhouse with evergreen and erected a
+small stage, where the teacher's desk had been.  Sheets were hung,
+for curtains, on a ten-foot rod.
+
+A while after dark one could hear a sound of sleigh-bells in the
+distance.  Away on drifted pike and crossroad the bells began to
+fling their music.  It seemed to come in rippling streams of sound
+through the still air, each with its own voice.  In half an hour
+countless echoes filled the space between them, and all were as one
+chorus, wherein, as it came near, one could distinguish song and
+laughter.
+
+Young people from afar came in cutters and by the sleigh load;
+those who lived near, afoot with lanterns.  They were a merry
+company, crowding the schoolhouse, laughing and whispering as they
+waited for the first exhibit.  Trove called them to order and made
+a few remarks.
+
+"Remember," said he, "this is not our exhibition.  It is only a
+sort of preparation for one we have planned.  In about twenty years
+the Linley School is to give an exhibition worth seeing.  It will
+be, I believe, an exhibition of happiness, ability, and success on
+the great stage of the world.  Then I hope to have on the programme
+speeches in Congress, in the pulpit, and at the bar.  You shall see
+in that play, if I mistake not, homes full of love and honour, men
+and women of fair fame.  It may be you shall see, then, some whose
+names are known and honoured of all men."
+
+Each performer quaked with fear, and both sympathy and approval
+were in the applause.  Miss Polly Vaughn was a rare picture of
+rustic beauty, her cheeks as red as her ribbons, her voice low and
+sweet.  Trove came out in the audience for a look at her as she
+read.  Ringing salvos of laughter greeted the play and stirred the
+sleigh-bells on the startled horses beyond the door.  The programme
+over, somebody called for Squire Town, a local pettifogger, who
+flung his soul and body into every cause.  He often sored his
+knuckles on the court table and racked his frame with the violence
+of his rhetoric.  He had a stock of impassioned remarks ready for
+all occasions.
+
+He rose, walked to the centre of the stage, looked sternly at the
+people, and addressed them as "Fellow Citizens."  He belaboured the
+small table; he rose on tiptoe and fell upon his heels; often he
+seemed to fling his words with a rapid jerk of his right arm as one
+hurls a pebble.  It was all in praise of his "young friend," the
+teacher, and the high talent of Linley School.
+
+The exhibition ended with this rare exhibit of eloquence.  Trove
+announced the organization of a singing-school for Monday evening
+of the next week, and then suppressed emotion burst into noise.
+The Linley school-house had become as a fount of merry sound in the
+still night; then the loud chorus of the bells, diminishing as they
+went away, and breaking into streams of music and dying faint in
+the far woodland.
+
+One Nelson Cartright--a jack of all trades they called him--was the
+singing-master.  He was noted far and wide for song and penmanship.
+Every year his intricate flourishes in black and white were on
+exhibition at the county fair.
+
+"Wal, sir," men used to say thoughtfully, "ye wouldn't think he
+knew beans.  Why, he's got a fist bigger'n a ham.  But I tell ye,
+let him take a pen, sir, and he'll draw a deer so nat'ral, sir,
+ye'd swear he could jump over a six-rail fence.  Why, it is
+wonderful!"
+
+Every winter he taught the arts of song and penmanship in the four
+districts from Jericho to Cedar Hill.  He sang a roaring bass and
+beat the time with dignity and precision.  For weeks he drilled the
+class on a bit of lyric melody, of which a passage is here given:--
+
+"One, two, three, ready, sing," he would say, his ruler cutting the
+air, and all began:--
+
+  Listen to the bird, and the maid, and the bumblebee,
+    Tra, la la la la, tra, la la la la,
+  Joyfully we'll sing the gladsome melody,
+    Tra, la, la, la, la.
+
+The singing-school added little to the knowledge or the
+cheerfulness of that neighbourhood.  It came to an end the last day
+of the winter term.  As usual, Trove went home with Polly.  It was
+a cold night, and as the crowd left them at the corners he put his
+arm around her.
+
+"School is over," said she, with a sigh, "and I'm sorry."
+
+"For me?" he inquired.
+
+"For myself," she answered, looking down at the snowy path.
+
+There came a little silence crowded with happy thoughts.
+
+"At first, I thought you very dreadful," she went on, looking up at
+him with a smile.  He could see her sweet face in the moonlight and
+was tempted to kiss it.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"You were so terrible," she answered.  "Poor Joe Beach!  It seemed
+as if he would go through the wall."
+
+"Well, something had to happen to him," said the teacher.
+
+"He likes, you now, and every one likes you here.  I wish we could
+have you always for a teacher."
+
+"I'd be willing to be your teacher, always, if I could only teach
+you what you have taught me."
+
+"Oh, dancing," said she, merrily; "that is nothing.  I'll give you
+all the lessons you like."
+
+"No, I shall not let you teach me that again," said he.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because your pretty feet trample on me."
+
+Then came another silence.
+
+"Don't you enjoy it?" she asked, looking off at the stars.
+
+"Too much." said he.  "First, I must teach you something--if I can."
+
+He was ready for a query, if it came, but she put him off.
+
+"I intend to be a grand lady," said she, "and, if you do not learn,
+you'll never be able to dance with me."
+
+"There'll be others to dance with you," said he.  "I have so much
+else to do."
+
+"Oh, you're always thinking about algebra and arithmetic and those
+dreadful things," said she.
+
+"No, I'm thinking now of something very different."
+
+"Grammar, I suppose," said she, looking down.
+
+"Do you remember the conjugations?"
+
+"Try me," said she.
+
+"Give me the first person singular, passive voice, present tense,
+of the verb to love."
+
+"I am loved," was her answer, as she looked away.
+
+"And don't you know--I love you," said he, quickly.
+
+"That is the active voice," said she, turning with a smile.
+
+"Polly," said he, "I love you as I could love no other in the
+world."
+
+He drew her close, and she looked up at him very soberly.
+
+"You love me?" she said in a half whisper.
+
+"With all my heart," he answered.  "I hope you will love me
+sometime."
+
+Their lips came together.
+
+"I do not ask you, now, to say that you love me," said the young
+man.  "You are young and do not know your own heart."
+
+She rose on tiptoe and fondly touched his cheek with her fingers.
+
+"But I do love you," she whispered.
+
+"I thank God you have told me, but I shall ask you for no promise.
+A year from now, then, dear, I shall ask you to promise that you
+will be my wife sometime."
+
+"Oh, let me promise now," she whispered.
+
+"Promise only that you will love me if you see none you love
+better."
+
+They were slowly nearing the door.  Suddenly she stopped, looking
+up at him.
+
+"Are you sure you love me?" she asked.
+
+"Yes," he whispered.
+
+"Sure?"
+
+"As sure as I am that I live."
+
+"And will love me always?"
+
+"Always," he answered.
+
+She drew his head down a little and put her lips to his ear.  "Then
+I shall love you always," she whispered.
+
+Mrs. Vaughn, was waiting for them at the fireside.  They sat
+talking a while.
+
+"You go off to bed, Polly," said the teacher, presently.  "I've
+something to say, and you're not to hear it."
+
+"I'll listen," said she, laughing.
+
+"Then we'll whisper," Trove answered.
+
+"That isn't fair," said she, with a look of injury, as she held the
+candle.  "Besides, you don't allow it yourself."
+
+"Polly ought to go away to school," said he, after Polly had gone
+above stairs.  "She's a bright girl."
+
+"And I so poor I'm always wondering what'll happen to-morrow," said
+Mrs. Vaughn.  "The farm has a mortgage, and it's more than I can do
+to pay the interest.  Some day I'll have to give it up."
+
+"Perhaps I can help you," said the young man, feeling the fur on
+his cap.
+
+There was an awkward silence.
+
+"Fact is," said the young man, a bit embarrassed, "fact is, I love
+Polly."
+
+In the silence that followed Trove could hear the tick of his watch.
+
+"Have ye spoken to her?" said the widow, with a serious look.
+
+"I've told her frankly to-night that I love her," said he.  "I
+couldn't help it, she was so sweet and beautiful."
+
+"If you couldn't help it, I don't see how I could," said she.  "But
+Polly's only a child.  She's a big girl, I know, but she's only
+eighteen."
+
+"I haven't asked her for any promise.  It wouldn't be fair.  She
+must have a chance to meet other young men, but, sometime, I hope
+she will be my wife."
+
+"Poor children!" said Mrs. Vaughn, "you don't either of you know
+what you're doing."
+
+He rose to go.
+
+"I was a little premature," he added, "but you mustn't blame me.
+Put yourself in my place.  If you were a young man and loved a girl
+as sweet as Polly and were walking home with her on a moonlit
+night--"
+
+"I presume there'd be more or less love-making," said the widow.
+"She is a pretty thing and has the way of a woman.  We were
+speaking of you the other day, and she said to me: 'He is
+ungrateful.  You can teach the primer class for him, and be so good
+that you feel perfectly miserable, and give him lessons in dancing,
+and put on your best clothes, and make biscuit for him, and then,
+perhaps, he'll go out and talk with the hired man.' 'Polly,' said
+I, 'you're getting to be very foolish.'  'Well, it comes so easy,'
+said she.  'It's my one talent'"
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+At the Theatre of the Woods
+
+Next day Trove went home.  He took with him many a souvenir of his
+first term, including a scarf that Polly had knit for him, and the
+curious things he took from the Frenchman Leblanc, and which he
+retained partly because they were curious and partly because Mrs.
+Leblanc had been anxious to get rid of them.  He soon rejoined his
+class at Hillsborough, having kept abreast of it in history and
+mathematics by work after school and over the week's end.  He was
+content to fall behind in the classics, for they were easy, and in
+them his arrears gave him no terror.  Walking for exercise, he laid
+the plan of his tale and had written some bits of verse.  Of an
+evening he went often to the Sign of the Dial, and there read his
+lines and got friendly but severe criticism.  He came into the shop
+one evening, his "Horace" under his arm.
+
+"'_Maecenas, atavis, edite regibus_'" Trove chanted, pausing to
+recall the lines.
+
+The tinker turned quickly.  "'_O et presidium et duice decus
+meum_,'" he quoted, never stopping until he had finished She ode.
+
+"Is there anything you do not know?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Much," said the tinker, "including the depth o' me own folly.  A
+man that displays knowledge hath need o' more."
+
+Indeed, Trove rarely came for a talk with Darrel when he failed to
+discover something new in him--a further reach of thought and
+sympathy or some unsuspected treasure of knowledge.  The tinker
+loved a laugh and would often search his memory for some phrase of
+bard or philosopher apt enough to provoke it.  Of his great store
+of knowledge he made no vainer use.
+
+Trove had been overworking; and about the middle of June they went
+for a week in the woods together.  They walked to Allen's the first
+day, and, after a brief visit there, went off in the deep woods,
+camping on a pond in thick-timbered hills.  Coming to the lilied
+shore, they sat down a while to rest.  A hawk was sailing high
+above the still water.  Crows began to call in the tree-tops.  An
+eagle sat on a dead pine at the water's edge and seemed to be
+peering down at his own shadow.  Two deer stood in a marsh on the
+farther shore, looking over at them.  Near by were the bones of
+some animal, and the fresh footprints of a painter.  Sounds echoed
+far in the hush of the unbroken wilderness.
+
+"See, boy," said Darrel, with a little gesture of his right hand,
+"the theatre o' the woods!  See the sloping hills, tree above tree,
+like winding galleries.  Here is a coliseum old, past reckoning.
+Why, boy, long before men saw the Seven Hills it was old.  Yet see
+how new it is--how fresh its colour, how strong its timbers!  See
+the many seats, each with a good view, an' the multitude o' the
+people, yet most o' them are hidden.  Ten thousand eyes are looking
+down upon us.  Tragedies and comedies o' the forest are enacted
+here.  Many a thrilling scene has held the stage--the spent deer
+swimming for his life, the painter stalking his prey or leaping on
+it."
+
+"Tis a cruel part," said Trove.  "He is the murderer of the play.
+I cannot understand why there are so many villains in its cast,
+Both the cat and the serpent baffle me."
+
+"Marry, boy, the world is a great school--an' this little drama o'
+the good God is part of it," said Darrel.  "An' the play hath a
+great moral--thou shalt learn to use thy brain or die.  Now, there
+be many perils in this land o' the woods--so many that all its
+people must learn to think or perish by them.  A pretty bit o'
+wisdom it is, sor.  It keeps the great van moving--ever moving, in
+the long way to perfection.  Now, among animals, a growing brain
+works the legs of its owner, sending them far on diverse errands
+until they are strong.  Mind thee, boy, perfection o' brain and
+body is the aim o' Nature.  The cat's paw an' the serpent's coil
+are but the penalties o' weakness an' folly.  The world is for the
+strong.  Therefore, God keep thee so, or there be serpents will
+enter thy blood an' devour thee--millions o' them."
+
+"And what is the meaning of this law?"
+
+"That the weak shall not live to perpetuate their kind," said
+Darrel.  "Every year there is a tournament o' the sparrows.  Which
+deserves the fair--that is the question to be settled.  Full tilt
+they come together, striking with lance and wing.  Knight strives
+with knight, lady with lady, and the weak die.  Lest thou forget,
+I'll tell thee a tale, boy, wherein is the great plan.  The queen
+bee--strongest of all her people--is about to marry.[1]  A clear
+morning she comes out o' the palace gate--her attendants following.
+The multitude of her suitors throng the vestibule; the air, now
+still an' sweet, rings with the sound o' fairy timbrels.  Of a
+sudden she rises into the blue sky, an' her suitors follow.  Her
+swift wings cleave the air straight as a plummet falls.  Only the
+strong may keep in sight o' her; bear that in mind, boy.  Her
+suitors begin to fall wearied.  Higher an' still higher the good
+queen wings her way.  By an' by, of all that began the journey,
+there is but one left with her, an' he the strongest of her people.
+An' they are wed, boy, up in the sun-lit deep o' heaven.  So the
+seed o' life is chosen, me fine lad."
+
+[1  In behalf of Darrel, the author makes acknowledgment of his
+indebtedness to M. Maurice Maeterlinck for an account of the
+queen's flight in his interesting "Life of the Bee."]
+
+They sat a little time in silence, looking at the shores of the
+pond.
+
+"Have ye never felt the love passion?" said Darrel.
+
+"Well, there's a girl of the name of Polly," Trove answered.
+
+"Ah, Polly! she o' the red lip an' the dark eye," said Darrel,
+smiling.  "She's one of a thousand."  He clapped his hand upon his
+knee, merrily, and sang a sentimental couplet from an old Irish
+ballad.
+
+"Have ye won her affection, boy?" he added, his hand on the boy's
+arm.
+
+"I think I have."
+
+"God love thee!  I'm glad to hear it," said the old man.  "She is a
+living wonder, boy, a living wonder, an' had I thy youth I'd give
+thee worry."
+
+"Since her mother cannot afford to do it, I wish to send her away
+to school," said Trove.
+
+"Tut, tut, boy; thou hast barely enough for thy own schooling."
+
+"I've eighty-two dollars in my pocket," said Trove, proudly.  "I do
+not need it.  The job in the mill--that will feed me and pay my
+room rent, and my clothes will do me for another year."
+
+"On me word, boy; I like it in thee," said Darrel; "but surely she
+would not take thy money."
+
+"I could not offer it to her, but you might go there, and perhaps
+she would take it from you."
+
+"Capital!" the tinker exclaimed.  "I'll see if I can serve thee.
+Marry, good youth, I'll even give away thy money an' take credit
+for thy benevolence.  Teacher, philanthropist, lover--I believe
+thou'rt ready to write."
+
+"The plan of my first novel is complete," said Trove.  "That poor
+thief,--he shall be my chief character,--the man of whom you told
+me."
+
+"Poor man!  God make thee kind to him," said the tinker.  "An'
+thou'rt willing, I'll hear o' him to-night.  When the firelight
+flickers,--that is the time, boy, for tales."
+
+They built a rude lean-to, covered with bark, and bedded with
+fragrant boughs.  Both lay in the firelight, Darrel smoking his
+pipe, as the night fell.
+
+"Now for thy tale," said the tinker.
+
+The tale was Trove's own solution of his life mystery, shrewdly
+come to, after a long and careful survey of the known facts.  And
+now, shortly, time was to put the seal of truth upon it, and daze
+him with astonishment, and fill him with regret of his cunning.  It
+should be known that he had never told Darrel or any one of his
+coming in the little red sleigh.
+
+He lay thinking for a time after the tinker spoke.  Then he began:--
+
+
+"Well, the time is 1833, the place a New England city on the sea.
+Chapter I:  A young woman is walking along a street, with a child
+sleeping in her arms.  She is dark-skinned,--a Syrian.  It is
+growing dusk; the street is deserted, save by her and two sailors,
+who are approaching her.  They, too, are Syrians.  One seems to
+strike her,--it is mere pretence, however,--and she falls.  The
+other seizes the child, who, having been drugged, is still asleep.
+A wagon is waiting near.  They drive away hurriedly, their captive
+under a blanket.  The kidnappers make for the woods in New
+Hampshire.  Officers of the law drive them far.  They abandon their
+horse, tramping westward over trails in the wilderness, bearing the
+boy in a sack of sail-cloth, open at the top.  They had guns and
+killed their food as they travelled.  Snow came deep; by and by
+game was scarce and they had grown weary of bearing the boy on
+their backs.  One waited in the woods with the little lad while the
+other went away to some town or city for provisions.  He came back,
+hauling them in a little sleigh.  It was much like those made for
+the delight of the small boy in every land of snow.  It had a box
+painted red and two bobs and a little dashboard.  They used it for
+the transportation of boy and impedimenta.  In the deep wilderness
+beyond the Adirondacks they found a cave in one of the rock ledges.
+They were twenty miles from any post-office but shortly discovered
+one.  Letters in cipher were soon passing between them and their
+confederates.  They learned there was no prospect of getting the
+ransom.  He they had thought rich was not able to raise the money
+they required or any large sum.  Two years went by, and they
+abandoned hope.   What should they do with the boy?  One advised
+murder, but the other defended him.  It was unnecessary, he
+maintained, to kill a mere baby, who knew not a word of English,
+and would forget all in a month.  And murder would only increase
+their peril.  Now eight miles from their cave was the cabin of a
+settler.  They passed within a mile of it on their way out and in.
+They had often met the dog of the settler roving after small
+game--a shepherd, trustful, affectionate, and ever ready to make
+friends.  One day they captured the dog and took him to their cave.
+They could not safely be seen with the boy, so they planned to let
+the dog go home with him in the little red sleigh.  Now the
+settler's cabin was like that of my father, on the shore of a pond.
+It was round, as a cup's rim, and a mile or so in diameter.
+Opposite the cabin a trail came to the water's edge, skirting the
+pond, save in cold weather, when it crossed the ice.  They waited
+for a night when their tracks would soon disappear.  Then, having
+made a cover of the sail-cloth sack in which they had brought the
+boy, and stretched it on withes, and made it fast to the sleigh
+box, they put the sleeping boy in the sleigh, with hot stones
+wrapped in paper, and a robe of fur, to keep him warm, hitched the
+dog to it, and came over hill and trail, to the little pond, a
+while after midnight.  Here they buckled a ring of bells on the
+dog's neck and released him.  He made for his home on the clear
+ice; the bells and his bark sounding as he ran.  They at the cabin
+heard him coming and opened their door to dog and traveller.  So
+came my hero in a little red sleigh, and was adopted by the settler
+and his wife, and reared by them with generous affection.  Well, he
+goes to school and learns rapidly, and comes to manhood.  It's a
+pretty story--that of his life in the big woods.  But now for the
+love tale.  He meets a young lady--sweet, tender, graceful,
+charming."
+
+
+"A moment," said Darrel, raising his hand.  "Prithee, boy, ring
+down the curtain for a brief parley.  Thou say'st they were
+Syrians--they that stole the lad.  Now, tell me, hast thou reason
+for that?"
+
+"Ample," said Trove.  "When they took him out of the sleigh the
+first words he spoke were "Anah jouhan."  He used them many times,
+and while he forgot they remembered them.  Now "Anah jouhan" is a
+phrase of the Syrian tongue, meaning 'I am hungry.'"
+
+"Very well!" said the old man, with emphasis, "and sailors--that is
+a just inference.  It was a big port, and far people came on the
+four winds.  Very well!  Now, for the young lady.  An' away with
+thy book unless I love her."
+
+"She is from life--a simple-hearted girl, frank and beautiful
+and--"  Trove hesitated, looking into the dying fire.
+
+"Noble, boy, make sure o' that, an' nobler, too, than girls are apt
+to be.  If Emulation would measure height with her, see that it
+stand upon tiptoes."
+
+
+"So I have planned.  The young man loves her.  She is in every
+thought and purpose.  She has become as the rock on which his hope
+is founded.  Now he loves honour, too, and all things of good
+report.  He has been reared a Puritan.  By chance, one day, it
+comes to him that his father was a thief."
+
+
+The boy paused.  For a moment they heard only the voices of the
+night.
+
+
+"He dreaded to tell her," Trove continued; "yet he could not ask
+her to be his wife without telling.  Then the question, Had he a
+right to tell?--for his father had not suffered the penalty of the
+law and, mind you, men thought him honest."
+
+
+"'Tis just," said Darrel; "but tell me, how came he to know his
+father was a thief?"
+
+"That I am thinking of, and before I answer, is there more you can
+tell me of him or his people?"
+
+Darrel rose; and lighting a torch of pine, stuck it in the ground.
+Then he opened his leathern pocket-book and took out a number of
+cuttings, much worn, and apparently from old newspapers.  He put on
+his glasses and began to examine the cuttings.
+
+"The other day," said he, "I found an account of his mother's
+death.  I had forgotten, but her death was an odd tragedy."
+
+And the tinker began reading, slowly, as follows:--
+
+
+"'She an' her mother--a lady deaf an' feeble--were alone, saving
+the servants in a remote corner o' the house.  A sound woke her in
+the still night.  She lay a while listening.  Was it her husband
+returning without his key?  She rose, feeling her way in the dark
+and trembling with the fear of a nervous woman.  Descending stairs,
+she came into a room o' many windows.  The shades were up, an'
+there was dim moon-light in the room.  A door, with panels o' thick
+glass, led to the garden walk.  Beyond it were the dark forms of
+men.  One was peering in, his face at a panel, another kneeling at
+the lock.  Suddenly the door opened; the lady fell fainting with a
+loud cry.  Next day the kidnapped boy was born.'"
+
+
+Darrel stopped reading, put the clipping into his pocket-book, and
+smothered the torch.
+
+"It seems the woman died the same day," said he.
+
+"And was my mother," the words came in a broken voice.
+
+Half a moment of silence followed them.  Then Darrel rose slowly,
+and a tremulous, deep sigh came from the lips of Trove.
+
+"Thy mother, boy!" Darrel whispered.
+
+The fire had burnt low, and the great shadow of the night lay dark
+upon them.  Trove got to his feet and came to the side of Darrel.
+
+"Tell me, for God's sake, man, tell me where is my father," said he.
+
+"Hush, boy!  Listen.  Hear the wind in the trees?" said Darrel.
+
+There was a breath of silence broken by the hoot of an owl and the
+stir of high branches.  "Ye might as well ask o' the wind or the
+wild owl," Darrel said.  "I cannot tell thee.  Be calm, boy, and
+say how thou hast come to know."
+
+Again they sat down together, and presently Trove told him of those
+silent men who had ever haunted the dark and ghostly house of his
+inheritance.
+
+"'Tis thy mother's terror,--an' thy father's house,--I make no
+doubt," said Darrel, presently, in a deep voice.  "But, boy, I
+cannot tell any man where is thy father; not even thee, nor his
+name, nor the least thing, tending to point him out, until--until I
+am released o' me vow.  Be content; if I can find the man, ere
+long, thou shalt have word o' him."
+
+Trove leaned against the breast of Darrel, shaking with emotion.
+His tale had come to an odd and fateful climax.
+
+The old man stroked his head tenderly.
+
+"Ah, boy," said he, "I know thy heart.  I shall make haste--I
+promise thee, I shall make haste.  But, if the good God should
+bring thy father to thee, an' thy head to shame an' sorrow for his
+sin, forgive him, in the name o' Christ, forgive him.  Ay, boy,
+thou must forgive all that trespass against thee."
+
+"If I ever see him, he shall know I am not ungrateful," said the
+young man.
+
+A while past twelve o'clock, those two, lying there in the
+firelight, thinking, rose like those startled in sleep.  A mighty
+voice came booming over the still water and echoed far and wide.
+Slowly its words fell and rang in the great, silent temple of the
+woods:--
+
+
+"'Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have
+not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
+
+"'And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all
+mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that
+I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.
+
+"'And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I
+give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me
+nothing.
+
+"'Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity
+vaunteth not itself; is not puffed up,
+
+"'Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not
+easily provoked, thinketh no evil;
+
+"'Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things,
+endureth all things.
+
+"'Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they
+shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether
+there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.'"
+
+
+As the last words died away in the far woodland, Trove and Darrel
+turned, wiping their eyes in silence.  That flood of inspiration
+had filled them.  Big thoughts had come drifting down with its
+current.  They listened a while, but heard only the faint crackle
+of the fire.
+
+"Strange!" said Trove, presently.
+
+"Passing strange, and like a beautiful song," said Darrel.
+
+"It may be some insane fanatic."
+
+"Maybe, but he hath the voice of an angel," said the old man.
+
+They passed a sleepless night and were up early, packing to leave
+the woods.  Darrel was to go in quest of the boy's father.  Within
+a week he felt sure he should be able to find him.
+
+They skirted the pond, crossing a long ridge on its farther shore.
+At a spring of cool water in a deep ravine they halted to drink and
+rest.  Suddenly they heard a sound of men approaching; and when the
+latter had come near, a voice, deep, vibrant, and musical as a
+harp-string, in these lines of Hamlet:--
+
+  "'Why right; you are i' the right;
+  And so without more circumstance at all,
+  I hold it fit that we shake hands and part;
+  You as your business and desire shall point you;
+  For every man has business and desire
+  Such as it is; and for mine own part
+  Look you, I'll go pray.'"
+
+Then said Darrel, loudly:--
+
+  "'These are but wild and whirling words, my lord.'"
+
+Two men, a guide in advance, came along the trail--one, a most
+impressive figure, tall, erect, and strong; its every move
+expressing grace and power.
+
+Again the deep music of his voice, saying:--
+
+  "'I'm sorry they offend you heartily; yes, faith, heartily.'"
+
+And Darrel rejoined, his own rich tone touching the note of
+melancholy in the other:--
+
+  "'There's no offence, my lord.'"
+
+"'What Horatio is this?" the stranger inquired, offering his hand.
+"A player?"
+
+"Ay, as are all men an' women," said Darrel, quickly.  "But I, sor,
+have only a poor part.  Had I thy lines an' makeup, I'd win
+applause."
+
+The newcomers sat down, the man who had spoken removing his hat.
+Curly locks of dark hair, with now a sprinkle of silver in them,
+fell upon his brows.  He had large brown eyes, a mouth firm and
+well modelled, a nose slightly aquiline, and wore a small, dark
+imperial--a mere tuft under his lip.
+
+"Well, Colonel, you have paid me a graceful compliment," said he.
+
+"Nay, man, do not mistake me rank," said Darrel.
+
+"Indeed--what is it?"
+
+"Friend," he answered, quickly.  "In good company there's no higher
+rank.  But if ye think me unworthy, I'll be content with 'Mister.'"
+
+"My friend, forgive me," said the stranger, approaching Darrel.
+"Murder and envy and revenge and all evil are in my part, but no
+impertinence."
+
+"I know thy rank, sor.  Thou art a gentleman," said Darrel.   "I've
+seen thee 'every inch a king.'"
+
+Darrel spoke to the second period in that passage of Lear, the
+majesty and despair of the old king in voice and gesture.  The
+words were afire with feeling as they came off his tongue, and all
+looked at him with surprise.
+
+"Ah, you have seen me play it," said the stranger.  "There's no
+other Lear that declares himself with that gesture."
+
+"It is Edwin Forrest," said Darrel, as the stranger offered his
+hand.
+
+"The same, and at your service," the great actor replied. "And may
+I ask who are you?"
+
+"Roderick Darrel, son of a wheelwright on the river Bann, once a
+fellow of infinite jest, believe me, but now, alas! like the skull
+o' Yorick in the churchyard."
+
+"The churchyard'" said Forrest, thoughtfully.  "That to me is the
+saddest of all scenes.  When it's over and I leave the stage, it is
+to carry with me an awe-inspiring thought of the end which is
+coming to all."
+
+He crumbled a lump of clay in his palm.
+
+"Dust!" he whispered, scattering it in the air.
+
+"Think ye the dust is dead?  Nay, man; a mighty power is in it,"
+said Darrel.  "Let us imagine thee dead an' turned to clay.  Leave
+the clay to its own law, sor, an' it begins to cleanse an' purge
+itself.  Its aim is purity, an' it never wearies.  Could I live
+long enough, an' it were under me eye, I'd see the clay bleaching
+white with a wonderful purity.  Then, slowly, it would begin to
+come clear, an' by an' by it would be clearer an' lovelier than a
+drop o' dew at sunrise.  Lo and behold! the clay has become a
+sapphire.  So, sor, in the waters o' time God washes the great
+world.  In every grain o' dust the law is written, an' I may read
+the destiny o' the nobler part in the fate o' the meaner.
+
+  "'Imperious Forrest, dead an' turned to clay,
+  Might stop a hole to keep despair away.'"
+
+"Delightful and happy man!  I must know you better," said the great
+tragedian.  "May I ask, sir, what is your calling?"
+
+"I, sor, am a tinker o' clocks."
+
+"A tinker of clocks!" said the other, looking at him thoughtfully.
+"I should think it poorly suited to your talents."
+
+"Not so.  I've only a talent for happiness an' good company."
+
+"And you find good company here?"
+
+"Yes; bards, prophets, an' honest men.  They're everywhere."
+
+"Tell me," said Forrest, "were you not some time a player?"
+
+"Player of many parts, but all in God's drama--fool, servant of a
+rich man, cobbler, clock tinker, all in the coat of a poor man.  Me
+health failed me, sor, an' I took to wandering in the open air.
+Ten years ago in the city of New York me wife died, since when I
+have been tinkering here in the edges o' the woodland, where I have
+found health an' friendship an' good cheer.  Faith, sor, that is
+all one needs, save the company o' the poets.
+
+  "'I pray an' sing an' tell old tales an' laugh
+  At gilded butterflies, an' hear poor rogues
+  Talk o' court news.'"
+
+Trove had missed not a word nor even a turn of the eye in all that
+scene.  After years of acquaintance with the tinker he had not yet
+ventured a question as to his life history.  The difference of age
+and a certain masterly reserve in the old gentleman had seemed to
+discourage it.  A prying tongue in a mere youth would have met
+unpleasant obstacles with Darrel.  Never until that day had he
+spoken freely of his past in the presence of the young man.
+
+"I must see you again," said the tragedian, rising.  "Of those
+parts I try to play, which do you most like?"
+
+"St. Paul," said Darrel, quickly.  "Last night, sor, in this great
+theatre, we heard the voice o' the prophet.  Ah, sor, it was like a
+trumpet on the walls of eternity.  I commend to thee the part o'
+St. Paul.  Next to that--of all thy parts, Lear."
+
+"Lear?" said Forrest, rising.  "I am to play it this autumn.  Come,
+then, to New York.  Give me your address, and I'll send for you."
+
+"Sor," said Darrel, thoughtfully, "I can give thee much o' me love
+but little o' me time.  Nay, there'd be trouble among the clocks.
+I'd be ashamed to look them in the face.  Nay,--I thank thee,--but
+I must mind the clocks."
+
+The great player smiled with amusement.
+
+"Then," said he, "I shall have to come and see you play your part.
+Till then, sir, God give you happiness."
+
+"Once upon a time," said Darrel, as he held the hand of the player,
+"a weary traveller came to the gate o' Heaven, seeking entrance.
+
+"'What hast thou in thy heart?' said the good St. Peter.
+
+"'The record o' great suffering an' many prayers,' said the poor
+man.  'I pray thee now, give me the happiness o' Heaven.'
+
+"'Good man, we have none to spare,' said the keeper.  'Heaven hath
+no happiness but that men bring.  It is a gift to God and comes not
+from Him.  Would ye take o' that we have an' bring nothing?  Nay,
+go back to thy toil an' fill thy heart with happiness, an' bring it
+to me overflowing.  Then shalt thou know the joy o' paradise.
+Remember, God giveth counsel, but not happiness.'"
+
+"If I only had your wisdom," said Forrest, as they parted.
+
+"Ye'd have need o' more," the tinker answered.
+
+Trove and Darrel walked to the clearing above Faraway.  At a corner
+on the high hills, where northward they could see smoke and spire
+of distant villages, each took his way,--one leading to
+Hillsborough, the other to Allen's.
+
+"Good-by; an' when I return I hope to bear the rest o' thy tale,"
+said Darrel, as they parted.
+
+"Only God is wise enough to finish it," said the young man.
+
+"'Well, God help us; 'tis a world to see,'" Darrel quoted, waving
+his hand.  "If thy heart oppress thee, steer for the Blessed Isles."
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+Robin's Inn
+
+A big maple sheltered the house of the widow Vaughn.  After the
+noon hour of a summer day its tide of shadow began flowing fathoms
+deep over house and garden to the near field, where finally it
+joined the great flood of night.  The maple was indeed a robin's
+inn at some crossing of the invisible roads of the air.  Its green
+dome towered high above and fell to the gable end of the little
+house.  Its deep and leafy thatch hid every timber of its frame
+save the rough column.  Its trunk was the main beam, each limb a
+corridor, each tier of limbs a floor, and branch rose above branch
+like steps in a stairway.  Up and down the high dome of the maple
+were a thousand balconies overlooking the meadow.
+
+From its highest tier of a summer morning the notes of the bobolink
+came rushing off his lyre, and farther down the golden robin
+sounded his piccolo.  But, chiefly, it was the home and refuge of
+the familiar red-breasted robin.  The inn had its ancient customs.
+Each young bird, leaving his cradle, climbed his own stairway till
+he came out upon a balcony and got a first timid look at field and
+sky.  There he might try his wings and keep in the world he knew by
+using bill and claw on the lower tiers.
+
+At dawn the great hall of the maple rang with music, for every
+lodger paid his score with song.  Therein it was ever cool, and
+clean, and shady, though the sun were hot.  Its every nook and
+cranny was often swept and dusted by the wind.  Its branches
+leading up and outward to the green wall were as innumerable
+stairways.  Each separate home was out on rocking beams, with its
+own flicker of sky light overhead.  For a time at dusk there was a
+continual flutter of weary wings at the lower entrance, a good
+night twitter, and a sound of tiny feet climbing the stairways in
+that gloomy hall.  At last, there was a moment of gossip and then
+silence on every floor.  There seemed to be a night-watch in the
+lower hall, and if any green young bird were late and noisy going
+up to his home, he got a shaking and probably lost a few feathers
+from the nape of his neck.  Long before daybreak those hungry,
+half-clad little people of the nests began to worry and crowd their
+mothers.  At first, the old birds tried to quiet them with
+caressing movements, and had, at last, to hold their places with
+bill and claw.  As light came an old cock peered about him,
+stretched his wings, climbed a stairway, and blew his trumpet on
+the outer wall.  The robin's day had begun.
+
+Mid-autumn, when its people shivered and found fault and talked of
+moving, the maple tried to please them with new and brighter
+colours--gold, with the warmth of summer in its look; scarlet,
+suggesting love and the June roses.  Soon it stood bare and
+deserted.  Then what was there in the creak-and-whisper chorus of
+the old tree for one listening in the night?  Belike it might be
+many things, according to the ear, but was it not often something
+to make one think of that solemn message: "Man that is born of a
+woman is of few days and full of trouble"?  They who lived in that
+small house under the tree knew little of all that passed in the
+big world.  Trumpet blasts of fame, thunder of rise and downfall,
+came faintly to them.  There the delights of art and luxury were
+unknown.  Yet those simple folk were acquainted with pleasure and
+even with thrilling and impressive incidents.  Field and garden
+teemed with eventful life and hard by was the great city of the
+woods.
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+Comedies of Field and Dooryard
+
+Trove was three days in Brier Dale after he came out of the woods.
+The filly was now a sleek and shapely animal, past three years of
+age.  He began at once breaking her to the saddle, and, that done,
+mounting, he started for Robin's Inn.  He carried a game rooster in
+a sack for the boy Tom.  All came out with a word of welcome; even
+the small dog grew noisy with delight Tunk Hosely, who had come to
+work for Mrs. Vaughn, took the mare and led her away, his shoulder
+leaning with an added sense of horsemanship.  Polly began to hurry
+dinner, fussing with the table, and changing the position of every
+dish, until it seemed as if she would never be quite satisfied.
+Covered with the sacred old china and table-linen of her
+grandmother, it had, when Polly was done with it, a very smart
+appearance indeed.  Then she called the boys and bade them wash
+their hands and faces and whispered a warning to each, while her
+mother announced that dinner was ready.
+
+"Paul, what's an adjective?" said the teacher, as they sat down.
+
+"A word applied to a noun to qualify or limit its meaning," the boy
+answered glibly.
+
+"Right!  And what adjective would you apply to this table?"
+
+The boy thought a moment.
+
+"Grand!" said he, tentatively.
+
+"Correct!  I'm going to have just such a dinner every day on my
+farm."
+
+"Then you'll have to have Polly too," said Tom, innocently.
+
+"Well, you can spare her."
+
+"No, sir," the boy answered.  "You ain't good to her; she cries
+every time you go away."
+
+There was an awkward silence and the widow began to laugh and Polly
+and Trove to blush deeply.
+
+"Maybe she whispered, an' he give her a talkin' to," said Paul.
+
+"Have you heard about Ezra Tower?" said Mrs. Vaughn, shaking her
+head at the boys and changing the topic with shrewd diplomacy.
+
+"Much; but nothing new," said Trove.
+
+"Well, he swears he'll never cross the Fadden bridge or speak to
+anybody in Pleasant Valley."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"The taxes.  He don't believe in improvements, and when he tried to
+make a speech in town-meeting they all jeered him.  There ain't any
+one good enough for him to speak to now but himself an'--an' his
+Creator."
+
+In the midst of dinner, they heard an outcry in the yard.  Tom's
+game-cock had challenged the old rooster, and the two were leaping
+and striking with foot and wing.  Before help came the old rooster
+was badly cut in the neck and breast.  Tunk rescued him, and
+brought him to the woodshed, where Trove sewed up his wounds.  He
+had scarcely finished when there came a louder outcry among the
+fowls.  Looking out they saw a gobbler striding slowly up the path
+and leading the game-cock with a firm hold on the back of his neck.
+The whole flock of fowls were following.  The rooster held back and
+came on with long but unequal strides, Never halting, the turkey
+led him into the full publicity of the open yard.  Now the cock was
+lifted so his feet came only to the top of the grass; now his head
+was bent low, and his feet fell heavily.  Through it all the
+gobbler bore himself with dignity and firmness.  There was no show
+of wrath or unnecessary violence.  He swung the cock around near
+the foot of the maple tree and walked him back and then returned
+with him.  Half his journey the poor cock was reaching for the
+grass and was then lowered quickly, so he had to walk with bent
+knees.  Again and again the gobbler walked up and down with him
+before the assembled flock.  Hens and geese cackled loudly and
+clapped their wings.  Applause and derision rose high each time the
+poor cock swung around, reaching for the grass.  But the gobbler
+continued his even stride, deliberately, and as it seemed,
+thoughtfully, applying correction to the quarrelsome bird.  Walking
+the grass tips had begun to tire those reaching legs.  The cock
+soon straddled along with a serious eye and an open mouth.  But the
+gobbler gave him no rest.   When, at length, he released his hold,
+the game-cock lay weary and wild-eyed, with no more fight in him
+than a bunch of rags.  Soon he rose and ran away and hid himself in
+the stable.  The culprit fowl was then tried, convicted, and
+sentenced to the block.
+
+"It's the fate of all fighters that have only a selfish cause,"
+said the teacher.  He was sitting on the grass, Polly, and Tom, and
+Paul, beside him.
+
+"Look here," said he, suddenly.  "I'll show you another fight."
+
+All gathered about him.  Down among the grass roots an ant stood
+facing a big, hairy spider.  The ant backed away, presently, and
+made a little detour, the spider turning quickly and edging toward
+him.  The ant stood motionless, the spider on tiptoe, with daggers
+drawn.  The big, hairy spider leaped like a lion to its prey.  They
+could see her striking with the fatal knives, her great body
+quivering with fierce energy.  The little ant was hidden beneath
+it.  Some uttered a cry of pity, and Paul was for taking sides.
+
+"Wait a moment," said the teacher, restraining his hand.  The
+spider had begun to tremble in a curious manner.
+
+"Look now," said Trove, with some excitement.
+
+Her legs had begun to let go and were straightening stiff on both
+sides of her.  In a moment she tilted sideways and lay still.  They
+saw a twinkle of black, legs and the ant making off in the stubble.
+They picked up the spider's body; it was now only an empty shell.
+Her big stomach had been torn away and lay in little strips and
+chunks, down at the roots of the stubble.
+
+"It's the end of a bit of history," said the teacher, as he tore
+away the curved blades of the spider and put them in Polly's palm.
+
+"Let's see where the ant goes."
+
+He got down upon his hands and knees and watched the little black
+tiger, now hurrying for his lair.  In a moment he was joined by
+others, and presently they came into a smooth little avenue under
+the grass.  It took them into the edge of the meadow, around a
+stalk of mullen, where there were a number of webs.
+
+"There's where she lived--this hairy old woman," said the
+teacher,--"up there in that tower.  See her snares in the
+grass--four of them?"
+
+He rapped on the stalk of mullen with a stick, peering into the
+dusty little cavern of silk near the top of it.
+
+"Sure enough!  Here is where she lived; for the house is empty, and
+there's living prey in the snares."
+
+"What a weird old thing!" said Polly.  "Can you tell us more about
+her?"
+
+"Well, every summer," said Trove, "a great city grows up in the
+field.  There are shady streets in it, no wider than a cricket's
+back, and millions living in nest and tower and cave and cavern.
+Among its people are toilers and idlers, laws and lawbreakers,
+thieves and highwaymen, grand folk and plain folk.  Here is the
+home of the greatest criminal in the city of the field.  See! it is
+between two leaves,--one serving as roof, the other as floor and
+portico.  Here is a long cable that comes out of her sitting room
+and slopes away to the big snare below.  Look at her sheets of silk
+in the grass.  It's like a washing that's been hung out to dry.
+From each a slender cord of silk runs to the main cable.  Even a
+fly's kick or a stroke of his tiny wing must have gone up the tower
+and shaken the floor of the old lady, maybe, with a sort of
+thunder.  Then she ran out and down the cable to rush upon her
+helpless prey.  She was an arrant highwayman,--this old lady,--a
+creature of craft and violence.  She was no sooner married than she
+slew her husband--a timid thing smaller than she--and ate him at
+one meal.  You know the ants are a busy people.  This road was
+probably a thoroughfare for their freight,--eggs and cattle and
+wild rice.  I'll warrant she used to lie and wait for them; and woe
+to the little traveller if she caught him unawares, for she could
+nip him in two with a single thrust of her knives.  Then she, would
+seize the egg he bore and make off with it.  Now the ants are
+cunning.  They found her downstairs and cut her off from her home
+and drove her away into the grass jungle.  I've no doubt she faced
+a score of them, but, being a swift climber, with lots of rope in
+her pocket, was able to get away.  The soldier ants began to beat
+the jangle.  They separated, content to meet her singly, knowing
+she would refuse to fight if confronted by more than one.  And you
+know what happened to her."
+
+All that afternoon they spent in the city of the field.  The life
+of the birds in the great maple interested them most of all.  In
+the evening he played checkers with Polly and told her of school
+life in the village of Hillsborough--the work and play of the
+students.
+
+"Oh!  I do wish I could go," said she, presently, with a deep sigh.
+
+He thought of the eighty-two dollars in his pocket and longed to
+tell her all that he was planning for her sake.
+
+Mrs. Vaughn went above stairs with the children.
+
+Then Trove took Polly's hand.  They looked deeply into each other's
+eyes a moment, both smiling.
+
+"It's your move," said she, smiling as her glance fell.
+
+He moved all the checkers.
+
+There came a breath of silence, and a great surge of happiness that
+washed every checker off the board, and left the two with flushed
+faces.  Then, as Mrs. Vaughn was coming downstairs, the checkers
+began to rattle into position.
+
+"I won," said he, as the door opened.
+
+"But he didn't play fair," said Folly.
+
+"Children, I'm afraid you're playing more love than checkers," said
+the widow.  "You're both too young to think of marriage."
+
+Those two looked thoughtfully at the checkerboard, Polly's chin
+resting on her hand.  She had begun to smile.
+
+"I'm sure Mr. Trove has no such thought in his head," said she,
+still looking at the board.
+
+"You're mother is right; we're both very young," said Trove.
+
+"I believe you're afraid of her," said Polly, looking up at him
+with a smile.
+
+"I'm only thinking of your welfare," said Mrs. Vaughn, gently.
+"Young love should be stored away, and if it keeps, why, then it's
+all right."
+
+"Like preserves!" said Polly, soberly, as if she were not able to
+see the point.
+
+Against the protest of Polly and her mother, Trove went to sleep in
+the sugar shanty, a quarter of a mile or so back in the woods.  On
+his first trip with the drove he had developed fondness for
+sleeping out of doors.  The shanty was a rude structure of logs,
+with an open front.  Tunk went ahead, bearing a pine torch, while
+Trove followed, the blanket over his shoulder.  They built a
+roaring fire in front of the shanty and sat down to talk.
+
+"How have you been?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Like t' killed me there at the ol' maids'."
+
+"Were they rough with you?"
+
+"No," said Tunk, gloomily.
+
+"What then?"
+
+"Hoss."
+
+"Kicked?" was Trove's query.
+
+"Lord!  I should think so.  Feel there."
+
+Trove felt the same old protuberance on Tunk's leg.
+
+"Swatted me right in the knee-pan.  Put both feet on my chest, too.
+Lord!  I'd be coughin' up blood all the while if I wa'n't careful."
+
+"And why did you leave?"
+
+"Served me a mean trick," said Tunk, frowning.  "Letishey went away
+t' the village t' have a tooth drawed, an' t'other one locked me up
+all day in the garret chamber.  Toward night I crawled out o' the
+window an' clim' down the lightnin' rod.  An' she screamed for help
+an' run t' the neighbours.  Scairt me half t' death.  Heavens!  I
+didn't know what I'd done!"
+
+"Did you come down fast?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Purty middlin' fast."
+
+"Well, a man never ought to travel on a lightning rod."
+
+Tunk sat in sober silence a moment, as if he thought it no proper
+time for levity.
+
+"I made up my mind," said he, with an injured look, "it wa'n't
+goin' t' do my character no good t' live there with them ol' maids."
+
+There was a bitter contempt in his voice when he said "ol' maids."
+
+"I'd kind o' like t' draw the ribbons over that mare o' yourn,
+mister," said Tunk, presently.
+
+"Do you think you could manage her?"
+
+"What!" said Tunk, in a voice of both query and exclamation.  "Huh!
+Don't I look as if I'd been used t' hosses.  There ain't a bone in
+my body that ain't been kicked--some on 'em two or three times.
+Don't ye notice how I walk?  Heavens, man!  I hed my ex sprung
+'fore I was fifteen!"
+
+Tunk referred often and proudly to this early springing of his
+"ex," by which he meant probably that horse violence had bent him
+askew.
+
+"Well, you shall have a chance to drive her," said Trove, spreading
+his blanket.  "But if I'd gone through what you have, I'd keep out
+of danger."
+
+"I like it," said Tunk, with emphasis.  "I couldn't live without
+it.  Danger is a good deal like chawin' terbaccer--dum nasty 'til
+ye git used to it.  Fer me it's suthin' like strawberry short-cake
+and allwus was.  An' nerve, man, why jes' look a' there."
+
+He held out a hand to show its steadiness.
+
+"Very good," Trove remarked.
+
+"Good?  Why, it's jest as stiddy as a hitchin' post, an' purty nigh
+as stout.  Feel there," said Tunk, swelling his biceps.
+
+"You must be very strong," said Trove, as he felt the rigid arm.
+
+"A man has t' be in the boss business, er he ain't nowheres.  If
+they get wicked, ye've got t' put the power to 'em."
+
+Tunk had only one horse to care for at the widow's, but he was
+always in "the hoss business."
+
+Then Tunk lit his torch and went away.  Trove lay down, pulled his
+blanket about him, and went to sleep.
+
+
+
+
+XXIII
+
+A New Problem
+
+When Trove woke in the morning, a package covered with white paper
+lay on the blanket near his hand.  He rose and picked it up, and
+saw his own name in a strange handwriting on the wrapper.  He
+turned it, looking curiously at seal and superscription.  Tearing
+it open, he found to his great surprise a brief note and a roll of
+money.  "Herein is a gift for Mr. Sidney Trove," said the note.
+"The gift is from a friend unknown, who prays God that wisdom may
+go with it, so it prove a blessing to both."
+
+Trove counted the money carefully.  There were $3000 in bank bills.
+He sat a moment, thinking; then he rose, and began searching for
+tracks around the shanty.  He found none, however, in the dead
+leaves which he could distinguish from those of Tunk and himself.
+
+"It must be from my father," said he,--a thought that troubled him
+deeply, for it seemed to bring ill news--that his father would
+never make himself known.
+
+"He must have seen me last night," Trove went on.  "He must even
+have been near me--so near he could have touched me with his hand.
+If I had only wakened!"
+
+He put the money in his pocket and made ready to go.  He would
+leave at once in quest of Darrel and take counsel of him.  It was
+early, and he could see the first light of the sun, high in the
+tall towers of hemlock.  The forest rang with bird songs.  He went
+to the brook near by, and drank of its clear, cold water, and
+bathed in it.  Then he walked slowly to Robin's Inn, where Mrs.
+Vaughn had begun building a fire.  She observed the troubled look
+in his face, but said nothing of it then.  Trove greeted her and
+went to the stable to feed his mare.  As he neared the door he
+heard a loud "Whoa."  He entered softly, and the big barn, that
+joined the stable, began to ring with noise.  He heard Tunk
+shouting "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" at the top of his voice.  Peering
+through, he could see the able horseman leaning back upon a pair of
+reins tied to a beam in front of him.  His cry and attitude were
+like those of a jockey driving a hard race.   He saw Trove, and
+began to slow up.
+
+"You are a brave man--there's no doubt of it," said the teacher.
+
+"What makes ye think so?" Tunk inquired soberly, but with a glowing
+eye.
+
+"If you were not brave, you'd scare yourself to death, yelling that
+way."
+
+"It isn't possible, or Tunk would have perished long ago," said the
+widow, who had come to feed her chickens.
+
+"It's enough to raise the neighbours," Trove added.
+
+"There ain't any near neighbours but them over 'n the
+buryin'-ground, and they must be a little uneasy," said the widow.
+
+"Used t' drive so much in races," said Tunk, "got t' be kind of a
+habit with me--seems so.  Ain't eggzac'ly happy less I have holt o'
+the ribbons every day or two.  Ye know I used t' drive ol' crazy
+Jane.  She pulled like Satan.  All ye had t' do was t' lean back
+an' let 'er sail."
+
+"But why do you shout that way?"
+
+"Scares the other hosses," Tunk answered, dropping the reins and
+tossing his whip aside.  "It's a shame I have t' fool my time away
+up here on a farm."
+
+He went to work at the chores, frowning with discontent.  Trove
+watered and fed his mare and went in to breakfast.  An hour later,
+he bade them all good-by, and set out for Allen's.  A new fear
+began to weigh upon him as he travelled.  Was this a part of that
+evil sum, and had his father begun now to scatter what he had never
+any right to touch?  Whoever brought him that big roll of money had
+robbed him of his peace.  Even his ribs, against which it chafed as
+he rode along, began to feel sore.  Home at last, he put up the
+mare and went to tell his mother that he must be off for
+Hillsborough.
+
+"My son," said she, her arms about his neck, "our eyes are growing
+dim and for a long time have seen little of you."
+
+"And I feel the loss," Trove answered.  "I have things to do there,
+and shall return tonight."
+
+"You look troubled," was her answer.  "Poor boy!  I pray God to
+keep you unspotted of the world."  She was ever fearing unhappy
+news of the mystery--that something evil would come out of it.
+
+As Trove rode away he took account of all he owed those good people
+who had been mother and father to him.  What a pleasure it would
+give him to lay that goodly sum in the lap of his mother and bid
+her spend it with no thought of economy.
+
+The mare knew him as one may know a brother.  There was in her
+manner some subtle understanding of his mood.  Her master saw it in
+the poise of her head, in the shift of her ears, and in her tender
+way of feeling for his hand.  She, too, was looking right and left
+in the fields.  There were the scenes of a boyhood, newly but
+forever gone.  "That's where you overtook me on the way to school,"
+said he to Phyllis, for so the tinker had named her.
+
+She drew at the rein, starting playfully as she heard his voice,
+and shaking his hand as if to say, "Oh, master, give me the rein.
+I will bear you swiftly to happiness."
+
+Trove looked down at her proudly, patting the silken arch of her
+neck.  If, as Darrel had once told him, God took note of the look
+of one's horses, she was fit for the last journey.  Arriving at
+Hillsborough, he tied her in the sheds and took his way to the Sign
+of the Dial.  Darrel was working at his little bench.  He turned
+wearily, his face paler than Trove had ever seen it, his eyes
+deeper under their fringe of silvered hair.
+
+"An' God be praised, the boy!" said he, rising quickly.  "Canst
+thou make a jest, boy, a merry jest?"
+
+"Not until you have told me what's the matter."
+
+"Illness an' the food o' bitter fancy," said the tinker, with a sad
+face.
+
+"Bitter fancy?"
+
+"Yes; an' o' thee, boy.  Had I gathered care in the broad fields
+all me life an' heaped it on thy back, I could not have done worse
+by thee."
+
+Darrel put his hand upon the boy's shoulder, surveying him from
+head to foot.
+
+"But, marry," he added, "'tis a mighty thigh an' a broad back."
+
+"Have you seen my father?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+There was a moment of silence, and Trove began to change colour.
+
+"And what did he say?"
+
+"That he will bear his burden alone."
+
+Then, for a moment, silence and the ticking of the clocks.
+
+"And I shall never know my father?" said Trove, presently, his lips
+trembling.  "God, sir! I insist upon it.  I have a right to his
+name and to his shame also."  The young man sank upon a chair,
+covering his face.
+
+"Nay, boy, it is not wise," said Darrel, tenderly.  "Take thought
+of it--thou'rt young.  The time is near when thy father can make
+restitution, ay, an' acknowledge his sin before the world.  All
+very near to him, saving thyself, are dead.  Now, whatever comes,
+it can do thee no harm."
+
+"But I care not for disgrace; and often you have told me that I
+should live and speak the truth, even though it burn me to the
+bone."
+
+"So have I, boy, so have I; but suppose it burn others to the bone.
+It will burn thy wife; an' thy children, an' thy children's
+children, and them that have reared thee, an' it would burn thy
+father most of all."
+
+Trove was utterly silenced.  His father was bent on keeping his own
+disgrace.
+
+"Mind thee, boy, the law o' truth is great, but the law o' love is
+greater.  A lie for the sake o' love--think o' that a long time,
+think until thy heart is worn with all fondness an' thy soul is
+ready for its God, then judge it."
+
+"But when he makes confession I shall know, and go to him, and
+stand by has side," the young man remarked.
+
+"Nay, boy, rid thy mind o' that.  If ye were to hear of his crime,
+ye'd never know it was thy father's."
+
+"It is a bitter sorrow, but I shall make the best of it," said
+Trove.
+
+"Ay, make the best of it.  Thou'rt now in the deep sea, an' God
+guide thee."
+
+"But I ask your help--will you read that?" said Trove, handing him
+the mysterious note that came with the roll of money.
+
+"An' how much came with it?" said Darrel, as he read the lines.
+
+"Three thousand dollars.  Here they are; I do not know what to do
+with them."
+
+"'Tis a large sum, an' maybe from thy father," said Darrel, looking
+down at tile money.  "Possibly, quite possibly it is from thy
+father."
+
+"And what shall I do with the money?  It is cursed; I can make no
+use of it."
+
+"Ah, boy, of one thing be sure; it is not the stolen money.  For
+many years thy father hath been a frugal man--saving, ever saving
+the poor fruit of his toil.  Nay, boy, if it come o' thy father,
+have no fear o' that.  For a time put thy money in the bank."
+
+"Then my father lives near me--where I may be meeting him every day
+of my life?"
+
+"No," said Darrel, shaking his head.  Then lifting his finger and
+looking into the eyes of Trove, he spoke slowly and with deep
+feeling.  "Now that ye know his will I warn ye, boy, seek him no
+more.  Were ye to meet him now an' know him for thy father an' yet
+refuse to let him pass, I'd think thee a monster o' selfish
+cruelty."
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+
+Beginning the Book of Trouble
+
+The rickety stairway seemed to creak with surprise at the slowness
+of his feet as Trove descended.  It was circus day, and there were
+few in the street.  Neither looking to right nor left he hurried to
+the bank of Hillsborough and left his money.  Then, mounting his
+mare, he turned to the wooded hills and went away at a swift
+gallop.  When the village lay far behind them and the sun was low,
+he drew rein to let the mare breathe, and turned, looking down the
+long stairway of the hills.  In the south great green waves of
+timber land, rose into the sun-glow as they swept over hill and
+mountain.  Presently he could hear a galloping horse and a faint
+halloo down the valley, out of which he had just come.  He stopped,
+listening, and soon a man and horse, the latter nearly spent with
+fast travel, came up the pike.
+
+"Well, by Heaven!  You gave me a hard chase," said the man.
+
+"Do you wish to see me?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Yes--my name is Spinnel.  I am connected with the bank of
+Hillsborough.  Your name is Trove--Sidney Trove?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"You deposited three thousand dollars today?"
+
+"I did."
+
+"Well, I've come to see you and ask a few questions.  I've no
+authority, and you can do as you like about answering."
+
+The man pulled up near Trove and took a note-book and pencil out of
+his pocket.
+
+"First, how came you by that money?" said he, with some show of
+excitement in his manner.
+
+"That is my business," said Trove, coolly.
+
+"There's more or less truth in that," said the other.  "But I'll
+explain.  Night before last the bank in Milldam was robbed, and the
+clerk who slept there badly hurt.  Now, I've no doubt you're all
+right, but here's a curious fact--the sum taken was about three
+thousand dollars."
+
+Trove began to change colour.  He dismounted, looking up at the
+stranger and holding both horses by the bit.
+
+"And they think me a thief?" he demanded.
+
+"No," was the quick reply.  "They've no doubt you can explain
+everything."
+
+"I'll tell you all I know about the money," said Trove.  "But come,
+let's keep the horses warm."
+
+They led them and, walking slowly, Trove told of his night in the
+sugar-bush.  Something in the manner of Spinnel slowed his feet and
+words.  The story was finished.  They stopped, turning face to face.
+
+"It's grossly improbable," Trove suggested thoughtfully.
+
+"Well, it ain't the kind o' thing that happens every day or two,"
+said the other.  "If you're innocent, you won't mind my looking you
+over a little to see if you have wounds or weapons.  Understand,
+I've no authority, but if you wish, I'll do it."
+
+"Glad to have you.  Here's a hunting-knife, and a flint, and some
+bird shot," Trove answered, as he began to empty his pockets.
+
+Spinnel examined the hunting-knife and looked carefully at each
+pocket.
+
+"Would you mind taking off your coat?" he inquired.
+
+The young man removed his coat, uncovering a small spatter of blood
+on a shirt-sleeve.
+
+"There's no use going any farther with this," said the young man,
+impatiently.  "Come on home with me, and I'll go back with you in
+the morning and prove my innocence."
+
+The two mounted their horses and rode a long way in silence.
+
+"It is possible," said Trove, presently, "that the robber was a man
+that knew me and, being close pressed, planned to divert suspicion."
+
+Save that of the stranger, there was no sleep at the little house
+in Brier Dale that night.  But, oddly, for Mary and Theron Allen it
+became a night of dear and lasting memories of their son.  He sat
+long with them under the pine trees, and for the first time they
+saw and felt his strength and were as children before it.
+
+"It's all a school," said he, calmly.  "An' I'm just beginning to
+study the Book of Trouble.  It's full of rather tough problems, but
+I'm not going to flunk or fail in it."
+
+
+
+
+XXV
+
+The Spider Snares
+
+Trove and Spinnel were in Hillsborough soon after sunrise the
+morning of that memorable day.  The young man rapped loudly on the
+broad door at the Sign of the Dial, but within all was silent.  The
+day before Darrel had spoken of going off to the river towns, and
+must have started.  A lonely feeling came into the boy's heart as
+he turned away.  He went promptly to the house of the district
+attorney and told all he knew of the money that he had put in the
+bank.  He recounted all that took place the afternoon of his stay
+at Robin's Inn--the battles of the cocks, and the spider, and how
+the wounded fowl had probably sprinkled his sleeve with blood.  In
+half an hour, news of the young man's trouble had gone to every
+house in the village.  Soon a score of his schoolmates and half the
+faculty were at his side--there in the room of the justice.  Theron
+Allen arrived at nine o'clock, although at that hour two
+responsible men had already given a bail-bond.  After dinner,
+Trove, a constable, and the attorney rode to Robin's Inn.  The news
+had arrived before them, but only the two boys and Tunk were at
+home.  The latter stood in front of the stable, looking earnestly
+up the road.
+
+"Hello," said he, gazing curiously at horse and men as they came up
+to the door.  He seemed to be eyeing the attorney with hopeful
+anticipation.
+
+"Tunk," said Trove, cheerfully, "you have a mournful eye."
+
+Tunk advanced slowly, still gazing, both hands deep in his trousers
+pockets.
+
+"Ez Tower just went by," said he, with suppressed feeling.  "Said
+you was arrested fer murder."
+
+"I presume you were surprised."
+
+"Wal," said he, "Ez ain't said a word before in six months."
+
+Tunk opened the horse's mouth and stood a moment, peering
+thoughtfully at his teeth.
+
+"Kind of unexpected to be spoke to by Ez Tower," he added, turning
+his eyes upon them with the same curious look.
+
+The interrogation of Tunk and the two boys began immediately.  The
+story of the fowl corroborated, the sugar-bush became an object of
+investigation.  Milldam was ten miles away, and it was quite
+possible for the young man to have ridden there and back between
+the hour when Tunk left him and that of sunrise when he met Mrs.
+Vaughn at her door.  Trove and Tunk Hosely went with the officers
+down a lane to the pasture and thence into the wood by a path they
+followed that night to and from the shanty.  They discovered
+nothing new, save one remarkable circumstance that baffled Trove
+and renewed the waning suspicion of the men of the law.  On almost
+a straight line from bush to barn were tracks of a man that showed
+plainly where they came out of the grass upon the garden soil.
+Now, the strange part of it lay in this fact: the boots of Sidney
+Trove exactly fitted the tracks.  They followed the footprints
+carefully into the meadow-grass and up to the stalk of mullen.
+Near the top of it was the abandoned home of the spider and around
+it were the four snares Trove had observed, now full of prey.
+
+"Do not disturb the grass here," said Trove, "and I will prove to
+you that the tracks were made before the night in question.  Do you
+see the four webs?"
+
+"Yes," said the attorney..
+
+"The tracks go under them," said Trove, "and must, therefore, have
+been made before the webs.  I will prove to you that the webs were
+spun before two o'clock of the day before yesterday.  At that hour
+I saw the spinner die.  See, her lair is deserted."
+
+He broke the stalk of mullen and the cables of spider silk that led
+away from it, and all inspected the empty lair.  Then he told of
+that deadly battle in the grass.
+
+"But these webs might have been the work of another spider," said
+the attorney.
+
+"It matters not," Trove insisted, "for the webs were spun at least
+twelve hours before the crime.  One of them contains the body of a
+red butterfly with starred wings.  We cut the wings that day, and
+Miss Vaughn put them in a book she was reading."
+
+Paul brought the wings, which exactly fitted the tiny torso of the
+butterfly.  They could discern the footprints, one of which had
+broken the ant's road, while another was completely covered by the
+butterfly snare.
+
+"Those tracks were made before the webs--that is evident," said the
+attorney.  "Do you know who made the tracks?"
+
+"I do not," was the answer of the young man.
+
+Trove remained at Robin's Inn that night, and after the men had
+gone he recalled a circumstance that was like a flash of lightning
+in the dark of his great mystery.
+
+Once at the Sign of the Dial his friend, the tinker, had shown him
+a pair of new boots.  He remembered they were of the same size and
+shape as those he wore.
+
+"We could wear the same boots," he had remarked to Darrel.
+
+"Had I to do such penance I should be damned," the tinker had
+answered.  "Look, boy, mine are the larger by far.  There's a man
+coming to see me at the Christmas time--a man o' busy feet.  That
+pair in your hands I bought for him."
+
+"Day before yesterday," said Tunk, that evening, "I was up in the
+sugar-bush after a bit o' hickory, an' I see a man there, an' I
+didn't have no idee who 'twas.  He was tall and had white hair an'
+whiskers an' a short blue coat.  When I first see him he was
+settin' on a log, but 'fore I come nigh he got up an' made off."
+
+Although meagre, the description was sufficient.  Trove had no
+longer any doubt of this--that the stranger he had seen at Darrel's
+had been hiding in the bush that day whose events were now so
+important.
+
+Whoever had brought the money, he must have known much of the plans
+and habits of the young man, and, the night before Trove's arrival
+at Robin's Inn, he came, probably, to the sugar woods, where he
+spent the next day in hiding.
+
+The young man was deeply troubled.  Polly and her mother sat well
+into the night with him, hearing the story of his life, which he
+told in full, saving only the sin of his father.  Of that he had
+neither the right nor the heart to tell.
+
+"God only knows what is the next chapter," said he, at last.  "It
+may rob me of all that I love in this world."
+
+"But not of me," said Polly, whispering in his ear.
+
+"I wish I were sure of that," he answered.
+
+
+
+
+XXVI
+
+The Coming of the Cars
+
+That year was one of much reckoning there in the land of the hills.
+A year it was of historic change and popular excitement.  To begin
+with, a certain rich man bought a heavy cannon, which had roared at
+the British on the frontier in 1812, and gave it to the town of
+Hillsborough.  It was no sooner dumped on the edge of the little
+park than it became a target of criticism.  The people were to be
+taxed for the expense of mounting it--"Taxed fer a thing we ain't
+no more need of than a bear has need of a hair-brush," said one
+citizen.  Those Yankees came of men who helped to fling the tea
+into Boston harbour, and had some hereditary fear of taxes.
+
+Hunters and trappers were much impressed by it.  They felt it over,
+peering curiously into the muzzle, with one eye closed.
+
+"Ye couldn't kill nuthin' with it," said one of them.
+
+"If I was to pick it up an' hit ye over the head with it, I guess
+ye wouldn't think so," said another.
+
+Familiarity bred contempt, and by and by they began to shoot at it
+from the tavern steps.
+
+The gun lay rejected and much in the way until its buyer came to
+his own rescue and agreed to pay for the mounting.  Then came
+another and more famous controversy as to which way they should
+"p'int" the gun.  Some favoured one direction, some another, and at
+last, by way of compliment, they "p'inted" it squarely at the house
+of the giver on the farther side of the park.  And it was loaded to
+the muzzle with envy and ingratitude.
+
+The arrest of Sidney Trove, also, had filled the town with exciting
+rumours, and gossip of him seemed to travel on the four winds--much
+of it as unkind as it was unfounded.
+
+Then came surveyors, and promoters of the railroad, and a plan of
+aiding it by bonding the towns it traversed.  In the beginning
+horror and distrust were in many bosoms.  If the devil and some of
+his angels had come, he might, indeed, for a time, have made more
+converts and less excitement.
+
+"It's a delusion an' a snare," said old Colonel Barclay in a
+speech.  "Who wants t' whiz through the air like a bullet?  God
+never intended men to go slidin' over the earth that way.  It ain't
+nat'ral ner it ain't common sense.  Some say it would bring more
+folks into this country.  I say we can supply all the folks that's
+nec'sary.  I've got fourteen in my own family.  S'pose ye lived on
+a tremendous sidehill that reached clear to New York City, so ye
+could git on a sled an' scoot off like a streak o' lightnin'.  Do
+ye think ye'd be any happier?  Do ye think ye'd chop any more wood
+er raise a bigger crop o' potatoes?  S'pose ye could scoot yer
+crops right down t' Albany in a day.  That would be all right if
+'ye was the only man that was scootin', but if there was anything
+t' be made by it, there'd be more than a million sleds on the way,
+an' ye couldn't sell yer stuff for so much as ye git here.  Some
+day ye'd come home and ask where's Ma an' Mary, and then Sam would
+say, 'Why, Mary's slid down t' New York, and the last I see o' Ma
+she was scootin' for Rochester.'"
+
+Here, the record says, Colonel Barclay was interrupted by laughter
+and a voice.
+
+"Wal, if there was a railroad, they could scoot back ag'in," said
+the voice.
+
+"Yes," the Colonel rejoined, "but mebbe after they'd been there a
+while ye'd wish they couldn't.  Wal, you git your own supper, an'
+then Sam says, says he, 'I guess I'll scoot over t' Watertown and
+see my gal fer a few minutes.'  An' ye sit by the fire a while,
+rockin' the twins, an' by and by yer wife comes back.  An' ye say,
+'Ma, why don't ye stay t' home?'  'Wal,' says she, 'it is so
+splendid, and there's so much goin' on.'  An' Mary, she begins t'
+talk as if she'd bit her tongue, an' step stylish, an' hold up her
+dress like that, jest as though she was steppin' over a hot
+griddle.  Purty soon it's dizzle-dazzle an' flippity-floppity an'
+splendiferous and sewperb, an' the first thing ye know ye ain't
+knee-high to a grasshopper.  Sam he comes back an' tells Ed all
+about the latest devilment.  You hear of it; then, mebbe, ye begin
+to limber up an' think ye'll try it yerself.  An' some morning
+ye'll wake up an' find yer moral character has scooted.  You
+fellers that go t' meetin' here an' talk about resistin'
+temptation--if you ever git t' goin' it down there in New York
+City, temptation 'll have to resist you.  My friends, ye don't want
+to make it too easy fer everybody to go somewhere else.  If ye do,
+by an' by there won't be nobody left here but them that's too old
+t' scoot er a few sickly young folks who don't care fer the sinful
+attractions o' this world."
+
+Who shall say that old Colonel Barclay had not the tongue of a
+prophet?
+
+"An' how about the cost?" he added in conclusion, "Fellow-citizens,
+ye'll have to pay five cents a mile fer yer scootin', an' a tax,--a
+tax, fellow-citizens, to help pay the cost o' the railroad.  If
+there's anybody here that don't feel as if he'd been taxed enough,
+he ought t' be taxed fer his folly."
+
+The dread of "scooting" grew for a time, but wise men were able to
+overcome it.
+
+In 1850, the iron way had come through the wilderness and begun to
+rend the northern hills.  Some were filled with awe, learning for
+the first time that in the moving of mountains giant-powder was
+more efficient than faith.  Soon it had passed Hillsborough and was
+finished.  Everybody came to see the cars that day of the first
+train.  The track was lined with people at every village; many with
+children upon arms and shoulders.  They waited long, and when the
+iron horse came roaring out of the distance, women fell back and
+men rolled their quids and looked eagerly up the track.  It came on
+with screaming whistle and noisy brakes and roaring wheels.
+Children began to cry with fear and men to yell with excitement.
+Dogs were barking wildly, and two horses ran away, dragging with
+them part of a picket-fence.  A brown shoat came bounding over the
+ties and broke through the wall of people, carrying many off their
+feet and creating panic and profanity.  The train stopped, its
+engine hissing.  A brakeman of flashy attire, with fine leather
+showing to the knees, strolled off and up the platform on high
+heels, haughty as a prince.  Confusion began to abate.
+
+"Hear it pant," said one, looking at the engine.
+
+"Seems so it had the heaves," another remarked thoughtfully.
+
+"Goes like the wind," said a passenger, who had just alighted.
+"Jerked us ten mile in less 'n twenty minutes."
+
+"Folks 'll have to be made o' cast iron to ride on them air cars,"
+said another.  "I'd ruther set on the tail of a threshin'-machine.
+It gave a slew on the turn up yender, an' I thought 'twas goin'
+right over Bowman's barn.  It flung me up ag'in the side o' the
+car, an' I see stars fer a minute.  'What's happened,' says I to
+another chap.  'Oh, we're all right,' says he.  'Be we?' says I,
+an' then I see I'd lost a tooth an' broke my glasses.  'That ain't
+nuthin',' says he, 'I had my foot braced over ag'in that other
+seat, an' somebody fell back on my leg, an' I guess the knee is out
+o' j'int.  But I'm alive, an' I ain't got no fault to find.  If I
+ever git off this shebang, I'm goin' out in the woods somewhere an'
+set down an' see what kind o' shape I'm in.  I guess I'm purty nigh
+sp'ilt, an' it cost me fifty cents t' do it.'
+
+"'An' all yer common sense, tew,' says I."
+
+A number got aboard, and the train started.  Rip Enslow was on the
+rear platform, his faithful hound galloping gayly behind the train.
+Some one had tied him to the brake rod.  Nearly a score of dogs
+followed, barking merrily.  Rip's hound came back soon, his tongue
+low, his tail between his legs.  A number called to him, but he
+seemed to know his own mind perfectly, and made for the stream and
+lay down in the middle of it, lapping the shallow water, and stayed
+there for the rest of the afternoon.
+
+A crowd of hunters watched him.
+
+"Looks so he'd been ketched by a bear," said one.
+
+In half an hour Rip returned also, a shoulder out of joint, a lump
+on his forehead, a big rent in his trousers.  He was one, of those
+men of whom others gather wisdom, for, after that, everybody in the
+land of the hills knew better than to jump off the cars or tie his
+hound to the rear platform.
+
+And dogs came to know, after a little while, that the roaring
+dragon was really afraid of them and would run like a very coward
+if it saw a dog coming across the fields.  Every small cur that
+lived in sight of it lay in the tall grass, and when he saw the
+dragon coming, chased him off the farm of his master.
+
+Among those who got off the train at Hillsborough that day was a
+big, handsome youth of some twenty years.  In all the crowd there
+were none had ever seen him before.  Dressed in the height of
+fashion, he was a figure so extraordinary that all eyes observed
+him as he made his way to the tavern.  Trove and Polly and Mrs.
+Vaughn were in that curious throng on the platform, where a depot
+was being built.
+
+"My!  What a splendid-looking fellow," said Polly, as the stranger
+passed,
+
+Trove had a swift pang of jealousy that moment.  Turning, he saw
+Riley Brooke--now known as the "Old Rag Doll"--standing near them
+in a group of villagers.
+
+"I tell you, he's a thief," the boy heard him saying, and the words
+seemed to blister as they fell; and ever after, when he thought of
+them, a great sternness lay like a shadow on his brow.
+
+"I must go," said he, calmly turning to Polly.  "Let me help you
+into the wagon."
+
+When they were gone, he stood a moment thinking.  He felt as if he
+were friendless and alone.
+
+"You're a giant to day," said a friend, passing him; but Trove made
+no answer.  Roused incomprehensibly, his heavy muscles had become
+tense, and he had an odd consciousness of their power.  The people
+were scattering, and he walked slowly down the street.  The sun was
+low, but he thought not of home or where he should spend the night.
+It was now the third day after his arrest.  Since noon he had been
+looking for Darrel, but the tinker's door had been locked for days,
+according to the carpenter who was at work below.  For an hour
+Trove walked, passing up and down before that familiar stairway, in
+the hope of seeing his friend.  Daylight was dim when the tinker
+stopped by the stairs and began to feel for his key.  The young man
+was quickly at the side of Darrel.
+
+"God be praised!" said the latter; "here is the old Dial an' the
+strong an' noble Trove.  I heard o' thy trouble, boy, far off on
+the postroad, an' I have made haste to come to thee."
+
+
+
+
+XXVII
+
+The Rare and Costly Cup
+
+Trove had been reciting the history of his trouble and had finished
+with bitter words.
+
+"Shame on thee, boy," said the tinker, as Trove sat before him with
+tears of anger in his eyes.  "Watch yonder pendulum and say not a
+word until it has ticked forty times.  For what are thy learning
+an' thy mighty thews if they do not bear thee up in time o'
+trouble?  Now is thy trial come before the Judge of all.  Up with
+thy head, boy, an' be acquitted o' weakness an' fear an' evil
+passion."
+
+"We deserve better of him," said Trove, speaking of Riley Brooke.
+"When all others hated him, we were kind to the old sinner, and it
+has done him no good."
+
+"Ah, but has it done thee good?  There's the question," said
+Darrel, his hand upon the boy's arm.
+
+"I believe it has," said Trove, with a look of surprise.
+
+"It was thee I thought of, boy; I had never much thought o' him."
+
+That moment Trove saw farther into the depth of Darrel's heart than
+ever before.  It startled him.   Surely, here was a man that passed
+all understanding.
+
+Darrel crossed to his bench and began to wind the clocks.
+
+"Ho, Clocks!" said he, thoughtfully.  "Know ye the cars have come?
+Now must we look well to the long hand o' the clock.  The old,
+slow-footed hour is dead, an' now, boy, the minute is our king."
+
+He came shortly and sat beside the young man.
+
+"Put away thy unhappiness," said he, gently, patting the boy's
+hand.  "No harm shall come to thee--'tis only a passing cloud."
+
+"You're right, and I'm not going to be a fool," said Trove.  "It
+has all brought me one item of good fortune."
+
+"An' that is?"
+
+"I have discovered who is my father."
+
+"An' know ye where he is now?" the tinker inquired.
+
+"No; but I know it is he to whom you gave the boots at Christmas
+time."
+
+"Hush, boy," said Darrel, in a whisper, his hand raised.
+
+He crossed to the bench, returning quickly and drawing his chair in
+front of the young man.
+
+"Once upon a time," he whispered, sitting down and touching the
+palm of his open hand with the index finger of the other, "a youth
+held in his hand a cup, rare an' costly, an' it was full o'
+happiness, an' he was tempted to drink.  'Ho, there, me youth,'
+said one who saw him, 'that is the happiness of another.' But he
+tasted the cup, an' it was bitter, an' he let it fall, an' the
+other lost his great possession.  Now that bitter taste was ever on
+the tongue o' the youth, so that his own cup had always the flavour
+o' woe."
+
+The tinker paused a moment, looking sternly into the face of the
+young man.
+
+"I adjure thee, boy, touch not the cup of another's happiness, or
+it may imbitter thy tongue.  But if thou be foolish an' take it up,
+mind ye do not drop it."
+
+"I shall be careful--I shall neither taste nor drop it," said Trove.
+
+"God bless thee, boy! thou'rt come to a great law--who drains the
+cup of another's happiness shall find it bitter, but who drains the
+cup of another's bitterness shall find it sweet."
+
+A silence followed, in which Trove sat looking at the old man whose
+words were like those of a prophet.  "I have no longer any right to
+seek my father," he thought.  "And, though I meet him face to face,
+I must let him go his way."
+
+Suddenly there came a rap at the door, and when Darrel opened it,
+they saw only a letter hanging to the latch.  It contained these
+words, but no signature:--
+
+"There'll be a bonfire and some fun to-night at twelve, in the
+middle of Cook's field.  Messrs.  Trove and Darrel are invited."
+
+"Curious," said Darrel.  "It has the look o' mischief."
+
+"Oh, it's only the boys and a bit of skylarking," said Trove.
+"Let's go and see what's up--it's near the time."
+
+The streets were dark and silent as they left the shop.  They went
+up a street beyond the village limits and looked off in Cook's
+field but saw no light there.  While they stood looking a flame
+rose and spread.  Soon they could see figures in the light, and,
+climbing the fence, they hastened across an open pasture.  Coming
+near they saw a score of men with masks upon their faces.
+
+"Give him the tar and feathers," said a strange voice.
+
+"Not if he will confess an' seek forgiveness," another answered.
+
+"Down to your knees, man, an' make no outcry, an' see you repeat
+the words carefully, as I speak them, or you go home in tar and
+feathers."
+
+They could hear the sound of a scuffle, and, shortly, the phrases
+of a prayer spoken by one voice and repeated by another.
+
+They were far back in the gloom, but could hear each word of that
+which follows: "O God, forgive me--I am a liar and a hypocrite--I
+have the tongue of scandal and deceit--I have robbed the poor--I
+have defamed the good--and, Lord, I am sick--with the rottenness of
+my own heart.  And hereafter--I will cheat no more--and speak no
+evil of any one--Amen."
+
+"Now, go to your home, Riley Brooke," said the voice, "an'
+hereafter mind your tongue, or you shall ride a rail in tar and
+feathers."
+
+They could see the crowd scatter, and some passed near them,
+running away in the darkness.
+
+"Stoop there an' say not a word," the tinker whispered, crouching
+in the grass.
+
+When all were out of hearing, they started for the little shop.
+
+"Hereafter," said Darrel, as they walked along, "God send he be
+more careful with the happiness of other men.  I do assure thee,
+boy, it is bitter, bitter, bitter."
+
+
+
+
+XXVIII
+
+Darrel at Robin's Inn
+
+Trove had much to help him,--youth, a cheerful temperament, a
+counsellor of unfailing wisdom.   Long after they were gone he
+recalled the sadness and worry of those days with satisfaction,
+for, thereafter, the shock of trouble was never able to surprise
+and overthrow him.
+
+After due examination he had been kept in bail to wait the action
+of the grand jury, soon to meet.  Now there were none thought him
+guilty--save one or two afflicted with the evil tongue.  It seemed
+to him a dead issue and gave him no worry.  One thing, however,
+preyed upon his peace,--the knowledge that his father was a thief.
+A conviction was ever boring in upon him that he had no right to
+love Polly.  A base injustice it would be, he thought, to marry her
+without telling what he had no right to tell.  But he was ever
+hoping for some word of his father--news that might set him free.
+He had planned to visit Polly, and on a certain day Darrel was to
+meet him at Robin's Inn.  The young man waited, in some doubt of
+his duty, and that day came--one of the late summer--when he and
+Darrel went afoot to the Inn, crossing hill and valley, as the crow
+flies, stopping here and there at isles of shadow in a hot amber
+sea of light.  They sat long to hear the droning in the stubble and
+let their thought drift slowly as the ship becalmed.
+
+"Some days," said Darrel, "the soul in me is like a toy skiff,
+tossing in the ripples of a duck pond an' mayhap stranding on a
+reed or lily.  An' then," he added, with kindling eye and voice,
+"she is a great ship, her sails league long an' high, her masthead
+raking the stars, her hull in the infinite sea."
+
+"Well," said Trove, sighing, "I'm still in the ripples of the duck
+pond."
+
+"An' see they do not swamp thee," said Darrel, with a smile that
+seemed to say, "Poor weakling, your trouble is only as the ripples
+of a tiny pool."  They went on slowly, over green pastures, halting
+at a brook in the woods.  There, again, they rested in a cool shade
+of pines, Darrel lighting his pipe.
+
+"I envy thee, boy," said the tinker, "entering on thy life-work in
+this great land--a country blest o' God.  To thee all high things
+are possible.  Where I was born, let a poor lad have great hope in
+him, an' all--ay, all--even those he loved, rose up to cry him
+down.  Here in this land all cheer an' bid him God-speed.  An' here
+is to be the great theatre o' the world's action.  Many of high
+hope in the broad earth shall come, an' here they shall do their
+work.  An' its spirit shall spread like the rising waters, ay, it
+shall flood the world, boy, it shall flood the world."
+
+Trove made no reply, but he thought much and deeply of what the
+tinker said.  They lay back a while on the needle carpet, thinking.
+They could hear the murmur of the brook and a woodpecker drumming
+on a dead tree.
+
+"Me head is busy as yon woodpecker's," Darrel went on.  "It's the
+soul fire in this great, free garden o' God--it's America.  Have ye
+felt it, boy?"
+
+"Yes; it is in your eyes and on your tongue," said Trove.
+
+"Ah boy! 'tis only God's oxygen.  Think o' the poor fools withering
+on cracker barrels in Hillsborough an' wearing away 'the lag end o'
+their lewdness.'   I have no patience with the like o' them, I'd
+rather be a butcher's clerk an' carry with me the redolence o' ham."
+
+In Hillsborough, where all spoke of him as an odd man of great
+learning, there were none, saving Trove and two or three others,
+that knew the tinker well, for he took no part in the roaring
+gossip of shop and store.
+
+"Hath it ever occurred to thee," said Darrel, as they walked along,
+"that a fool is blind to his folly, a wise man to his wisdom?"
+
+When they were through the edge of the wilderness and came out on
+Cedar Hill, and saw, below them, the great, round shadow of Robin's
+Inn, they began to hasten their steps.  They could see Polly
+reading a book under the big tree.
+
+"What ho! the little queen," said Darrel, as they came near, "Now,
+put upon her brow 'an odorous chaplet o' sweet summer buds.'"
+
+She came to meet them in a pretty pink dress and slippers and white
+stockings.
+
+"Fair lady, I bring thee flowers," said Darrel, handing her a
+bouquet.  "They are from the great garden o' the fields."
+
+"And I bring a crown," said Trove, as he kissed her and put a
+wreath of clover and wild roses on her brow.
+
+"I thought something dreadful had happened," said Polly, with tears
+in her eyes.  "For three days I've been dressed up waiting."
+
+"An' a grand dress it is," said Barrel, surveying her pretty figure.
+
+"I've nearly worn it out waiting," said she, looking down, her
+voice trembling.
+
+"Tut, tut, girl--'tis a lovely dress," the tinker insisted.
+
+"It is one my mother wore when she was a girl," said Polly,
+proudly.  "It was made over."
+
+"O--oh!  God love thee, child!" said the tinker, in a tone of great
+admiration.  "'Tis beautiful."
+
+"And, you came through the woods?" said Polly.
+
+"Through wood and field," was Trove's answer.
+
+"I wonder you knew the way."
+
+"The little god o' love--he shot his arrows, an' we followed them
+as the hunter follows the bee," said Darrel.
+
+"It was nice of you to bring the flowers," said Polly.  "They are
+beautiful."
+
+"But not like those in thy cheeks, dear child.  Where is the good
+mother?" said Darrel.
+
+"She and the boys are gone a-berrying, and I have been making
+jelly.  We're going to have a party to-night for your birthday."
+
+"'An' rise up before the hoary head an' honour the face o' the old
+man,'" said Darrel, thoughtfully.  "But, child, honour is not for
+them that tinker clocks."
+
+"'Honour and fame from no condition rise,'" said Polly, who sat in
+a chair, knitting.
+
+"True, dear girl!  Thy lips are sweeter than the poet's thought."
+
+"You'll turn my head;" the girl was laughing as she spoke.
+
+"An it turn to me, I shall be happy," said the tinker, smiling, and
+then he began to feel the buttons on his waistcoat.  "Loves me,
+loves me not, loves me, loves me not--"
+
+"She loves you," said Polly, with a smile.
+
+"She loves me, hear that, boy," said the tinker.  "Ah, were she not
+bespoke!  Well, God be praised, I'm happy," he added, filling his
+pipe.
+
+"And seventy," said Polly.
+
+"Ay, three score an' ten--small an' close together, now, as I look
+off at them, like a flock o' pigeons in the sky."
+
+"What do you think?" said Polly, as she dropped her knitting.  "The
+two old maids are coming to-night."
+
+"The two old maids!" said Darrel; "'tis a sign an' a wonder."
+
+"Oh, a great change has come over them," Polly went on.  "It's all
+the work o' the teacher.  You know he really coaxed them into
+sliding with him last winter."
+
+"I heard of it--the gay Philander!" said Darrel, laughing merrily.
+"Ah! he's a wonder with the maidens!"
+
+"I know it," said Polly, with a sigh.
+
+Trove was idly brushing the mat of grass with a walking-stick.  He
+loved fun, but he had no conceit for this kind of banter.
+
+"It was one of my best accomplishments," said he, blushing.  "I
+taught them that there was really a world outside their house and
+that men were not all as lions, seeking whom they might devour."
+
+Soon the widow and her boys came, their pails full of berries.
+
+"We cannot shake hands with you," said Mrs. Vaughn, her fingers red
+with the berry stain.
+
+"Blood o' the old earth!" said Darrel.  "How fares the clock?"
+
+"It's too slow, Polly says."
+
+"Ah, time lags when love is on the way," Darrel answered.
+
+"Foolish child!  A little while ago she was a baby, an' now she is
+in love."
+
+"Ah, let the girl love," said Darrel, patting the red cheek of
+Polly, "an' bless God she loves a worthy lad,"
+
+"You'd better fix the clock." said Polly, smiling.  "It is too
+fast, now."
+
+"So is the beat o' thy heart," Darrel answered, a merry look in his
+eyes, "an' the clock is keeping pace."
+
+Trove got up, with a laugh, and went away, the boys following.
+
+"I'm worried about him," the widow whispered.  "For a long time he
+hasn't been himself."
+
+"It's the trouble--poor lad!  'Twill soon be over," said Darrel,
+hopefully.
+
+There were now tears in the eyes of Polly.
+
+"I do not think he loves me any more," said she, her lips trembling.
+
+"Speak not so, dear child; indeed he loves thee."
+
+"I have done everything to please him," said Polly, in broken
+words, her face covered with her handkerchief.
+
+"I wondered what was the matter with you, Polly," said her mother,
+tenderly.
+
+"Dear, dear child!" said the tinker, rising and patting her head.
+"The chaplet on thy brow an' thee weeping!--fairest flower of all!"
+
+"I have wished that I was dead;" the words came in a little moan
+between sobs.
+
+"Because: Love hath led thee to the great river o' tears?  Nay,
+child, 'tis a winding river an' crosses all the roads."
+
+He had taken her handkerchief, and with a tender touch was drying
+her eyes.
+
+"Now I can see thee smiling, an' thy lashes, child--they are like
+the spray o' the fern tip when the dew is on it."
+
+Polly rose and went away into the house.  Darrel wiped his eyes,
+and the widow sat, her chin upon her hand, looking down sadly and
+thoughtfully.  Darrel was first to speak.
+
+"Did it ever occur to ye, Martha Vaughn, this child o' thine is
+near a woman but has seen nothing o' the world ?"
+
+"I think of that often," said she, the mother's feeling in her
+voice.
+
+"Well, if I understand him, it's a point of honour with the boy not
+to pledge her to marriage until she has seen more o' life an' made
+sure of her own heart.  Now, consider this: let her go to the
+school at Hillsborough, an' I'll pay the cost."
+
+The widow looked up at him without speaking.
+
+"I'm an old man near the end o' this journey, an' ye've known me
+many years," Darrel went on.  "There's nothing can be said against
+it.  Nay; I'll have no thanks.  Would ye thank the money itself,
+the bits o' paper?  No; nor Roderick Darrel, who, in this business,
+is no more worthy o' gratitude.  Hush! who comes?"
+
+It was Polly herself in a short, red skirt, her arms bare to the
+elbows.  She began to busy herself about the house.
+
+"Too bad you took off that pretty dress, Polly," said Trove, when
+he returned.
+
+She came near and whispered to him.
+
+"This," said she, looking down sadly, "is like the one I wore when
+you first came."
+
+"Well, first I thought of your arms," said he, "they were so
+lovely!  Then of your eyes and face and gown, but now I think only
+of the one thing,--Polly."
+
+The girl was happy, now, and went on with the work, singing, while
+Trove lent a hand.
+
+A score of people came up the hill from Pleasant Valley that night.
+Tunk went after the old maids and came with them in the chaise at
+supper time.  There were two wagon-loads of young people, and,
+before dusk, men and their wives came sauntering up the roadway and
+in at the little gate.
+
+Two or three of the older men wore suits of black broadcloth, the
+stock and rolling collar--relics of "old decency" back in Vermont
+or Massachusetts or Connecticut.  Most were in rough homespun over
+white shirts with no cuffs or collar.  All gathered about Darrel,
+who sat smoking outside the door.  He rose and greeted each one of
+the women with a bow and a compliment.  The tinker was a man of
+unfailing courtesy, and one thing in him was extremely odd,--even
+there in that land of pure democracy,--he treated a scrub-woman
+with the same politeness he would have accorded the finest lady.
+But he was in no sense a flatterer; none that saw him often were
+long in ignorance of that.  His rebuke was even quicker than his
+compliment, as many had reason to know.  And there was another
+curious thing about Darrel,--these people and many more loved him,
+gathering about his chair as he tinkered, hearing with delight the
+lore and wisdom of his tongue, but, after all, there were none that
+knew him now any better than the first day he came.  A certain wall
+of dignity was ever between him and them.
+
+Half an hour before dark, the yard was thronged with people.  They
+listened with smiles or a faint ripple of merry feeling as he
+greeted each.
+
+"Good evening, Mrs. Beach," he would say.  "Ah! the snow is falling
+on thy head.  An' the sunlight upon thine, dear girl," he added,
+taking the hand of the woman's daughter.
+
+"An' here's Mr. Tilly back from the far west," he continued.  "How
+fare ye, sor?"
+
+"I'm well, but a little too fat," said Thurston Tilly.
+
+"Well, sor, unless it make thy heart heavy, be content.
+
+"Good evening, Mrs. Hooper,--that is a cunning hand with the pies.
+
+"Ah, Mrs. Rood, may the mouse never leave thy meal bag with a tear
+in his eye.
+
+"Not a gray hair in thy head, Miss Tower, nor even a gray thought.
+
+"An' here's Mrs. Barbour--'twill make me sweat to carry me pride
+now.  How goes the battle?"
+
+"The Lord has given me sore affliction," said she.
+
+"Nay, dear woman," said the tinker in that tone so kindly and
+resistless, "do not think the Lord is hitting thee over the ears.
+It is the law o' life.
+
+"Good evening, Elder, what is the difference between thy work an'
+mine?"
+
+"I hadn't thought of that."
+
+"Ah, thine is the dial of eternity--mine that o' time."  And so he
+greeted all and sat down, filling his pipe.
+
+"Now, Weston, out with the merry fiddle," said he, "an' see it give
+us happy thoughts."
+
+A few small boys were gathered about him, and the tinker began to
+hum an Irish reel, fingers and forearm flying as he played an
+imaginary fiddle.  But, even now, his dignity had not left him.
+The dance began.  All were in the little house or at the two doors,
+peering in, save Darrel, who sat with his pipe, and Thurston Tilly,
+who was telling him tales of the far west.  In the lull of sound
+that followed the first figure, Trove came to look out upon them.
+A big, golden moon had risen above the woods, and the light and
+music and merry voices had started a sleepy twitter up in the dome
+of Robin's Inn.
+
+"Do you see that scar?" he heard Tilly saying.
+
+"I do, sor."
+
+"Well, a man shot me there."
+
+"An' what for?" the tinker inquired.
+
+"I was telling him a story.  It cured me.  Do you carry a gun?"
+
+"I do not, sor."
+
+"Wal, then, I'll tell you about the man I work for."
+
+Tunk, who had been outside the door in his best clothes, but who,
+since he put them on, had looked as if he doubted the integrity of
+his suspenders and would not come in the house, began to laugh
+loudly.
+
+"That man Tunk can see the comedy in all but himself," was Trove's
+thought, as he returned with a smile of amusement.
+
+Soon Trove and Polly came out and stood a while by the lilac bush,
+at the gate.
+
+"You worry me, Sidney Trove," said she, looking off at the moonlit
+fields.
+
+Then came a silence full of secret things, like the silences of
+their first meeting, there by the same gate, long ago.  This one,
+however, had a vibration that seemed to sting them.
+
+"I am sorry," said he, with a sigh.
+
+Another silence in which the heart of the girl was feeling for the
+secret in his.
+
+"You are so sad, so different," she whispered.
+
+Polly waited full half a minute for his answer.  Then she touched
+her eyes with her handkerchief, turned impatiently, and went
+halfway to the door.  Darrel caught her hand, drawing her near him.
+
+"Give me thy hand, boy," said he to Trove, now on his way to the
+door.
+
+He stood with his arms around the two.
+
+"Every shadow hath the wings o' light," he whispered.  "Listen."
+
+The house rang with laughter and the music of Money Musk.
+
+"'Tis the golden bell of happiness," said he, presently.  "Go an'
+ring it.  Nay--first a kiss."
+
+He drew them close together, and they kissed each other's lips, and
+with smiling faces went in to join the dance.
+
+
+
+
+XXIX
+
+Again the Uphill Road
+
+Again the middle of September and the beginning of the fall term.
+Trove had gone to his old lodgings at Hillsborough, and Polly was
+boarding in the village, for she, too, was now in the uphill road
+to higher learning.  None, save Darrel, knew the secret of the
+young man,--that he was paying her board and tuition.  The thought
+of it made him most happy; but now, seeing her every day had given
+him a keener sense of that which had come between them.  He sat
+much in his room and had little heart for study.  It was a cosey
+room now.  His landlady had hung rude pictures on the wall and
+given him a rag carpet.  On the table were pieces of clear quartz
+and tourmaline and, about each window-frame, odd nests of bird or
+insect--souvenirs of wood-life and his travel with the drove.
+There, too, on the table were mementos of that first day of his
+teaching,--the mirror spectacles with which he had seen at once
+every corner of the schoolroom, the sling-shot and bar of iron he
+had taken from the woodsman, Leblanc.
+
+One evening of his first week at Hillsborough that term, Darrel
+came to sit with him a while.
+
+"An' what are these?" said the tinker, at length, his hand upon the
+shot and iron.
+
+"I do not know."
+
+"Dear boy," said Darrel, "they're from the kit of a burglar, an'
+how came they here?"
+
+"I took them from Louis Leblanc," said the young man, who then told
+of his adventure that night.
+
+"Louis Leblanc!" exclaimed Darrel.  "The scamp an' his family have
+cleared out."
+
+The tinker turned quickly, his hand upon the wrist of the young man.
+
+"These things are not for thee to have," he whispered.  "Had ye no
+thought o' the danger?"
+
+Trove began to change colour.
+
+"I can prove how I came by them," he stammered.
+
+"What is thy proof?" Darrel whispered again.
+
+"There are Leblanc's wife and daughter."
+
+"Ah, where are they?  There be many would like to know."
+
+The young man thought a moment.
+
+"Well, Tunk Hosely, there at Mrs. Vaughn's."
+
+"Tunk Hosely!" exclaimed the tinker, with a look that seemed to
+say, "God save the mark!  An' would they believe him, think?"
+
+Trove began to look troubled as Darrel left him.
+
+"I'll go and drop them in the river," said Trove to himself.
+
+It was eleven o'clock and the street dark and deserted as he left
+his room.
+
+"It is a cowardly thing to do," the young man thought as he walked
+slowly, but he could devise no better way to get rid of them.
+
+In the middle of the big, open bridge, he stopped to listen.
+Hearing only the sound of the falls below, Trove took the odd tools
+from under his coat and flung them over the rail.
+
+He turned then, walking slowly off the bridge and up the main
+street, of Hillsborough.  At a corner he stopped to listen.  His
+ear had caught the sound of steps far behind him.  He could hear it
+no longer, and went his way, with a troubled feeling that robbed
+him of rest that night.  In a day or two it wore off, and soon he
+was hold of the bit, as he was wont to say, and racing for the lead
+in his work.  He often walked to school with Polly and went to
+church with her every Sunday night.  There had been not a word of
+love between them, however, since they came to the village, until
+one evening she said:--
+
+"I am very unhappy, and I wish I were home."
+
+"Why?"
+
+She was not able to answer for a moment.
+
+"I know I am unworthy of you," she whispered.
+
+His lungs shook him with a deep and tremulous inspiration.  For a
+little he could not answer.
+
+"That is why you do not love me?" she whispered again.
+
+"I do love you," he said with a strong effort to control himself,
+"but I am not worthy to touch the hem of your garment."
+
+"Tell me why, Sidney?"
+
+"Some day--I do not know when--I will tell you all.  And if you can
+love me after that, we shall both be happy."
+
+"Tell me now," she urged.
+
+"I cannot," said he, "but if you only trust me, Polly, you shall
+know.  If you will not trust me--"
+
+He paused, looking down at the snow path.
+
+"Good night!" he added presently.
+
+They kissed and parted, each going to the company of bitter tears.
+
+As of old, Trove had many a friend,--school-fellows who came of an
+evening, now and then, for his help in some knotty problem.  All
+saw a change in him.  He had not the enthusiasm and good cheer of
+former days, and some ceased to visit him.  Moreover they were free
+to say that Trove was getting a big head.  For one thing, he had
+become rather careless about his clothes,--a new trait in him, for
+he had the gift of pride and the knack of neatness.
+
+A new student sought his acquaintance the very first week of the
+term,--that rather foppish young man who got off the cars at
+Hillsborough the day of their first coming.  He was from Buffalo,
+and, although twenty-two years of age, was preparing to enter
+college.  His tales of the big city and his frank good-fellowship
+made him a welcome guest.  Soon he was known to all as "Dick"--his
+name being Richard Roberts.  It was not long before Dick knew
+everybody and everybody knew Dick, including Polly, and thought him
+a fine fellow.  Soon Trove came to know that when he was detained a
+little after school Dick went home with Polly.  That gave him no
+concern, however, until Dick ceased to visit him, and he saw a
+change in the girl.
+
+One day, two letters came for Trove.  They were in girlish
+penmanship and bore no signature, but stung him to the quick.
+
+"For Heaven's sake get a new hat," said one.
+
+"You are too handsome to neglect your clothes," said the other.
+
+As he read them, his cheeks were burning with his shame.  He went
+for his hat and looked it over carefully.  It was faded, and there
+was a little rent in the crown.  His boots were tapped and mended,
+his trousers threadbare at the knee, and there were two patches on
+his coat.
+
+"I hadn't thought of it," said he, with a sigh.  Then he went for a
+talk with Darrel.
+
+"Did you ever see a more shabby-looking creature?" he inquired, as
+Darrel came to meet him.  "I am so ashamed of myself I'd like to go
+lie in your wood box while I talk to you."
+
+"'What hempen homespun have we swaggering here?'" Darrel quoted in
+a rallying voice.
+
+"I'll tell you." Trove began.
+
+"Nay, first a roundel," said the tinker, as he began to shuffle his
+feet to the measure of an old fairy song.
+
+"If one were on his way to the gallows, you would make him laugh,"
+said Trove, smiling.
+
+"An I could, so would I," said the old man.  "A smile, boy, hath in
+it 'some relish o' salvation.'  Now, tell me, what is thy trouble?"
+
+"I'm going to leave school," said Trove.
+
+"An' wherefore?"
+
+"I'm sick of this pinching poverty.  Look at my clothes; I thought
+I could make them do, but I can't."
+
+He put the two notes in Darrel's hand.  The tinker wiped his
+spectacles and then read them both.
+
+"Tut, tut, boy!" said he, presently, with a very grave look.  "Have
+ye forgotten the tatters that were as a badge of honour an'
+success?  Weeks ago I planned to find thee better garments, but, on
+me word, I had no heart for it.  Nay, these old ones had become
+dear to me.  I was proud o' them--ay, boy, proud o' them.  When I
+saw the first patch on thy coat, said I, 'It is the little ensign
+o' generosity.' Then came another, an', said I, 'That is for honour
+an' true love,' an' these bare threads--there is no loom can weave
+the like o' them.  Nay, boy," Darrel added, lifting an arm of the
+young man and kissing one of the patches, "be not ashamed o'
+these--they're beautiful, ay, beautiful.  They stand for the
+dollars ye gave Polly."
+
+Trove turned away, wiping his eyes.
+
+He looked down at his coat and trousers and began to wonder if he
+were, indeed, worthy to wear them.
+
+"I'm not good enough for them," said he, "but you've put new heart
+in me, and I shall not give up.  I'll wear them as long as I can
+make them do, and girls can say what they please."
+
+"The magpies!" said Darrel.  "When they have a thought for every
+word they utter, Lord! there'll be then a second Sabbath in the
+week."
+
+Next evening Trove went to see Polly.
+
+As he was leaving, she held his hand in both of hers and looked
+down, blushing deeply, as if there were something she would say,
+had she only the courage.
+
+"What is it, Polly?" said he.
+
+"Will you--will you let me buy you a new hat?" said she, soberly,
+and hesitating much between words.
+
+He thought a moment, biting his lip.
+
+"I'd rather you wouldn't, Polly," said he, looking down at the
+faded hat.  "I know it's shabby, but, after all, I'm fond o' the
+old thing.  I love good clothes, but I can't afford them now."
+
+Then he bade her good night and came away.
+
+
+
+
+XXX
+
+Evidence
+
+It was court week, and the grand jury was in session.  There were
+many people in the streets of the shire town.  They moved with a
+slow foot, some giving their animation to squints of curiosity and
+shouts of recognition, some to profanity and plug tobacco.  Squire
+Day and Colonel Judson were to argue the famous maple-sugar case,
+and many causes of local celebrity were on the calendar.
+
+There were men with the watchful eye of the hunter, ever looking
+for surprises.  They moved with caution, for here, indeed, were
+sights and perils greater than those of the timber land.   Here
+were houses, merchants, lawyers, horse-jockeys, whiskey, women.
+They knew the thickets and all the wild creatures that lived in
+them, but these things of the village were new and strange.  They
+came out of the stores and, after expectorating, stood a moment
+with their hands in their pockets, took a long look to the right
+and a long look to the left and threw a glance into the sky, and
+then examined the immediate foreground.  If satisfied, they began
+to move slowly one way or the other and, meeting hunters presently,
+would ask:--
+
+"Here fer yer bounties?"
+
+"Here fer my bounties," another would say.  Then they both took a
+long look around them.
+
+"Wish't I was back t' the shanty."
+
+"So do I."
+
+"Scares me."
+
+"Too many houses an' too many women folks."
+
+"An' if ye wan' t' git a meal o' vittles, it costs ye three
+mushrats."
+
+Night and morning the tavern offices were full of smart-looking
+men,--lawyers from every village in the county, who, having dropped
+the bitter scorn of the court room, now sat gossiping in a cloud of
+tobacco smoke, rent with thunder-peals of laughter and lightning
+flashes of wit.  Teams of farmer folk filled the sheds and were
+tied to hitching-posts, up and down the main thoroughfare of the
+village.  Every day rough-clad, brawny men led their little sons to
+the courthouse.
+
+"Do ye see that man with the spectacles and the bald head?" they
+had been wont to whisper, when seated in the court room, "that air
+man twistin' his hair,--that's Silas Wright; an' that tall man that
+jes' sot down?--that's John L. Russell.  Now I want ye t' listen,
+careful.  Mebbe ye'll be a lawyer, sometime, yerself, as big as any
+of 'em."
+
+The third day of that week--it was about the middle of the
+afternoon--a score of men, gossiping in the lower hall of the court
+building, were hushed suddenly.  A young man came hurrying down the
+back stairs with a look of excitement.
+
+"What's up?" said one.
+
+"Sidney Trove is indicted," was the answer of the young man.
+
+He ran out of doors and down the street.  People began crowding out
+of the court room.  Information, surprise, and conjecture--a kind
+of flood pouring out of a broken dam--rushed up and down the forty
+streets of the village.  Soon, as of old, many were afloat and some
+few were drowning in it.  For a little, busy hands fell limp and
+feet grew slow and tongues halted.  A group of school-girls on
+their way home were suddenly overtaken by the onrushing tide.  They
+came close together and whispered.  Then a little cry of despair,
+and one of them fell and was borne into a near house.  A young man
+ran up the stairway at the Sign of the Dial and rapped loudly at
+Darrel's door, Trove and the tinker were inside.
+
+"Old fellow," said the newcomer, his hand upon Trove's arm,
+"they've voted to indict you, and I've seen all the witnesses."
+
+Trove had a book in his hand.  He rose calmly and flung it on the
+table.
+
+"It's an outrage," said he, with a sigh.
+
+"Nay, an honour," said Darrel, quickly.  "Hold up thy head, boy.
+The laurel shall take the place o' the frown."
+
+He turned to the bearer of these evil tidings.
+
+"Have ye more knowledge o' the matter?"
+
+"Yes, all day I have been getting hold of their evidence," said the
+newcomer, a law student, who was now facing his friend Trove.  "In
+the first place, it was a man of blue eyes and about your build who
+broke into the bank at Milldam.  It is the sworn statement of the
+clerk, who has now recovered.  He does not go so far as to say you
+are the man, but does say it was a man like you that assaulted him.
+It appears the robber had his face covered with a red bandanna
+handkerchief in which square holes were cut so he could see
+through.  The clerk remembers it was covered with a little white
+figure--that of a log cabin.  Such a handkerchief was sold years
+ago in the campaign of Harrison, but has gone out of use.  Not a
+store in the county has had them since '45.  The clerk fired upon
+him with a pistol, and thinks he wounded him in the left forearm.
+In their fight the robber struck him with a sling-shot, and he
+fell, and remembers nothing more until he came to in the dark
+alone.   The skin was cut in little squares, where the shot struck
+him, and that is one of the strong points against you."
+
+"Against me?" said Trove.
+
+"Yes--that and another.  It seems the robber left behind him one
+end of a bar of iron.  The other end of the same bar and a
+sling-shot--the very one that probably felled the clerk--have been
+found."
+
+The speaker rose and walked half across the room and back, looking
+down thoughtfully.
+
+"I tell ye what, old fellow," said he, sitting down again, "it is
+mighty strange.  If I didn't know you well, I'd think you guilty.
+Here comes a detective who says under oath that one night he saw
+you come out of your lodgings, about eleven o'clock, and walk to
+the middle of the bridge and throw something into the water.  Next
+morning bar and shot were found.  As nearly as he could make out
+they lay directly under the place where you halted."
+
+Darrel sat looking thoughtfully at the speaker.
+
+"A detective ?" said Trove, rising erect, a stern look upon him.
+
+"Yes--Dick Roberts."
+
+"Roberts, a detective!" said Trove, in a whisper.  Then he turned
+to Darrel, adding, "I shall have to find the Frenchman."
+
+"Louis Leblanc?" the young man asked.
+
+"Louis Leblanc," Trove answered with surprise.
+
+"He has been found," said the other.
+
+"Then I shall be able to prove my point.  He came to his home drunk
+one night and began to bully his family.  I was boarding with the
+Misses Tower and went over and took the shot and iron from his
+hands and got him into bed.  The woman begged me to bring them
+away."
+
+"He declares that he never saw the shot or the iron."
+
+Darrel rose and drew his chair a bit nearer.
+
+"Very well, but there's the wife," said he, quickly.
+
+"She will swear, too, that she never saw them."
+
+"And how about the daughter?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Run away and nowhere to be found," was the answer of the other
+young man.  "I've told you bad news enough, but there's more, and
+you ought to know it all.  Louis Leblanc is in Quebec, and he says
+that a clock tinker lent him money with which to leave the States."
+
+"It was I, an' God bring him to repentance--the poor beggar!" said
+Darrel.  "He agreed to repay me within a fortnight an' was in sore
+distress, but he ran away, an' I got no word o' him."
+
+"Well, the inference is, that you, being a friend of the accused,
+were trying to help him."
+
+"I'm caught in a web," said Trove, leaning forward, his head upon
+his hands, "and Leblanc's wife is the spider.  How about the money?
+Have they been able to identify it?"
+
+"In part, yes; there's one bill that puzzles them.  It's that of an
+old bank in New York City that failed years ago and went out of
+business."
+
+Then a moment of silence and that sound of the clocks--like
+footsteps of a passing caravan, some slow and heavy, some quick, as
+if impatient to be gone.
+
+"Ye speeding seconds!" said Darrel, as he crossed to the bench.
+"Still thy noisy feet."
+
+Then he walked up and down, thinking.
+
+The friend of Sidney Trove put on his hat and stood by the door.
+
+"Don't forget," said he, "you have many friends, or I should not be
+able to tell you these things.  Keep them to yourself and go to
+work.  Of course you will be able to prove your innocence."
+
+"I thank you with all my heart," said Trove.
+
+"Ay, 'twas friendly," the old man remarked, taking the boy's hand.
+
+"I have to put my trust in Tunk--the poor liar!" said Trove, when
+they were alone.
+
+"No," Darrel answered quickly.  "Were ye drowning, ye might as well
+lay hold of a straw.  Trust in thy honour; it is enough."
+
+"Let's go and see Polly," said the young man.
+
+"Ay, she o' the sweet heart," said the tinker; "we'll go at once."
+
+They left the shop, and on every street they travelled there were
+groups of men gossiping.  Some nodded, others turned away, as the
+two passed.  Dick Roberts met them at the door of the house where
+Polly boarded.
+
+"I wish to see Miss Vaughn," said Trove, coolly.
+
+"She is ill," said Roberts.
+
+"Could I not see her for a moment?" Trove inquired.
+
+"No."
+
+"Is she very sick?"
+
+"Very."
+
+Darrel came close to Roberts.  He looked sternly at the young man.
+
+"Boy," said he, with great dignity, his long forefinger raised,
+"within a day ye shall be clothed with shame."
+
+"They were strange words," Trove thought, as they walked away in
+silence; and when they had come to the little shop it was growing
+dusk.
+
+"What have I done to bring this upon me and my friends?" said
+Trove, sinking into a chair.
+
+"It is what I have done," said Darrel; "an' now I take the mantle
+o' thy shame.  Rise, boy, an' hold up thy head."
+
+The old man stood erect by the side of the young man.
+
+"See, I am as tall an' broad as thou art."
+
+He went to an old chest and got a cap and drew it down upon his
+head, pushing his gray hair under it.  Then he took from his pocket
+a red bandanna handkerchief, figured with a cabin, tying it over
+his face.  He turned, looking at Trove through two square holes in
+the handkerchief.
+
+"Behold the robber!" said he.
+
+"You know who is the robber?" Trove inquired.
+
+Darrel raised the handkerchief and flung it back upon his head.
+
+"'Tis Roderick Darrel," said he, his hand now on the shoulder of
+the young man.
+
+For a moment both stood looking into each other's eyes.
+
+"What joke is this, my friend?" Trove whispered.
+
+"I speak not lightly, boy.  If where ye thought were honour an'
+good faith, there be only guilt an' shame, can ye believe in
+goodness?"
+
+For his answer there were silence and the ticking of the clocks.
+
+"Surely ye can an' will," said the old man, "for there is the
+goodness o' thy own heart.  Ah, boy, though I have it not, remember
+that I loved honour an' have sought to fill thee with it.  This
+night I go where ye cannot follow."
+
+The tinker turned, halting a pendulum.
+
+Trove groaned as he spoke, "O man, tell me, quickly, what do you
+mean?"
+
+"That God hath laid his hand upon me," said Darrel, sternly.  "I
+cannot see thee suffer, boy, when I am the guilty one.  O Redeemer
+o' the world! haste me, haste me now to punishment."
+
+The young man staggered, like one dazed by the shock of a blow,
+stepped backward, and partly fell on a lounge against the wall.
+Darrel came and bent over him.  Trove sat leaning, his hand on the
+lounge, staring up at the tinker, his eyes dreadful and amazed.
+
+"You, you will confess and go to prison!" he whispered.
+
+"Fair soul!" said the old man, stroking the boy's head, "think not
+o' me.  Where I go there be flowers--lovely flowers! an' music, an'
+the bards an' prophets.  Though I go to punishment, still am I in
+the Blessed Isles."
+
+"You are doing it to save me," Trove whispered, taking the hand of
+the old man.  "I'll not permit it.  I'll go to prison first."
+
+"Am I so great a fool, think ye, as to claim an evil that is not
+mine?  An' would ye keep in me the burning o' remorse when I seek
+to quench it?  I warn thee, meddle not with the business o' me
+soul.  That is between the great God an' me."
+
+Darrel stood to his full height, the red handkerchief covering his
+head and falling on his back.  He began with a tone of contempt
+that changed quickly into one of sharp command.  There was a little
+silence and then a quick rap.
+
+"Come in," Darrel shouted, as he let the handkerchief fall upon his
+face again.
+
+The district attorney, a constable, and the bank clerk, who had
+been injured the night of the robbery, came in.
+
+"He is not guilty," said Trove, rising quickly.
+
+"I command ye, boy, be silent," said Darrel, sternly.
+
+"Have ye ever seen that hand," he added, approaching the clerk, and
+pointing at a red mark as large as a dime on the back of his left
+hand.
+
+"Yes," the clerk answered with surprise, looking from hand to
+handkerchief.  Then, turning to the lawyer, he added, "This is the
+man."
+
+"Now," Darrel continued, rolling up his sleeve, "I'll show where
+thy bullet struck me in the left arm.  See, there it seared the
+flesh!"
+
+They saw a star, quite an inch long, midway from hand to elbow,
+
+"Do you mean to say that you are guilty of this crime?" the
+attorney asked.
+
+"I am guilty and ready for punishment," Darrel answered.  "Now,
+discharge the boy."
+
+"To-morrow," said the attorney.  "That is for the court to do."
+
+Darrel went to Trove, who now sat weeping, his face upon his hands.
+
+"Oh the great river o' tears!" said Darrel, touching the boy's
+head.  "Beyond it are the green shores of happiness, an' I have
+crossed, an' soon shalt thou.  Stop, boy, it ill becomes thee.
+There is a dear, dear child whose heart is breaking.  Go an'
+comfort her."
+
+Trove sat as if he had not heard.  The tinker went to his table and
+hurriedly wrote a line or two, folding and directing it.
+
+"Go quickly, boy, an' tell her, an' then take this to Riley Brooke
+for me."
+
+The young man struggled a moment for self-mastery, rose with a sigh
+and a stern look, and put on his hat.
+
+"It is about bail?" said he, in a whisper.
+
+"Yes," Darrel answered.
+
+Trove hurried away.  A woman met him at the door, within which
+Polly boarded.
+
+"Is she better?" Trove asked.
+
+"Yes; but has asked me to say that she does not wish to see you."
+
+Trove stood a moment, his tongue halting between anger and
+surprise.   He turned without a word, walking away, a bitter
+feeling in his heart.
+
+Brooke greeted him with unexpected heartiness.  He was going to bed
+when the young man rapped upon his door.
+
+Brooke opened the letter and read the words aloud: "Thanks, I shall
+not need thy help."
+
+"What!" Trove exclaimed.
+
+"He says he shall not need the help I offered him," Brooke answered.
+
+"Good night!" said Trove, who, turning, left the house and hurried
+away.  Lights were out everywhere in the village now.   The windows
+were dark at the Sign of the Dial.  He hurried up the old stairs
+and rapped loudly, but none came to admit him.  He called and
+listened; within there were only silence and that old, familiar
+sound of the seconds trooping by, some with short and some with
+long steps.  He knew that soon they were to grow faint and weary
+and pass no more that way.  He ran to the foot of the stairs and
+stood a moment hesitating.  Then he walked slowly to the county
+jail and looked up at the dark and silent building.  For a little
+time he leaned upon a fence, there in the still night, shaken with
+sobs.  Then he began walking up and down by the jail yard.  He had
+not slept an hour in weeks and was weary, but he could not bear to
+come away and walked slower as the night wore on, hearing only the
+tread of his own feet.  He knew not where to go and was drifting up
+and down, like a derelict in the sea.  By and by people began to
+pass him,--weary crowds,--and they were pointing at the patches on
+his coat, and beneath them he could feel a kind of burning, but the
+crowd was dumb.  He tried to say, "I am not to blame," but his
+heart smote him when it was half said.  Then, suddenly, many people
+were beside him, and far ahead on a steep hill, in dim, gray light,
+he could see Darrel toiling upward.  And sometimes the tinker
+turned, beckoning him to follow.  And Trove ran, but the way was
+long between them.  And the tinker called to him; "Who drains the
+cup of another's bitterness shall find it sweet."  Quickly he was
+alone, groping for his path in black darkness and presently coming
+down a stairway into the moonlit chamber of his inheritance.  Then
+the men of the dark and a feeling of faintness and great surprise
+and a broad, blue field all about him and woods in the distance,
+and above the growing light of dawn.  His bones were aching with
+illness and overwork, his feet sore.  "I have been asleep," he
+said, rubbing his eyes, "and all night I have been walking."
+
+He was in the middle of a broad field.  He went on slowly and soon
+fell of weakness and lay for a time with his eyes closed.  He could
+hear the dull thunder of approaching hoofs; then he felt a silky
+muzzle touching his cheek and the tickle of a horse's mane.  He
+looked up at the animal, feeling her face and neck.  "You feel like
+Phyllis, but you are not Phyllis--you are all white," said the
+young man, as he patted her muzzle.  He could hear other horses
+coming, and quickly she, that was bending over him, reared with an
+open mouth and drove them away.  She returned again, her long mane
+falling on his face.  "Don't step on me," he entreated.  "'Remember
+in the day o' judgment God'll mind the look o' yer master.'" He
+took hold of those long, soft threads, and the horse lifted him
+gently to his feet, and they walked, his arm about her neck, his
+face in the ravelled silk of her mane.  "I don't know whose horse
+you are, even, or where you are taking me," he said.  They went
+down a long lane and came at length to a bar-way, and Trove crawled
+through.
+
+He saw near him a great white house--one he had never seen
+before--and a beautiful lady in the doorway.  He turned toward her,
+and it seemed a long journey to the door, although he knew it was
+only a few paces.  He fell heavily on the steps, and the woman gave
+a little cry of alarm.  She came quickly and bent over him.  His
+clothes were torn, his face pale and haggard, his eyes closed.
+
+"I am sick," he whispered faintly.
+
+"Theron! Theron! come here! Sidney is sick," he heard her calling.
+
+"Is it you, mother?" the boy whispered, feeling her face.  "I
+thought it was a great, white mansion here, and that you--that you
+were an angel."
+
+
+
+
+XXXI
+
+A Man Greater than his Trouble
+
+For a month the young man lay burning with fever, his brain boiled
+in hot blood until things hideous and terrible were swarming out of
+it, as if it were being baned of dragons.  Two months had passed
+before he was able to leave his bed.  He remembered only the glow
+of an Indian summer morning on wood and field, but when he rose
+they were all white with snow.  For weeks he had listened to the
+howl of the fir trees and had seen the frost gathering on his
+window, but knew not how swiftly the days had gone, so that when he
+looked out of doors and saw the midwinter he was filled with
+astonishment.
+
+"I must go," said he.
+
+"Not yet, my boy," said Mary Allen.  "You, are not strong enough."
+
+"Darrel has taken my trouble on him, and I must go."
+
+"I have heard you say it often since you fell on the doorstep,"
+said she, stroking his hand.  "There is a letter from him;" and she
+brought the letter and put it in his hands.  Trove opened it
+eagerly and read as follows:--
+
+
+"DEAR SIDNEY: It is Sunday night and all day I have been walking in
+the Blessed Isles.  And one was the Blessed Isle of remembrance
+where I met thee and we talked of all good things.  If I knew it
+were well with thee I should be quite happy, boy, quite happy.  I
+was a bit weary of travel and all the roads had grown long.  I miss
+the tick of the clocks, but my work is easy and I have excellent
+good friends.  I send thee my key.  Please deliver the red, tall
+clock to Betsy Hale, who lives on the road to Waterbury Hill, and
+kindly take that cheerful youngster from Connecticut--the one with
+the walnut case and a brass pendulum--to Mrs. Henry Watson.   You
+remember that ill-tempered Dutch thing, with a loud gong and a
+white dial, please take that to Harry Warner,  I put some work on
+them all but there's no charge.  The other clocks belong to me.  Do
+with them as thou wilt and with all that is mine.  The rent is paid
+to April.  Then kindly surrender the key.  Now can ye do all this
+for a man suffering the just punishment of many sins?  I ask it for
+old friendship and to increase the charity I saw growing in thy
+heart long ago.   At last I have word of thy father.  He died a
+peaceful, happy death, having restored the wealth that cursed him
+to its owner.  For his sake an' thine I am glad to know it.  Now
+between thee and the dear Polly there is no shadow.  Tell her
+everything.  May the good God bless and keep thee; but the long
+road of Happiness, that ye must seek and find.
+
+  "Yours truly,
+    "R. DARREL of the Blessed Isles."
+
+
+Trove read the letter many times, and, as he grew strong, he began
+to think with clearness and deliberation of his last night in
+Hillsborough.  Darrel was the greatest problem of all.  Pondering
+he saw, or thought he saw, the bottom of it.  Events were coming,
+however, that robbed him utterly of his conceit and all the hope it
+gave him.  The sad lines about his father kept him ever in some
+doubt.  A week more, and he was in the cutter one morning, behind
+Phyllis, on his way to Robin's Inn.  As he drew up at the old,
+familiar gate the boys ran out to meet him.  Somehow they were not
+the same boys--they were a bit more sober and timid.  Tunk came
+with a "Glad to see ye, mister," and took the mare.  The widow
+stood in the doorway, smiling sadly.
+
+"How is Polly?" said Trove.
+
+For a moment there was no answer.  He walked slowly to the steps,
+knowing well that some new blow was about to fall upon him.
+
+"She is better, but has been very sick," said the widow.
+
+Trove sat down without speaking and threw his coat open.
+
+"You, too, have been very sick," said Mrs. Vaughn.
+
+"Yes, very," said he.
+
+"I heard of it and went to your home one day, but you didn't know
+me."
+
+"Tell me, where is Polly?"
+
+"In school, and I am much worried."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Well, she's pretty, and the young men will not let her alone.
+There's one determined she shall marry him."
+
+"Is she engaged?"'
+
+"No, but--but, sir, I think she is nearly heartbroken."
+
+"I'm sorry," said Trove.  "Not that she may choose another, but
+that she lost faith in me."
+
+"Poor child!  Long ago she thought you had ceased to love her,"
+said the widow, her voice trembling,
+
+"I loved her as I can never love again," said he, his elbow resting
+on a table, his head leaning on his hand.  He spoke calmly.
+
+"Don't let it kill you, boy," said she.
+
+"No," he answered.  "A man must be greater than his trouble; I have
+work to do, and I shall not give up.  May I go and see Polly?"
+
+"Not now," said the widow, "give her time to find her own way.  If
+you deserve her love it will return to you."
+
+"I fear that you, too, have lost faith in me," said Trove.
+
+"No," she answered, "but surely Darrel is not the guilty one.  It's
+all such a mystery."
+
+"Mrs. Vaughn, do not suffer yourself to think evil of me or of
+Darrel.  If I do lose your daughter, I hope I may not lose your
+good opinion."  The young man spoke earnestly and his eyes were wet.
+
+"I shall not think evil of you," said the woman.
+
+Trove stood a moment, his hand upon the latch.
+
+"If there's anything I can do for you or for Polly," said he, "I
+should like to know it.  Let's hope for the best.  Some day you
+must let me come and--" he hesitated, his voice failing him for a
+moment, "and play a game of checkers," he added.
+
+Paul stood looking up at him sadly, his face troubled.
+
+"It's an evil day when the heart of a child is heavy," said Trove,
+bending over the boy.  "What is the first law, Paul?"
+
+"Thou shalt learn to obey," said the boy, quickly.
+
+"And who is the great master?"
+
+"Yourself."
+
+"Right, boy!  Let's command our hearts to be happy."
+
+The great, bare maple was harping dolefully in the wind.  Trove
+went for the mare, and Tunk rode down the hill with him in the
+cutter.
+
+"Things here ain't what they used t' be," said Tunk.
+
+"No?"
+
+"Widder, she takes on awful.  Great changes!"
+
+There was a moment of silence.
+
+"I ain't the same dum fool I used t' be," Tunk added presently.
+
+"What's happened to you?"
+
+"Well, they tol' me what you said about lyin'.  Ye know a man in
+the hoss business is apt t' git a leetle careless, but I ain't no
+such dum fool as I used t' be.  Have you heard that Teesey Tower
+was married?"
+
+"The old maid?"
+
+"Yes, sir; the ol' maid, to Deacon Haskins, an' he lives with 'em,
+an' now they're jes like other folks.  Never was so surprised since
+I was first kicked by a hoss."
+
+Tunk's conscience revived suddenly and seemed to put its hand over
+his mouth.
+
+"Joe Beach is goin' to be a doctor," Tunk went on presently.
+
+"I advised him to study medicine," Trove answered.
+
+"He's gone off t' school at Milldam an' is workin' like a beaver.
+He was purty rambunctious 'til you broke him to lead."
+
+They rode then to the foot of the hill in silence.
+
+"Seems so everything was changed," Tunk added as he left the
+cutter.  "Ez Tower has crossed the Fadden bridge.  Team run away
+an' snaked him over.  They say he don't speak to his hosses now."
+
+Trove went on thoughtfully.  Some of Tunk Hosely's talk had been as
+bread for his hunger, as a harvest, indeed, giving both seed and
+sustenance.  More clearly than ever he saw before him the great
+field of life where was work and the joy of doing it.  For a time
+he would be a teacher, but first there were other things to do.
+
+
+
+
+XXXII
+
+The Return of Thurst Tilly
+
+Trove sat in council with Mary and Theron Allen.  He was now in
+debt to the doctor; he needed money, also, for clothing and boots
+and an enterprise all had been discussing.
+
+"I'll give you three hundred dollars for the mare," said Allen.
+
+Trove sat in thoughtful silence, and, presently, Allen went out of
+doors.  The woman got her savings and brought them to her son.
+
+"There is twenty-three dollars, an' it may help you," she whispered.
+
+"No, mother; I can't take it," said the young man.  "I owe you more
+now than I can ever pay.  I shall have to sell the mare.  It's a
+great trial to me, but--but I suppose honour is better than horses."
+
+"Well, I've a surprise for you," said she, bringing a roll of cloth
+from the bedroom.  "Those two old maids spun the wool, and I wove
+it, and, see, it's all been fulled."
+
+"You're as good as gold, mother, and so are they.  It's grand to
+wear in the country, but I'm going away and ought to have an extra
+good suit.  I'd like to look as fine as any of the village boys,
+and they don't wear homespun.  But I'll have plenty of use for it."
+
+Next day he walked to Jericho Mills and paid the doctor.  He went
+on to Milldam, buying there a handsome new outfit of clothing.
+Then he called to see the President of the bank--that one which had
+set the dogs of the law on him.
+
+"You know I put three thousand dollars in the bank of
+Hillsborough," said Trove, when he sat facing the official.  "I
+took the money there, believing it to be mine.  If, however, it is
+yours, I wish to turn it over to you."
+
+"It is not our money," said the President.  "That bundle was sent
+here, and we investigated every bill--a great task, for there were
+some three hundred of them.  Many are old bills and two the issue
+of banks gone out of business.  It's all a very curious problem.
+They would not have received this money, but they knew of the
+robbery and suspected you at once.  Now we believe absolutely in
+your honour."
+
+"I shall put that beyond all question," said Trove, rising.
+
+He took the cars to Hillsborough.  There he went to the Sign of the
+Dial and built a fire in its old stove.  The clocks were now
+hushed.  He found those Darrel had written of and delivered them.
+Returning, he began to wind the cherished clocks of the tinker--old
+ones he had gathered here and there in his wandering--and to start
+their pendulums.  One of them--a tall clock in the corner with a
+calendar-dial--had this legend on the inner side of its door:--
+
+  "Halted in memory of a good man,
+  Its hands pointing to the moment of his death,
+  Its voice hushed in his honour."
+
+Trove shut the door of the old clock and hurried to the public
+attorney's office, where he got the address of Leblanc.  He met
+many who shook his hand warmly and gave him a pleasant word.  He
+was in great fear of meeting Polly, and thought of what he should
+do and say if he came face to face with her.  Among others he met
+the school principal.
+
+"Coming back to work?" the latter inquired.
+
+"No, sir; I've got to earn money."
+
+"We need another teacher, and I'll recommend you."
+
+"I'm much obliged, but I couldn't come before the fall term," said
+Trove.
+
+"I'll try to keep the place for you," said his friend, as they
+parted.
+
+Trove came slowly down the street, thinking how happy he could be
+now, if Darrel were free and Polly had only trusted him.  Near the
+Sign of the Dial he met Thurston Tilly.
+
+"Back again?" Trove inquired.
+
+"Back again.  Boss gi'n up farmin'."
+
+"Did he make his fortune?"
+
+"No, he had one give to him."
+
+"Come and tell me about it."
+
+Tilly followed Trove up the old stairway into the little shop.
+
+"Beg yer pardon," said Thurst, turning, as they sat down, "are you
+armed?"
+
+"No," said Trove, smiling.
+
+"A man shot me once when I wan't doin' nothin' but tryin' t' tell a
+story, an' I don't take no chances.  Do you remember my boss
+tellin' that night in the woods how he lost his money in the fire
+o' '35?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Wal, I guess it had suthin' t' do with that.  One day the boss an'
+me was out in the door-yard, an' a stranger come along.  'You're
+John Thompson,' says he to the boss; 'An' you're so an' so,' says
+the boss.  I don't eggzac'ly remember the name he give."  Tilly
+stopped to think.
+
+"Can you describe him?" Trove inquired.
+
+"He was a big man with white whiskers an' hair, an' he wore light
+breeches an' a short, blue coat."
+
+"Again the friend of Darrel," Trove thought.
+
+"Did you tell the tinker about your boss the night we were all at
+Robin's Inn last summer?"
+
+"I told him the whole story, an' he pumped me dry.  I'd answer him,
+an' he'd holler 'Very well,' an' shoot another question at me."
+
+"Well, Thurst, go on with your story."
+
+"Couldn't tell ye jest what happened.  They went off int' the
+house.  Nex' day the boss tol' me he wa'n't no longer a poor man
+an' was goin' t' sell his farm an' leave for Californy.  In a
+tavern near where we lived the stranger died sudden that night, an'
+the funeral was at our house, an' he was buried there in Iowy."
+
+Trove walked to the bench and stood a moment looking out of a
+window.
+
+"Strange!" said he, returning presently with tearful eyes.  "Do you
+remember the date?"
+
+"'Twas a Friday, 'bout the middle o' September."
+
+Trove turned, looking up at the brazen dial of the tall clock.  It
+indicated four-thirty in the morning of September 19th.
+
+"Were there any with him when he died?"
+
+"Yes, the tavern keeper--it was some kind of a stroke they told me."
+
+"And your boss--did he go to California?" Trove asked.
+
+"He sold the farm an' went to Californy.  I worked there a while,
+but the boss an' me couldn't agree, an' so I pulled up an' trotted
+fer home."
+
+"To what part of California did Thompson go?"
+
+"Hadn't no idee where he would stick his stakes.  He was goin' in
+t' the gold business."
+
+Trove sat busy with his own thoughts while Thurston Tilly, warming
+to new confidence, boiled over with enthusiasm for the far west.  A
+school friend of the boy came, by and by, whereupon Tilly whistled
+on his thumb and hurried away.
+
+"Did you know," said the newcomer, when Trove and he were alone,
+"that Roberts--the man who tried to send you up--is a young lawyer
+and is going to settle here?  He and Polly are engaged."
+
+"Engaged!"
+
+"So he gave me to understand."
+
+"Well, if she loves him and he's a good fellow, I 've no right to
+complain," Trove answered.
+
+"I don't believe that he's a good fellow," said the other.
+
+"Why do you say that?"
+
+"Well, a detective is--is--"
+
+"A necessary evil?" Trove suggested.
+
+"Just that," said the other.  "He must pretend to be what he isn't
+and--well, a gentleman is not apt to sell himself for that purpose,
+Now he's trying to convince people that you knew as much about the
+crime as Darrel.  In my opinion he isn't honest.  Good looks and
+fine raiment are all there is to that fellow--take my word for it."
+
+"You're inclined to judge him harshly," said Trove.  "But I'm
+worried, for I fear he's unworthy of her and---and I must leave
+town to-morrow."
+
+"Shall you go to see her?"
+
+"No; not until I know more about him.  I have friends here and they
+will give her good counsel.  Soon they'll know what kind of a man
+he is, and, if necessary, they'll warn her.  I'm beset with
+trouble, but, thank God, I know which way to turn."
+
+
+
+
+XXXIII
+
+The White Guard
+
+Next morning Trove was on his way to Quebec--a long, hard journey
+in the wintertime, those days.  Leblanc had moved again,--so they
+told him in Quebec,--this time to Plattsburg of Clinton County, New
+York.  There, however, Trove was unable to find the Frenchman.   A
+week of patient inquiry, then, leaving promises of reward for
+information, he came away.  He had yet another object of his
+travels--the prison at Dannemora--and came there of a Sunday
+morning late in February.  Its towers were bathed in sunlight; its
+shadows lay dark and far upon the snow.  Peace and light and
+silence had fallen out of the sky upon that little city of regret,
+as if to hush and illumine its tumult of dark passions.  He
+shivered in the gloom of its shadow as he went up a driveway and
+rang a bell.  The warden received him kindly.
+
+"I wish to see Roderick Darrel,---he is my friend,' said Trove, as
+he gave the warden a letter.
+
+"Come with me," said the official, presently.  "He is talking to
+the men."
+
+They passed through gloomy corridors to the chapel door.  Trove
+halted to compose himself, for now he could hear the voice of
+Darrel.
+
+"Let me stand here a while--I cannot go in now," he whispered.
+
+The words of the old man were vibrant with colour and dramatic
+force.
+
+
+"Night!" he was saying, "the guard passes; the lights are out; ye
+lie thinking.  Hark! a bell!  'Tis in the golden city o'
+remembrance.  Ye hear it calling.  Haste away, men, haste away.
+Ah, look!--flowers by the roadside! an' sunlight, an', just ahead,
+spires o' the city, an' beneath them--oh! what is there beneath
+them ye go so many times to see?
+
+"Who is this?
+
+"Here is a man beside ye.
+
+"'Halt!' he says, an cuts ye with a sword.
+
+"Now the bell is tolling--the sky overcast.  The spires fall, the
+flowers wither.  Ye turn to look at the man.  He is a giant.  See
+the face of him now.  It makes ye tremble.  He is the White Guard
+an' he brings ye back.  Ah, then, mayhap ye rise in the dark, as I
+have heard ye, an' shake the iron doors.  But ye cannot escape him
+though ye could fly on the wind.  Know ye the White Guard?  Dear
+man! his name is thy name; he is thyself; day an' night he sits in
+the watch tower o' thy soul; he has all charge o' thee.  Make a
+friend o' him, men, make a friend o' him.  Any evening send for me,
+an' mayhap they'll let me come an' tell thee how."
+
+
+He paused.  Trove could hear the tread of guards in the chapel.
+They seemed to enter the magnetic field of the speaker and quickly
+halted.
+
+
+"Mind the White Guard!  Save him ye have none to fear.
+
+"Once, at night, I saw a man smiling in his sleep.  'Twas over
+there in the hospital.  The day long he had been sick with remorse,
+an' I had given him, betimes, a word o' comfort as well as the
+medicine.  Now when I looked the frown had left his brow.  Oh,
+'twas a goodly sight to see!  He smiled an' murmured o' the days
+gone.  The man o' guilt lay dead--the child of innocence was
+living.  An' he woke, an' again the shadow fell upon him, an' he
+wept.
+
+"'I have been wandering in the land o' love,' he said.
+
+"'Get thee back, man, get thee back,' said I to him.
+
+"'Alas! how can I?' said he; 'for 'tis only Sleep that opens the
+door.'
+
+"'Nay, Sleep doth lift the garment o' thy bitterness, but only for
+an hour,' said I.  'Love, Love shall lift it from thee forever.'
+An' now, I thank the good God, the smile o' that brief hour is ever
+on his face.  Ye know him well, men.  Were I to bid him stand
+before ye, there's many here would wish to kiss his hand.  Even
+here in the frowning shadow o' these walls he has come into a land
+o' love, an' when he returns to his people ye shall weep, men, ye
+shall weep, an' they shall rejoice.  O the land o' love! it hath a
+strong gate.  An' the White Guard, he hath the key.
+
+"Remember, men, ye cannot reap unless ye sow.  If any would reap
+the corn, he must plant the corn.
+
+"Have ye stood of a bright summer day to watch the little people o'
+the field?--those millions that throng the grass an' fly in the
+sunlight--bird an' bee an' ant an' bug an' butterfly?  'Tis a land
+flowing with milk an' honey--but hear me, good men, not one o' them
+may take as much as would fill the mouth of a cricket unless he
+pays the price.
+
+"One day I saw an ant trying to rob a thistle-blow.  Now the law o'
+the field is that none shall have honey who cannot sow for the
+flower.  While a bee probes he gathers the seed-dust in his hairy
+jacket, an' away he flies, sowing it far an' wide.  Now, an ant is
+in no-wise able to serve a thistle-blow, but he is ever trying to
+rob her house.  Knowing her danger, she has put around it a
+wonderful barricade.  Down at the root her stem has a thicket o'
+fuzz an' hair.  I watched the little thief, an' he was a long time
+passing through it.  Then he came on a barrier o' horny-edged
+leaves.  Underneath they were covered with thick, webby hairs an'
+he sank over his head in them an' toiled long; an' lo! when he had
+passed them there was yet another row o' leaves curving so as to
+weary an' bewilder him, an' thick set with thorns.  Slowly he
+climbed, coming ever to some dread obstruction.  By an' by he stood
+looking up at the green, round wall o' the palace.   Above him were
+its treasure an' its purple dome.  He started upward an' fell
+suddenly into a moat, full o' sticky gum, an' there perished.  Men,
+'tis the law o' God: unless ye sow the seed that bears it, ye shall
+not have the honey o' forgiveness.  An' remember the seed o'
+forgiveness is forgiveness.  If any have been hard upon thee,
+bearing false witness an' robbing thee o' thy freedom an' thy good
+name, go not hence until ye forgive.
+
+"Ah, then the White Guard shall no longer sit in the tower."
+
+
+The voice had stopped.  There was a moment of deep silence.  Some
+power, greater, far greater, than his words, had gone out of the
+man.  Those many who sat before him and they standing there by the
+door had felt it and were deeply moved.  There was a quick stir in
+the audience--a stir of hands and handkerchiefs.  Trove entered;
+the chaplain was now reading a hymn.  Darrel sat behind him on a
+raised platform, the silken spray upon his brows, long and white as
+snow, his face thoughtful and serious.  The reading over, he came
+and sat among the men, singing as they sang.  The benediction, a
+stir of feet, and the prisoners began to press about him, some
+kissing his hands.  He gave each a kindly greeting.  It was like
+the night of the party on Cedar Hill.  A moment more, and the crowd
+was filing away, some looking back curiously at Trove, who stood,
+his arms about the old man.
+
+"Courage, boy!" the latter was saying; "I know it cuts thee like a
+sword, an' would to God I could have spared thee even this.  Look!
+in yon high window I can see the sunlight, an', believe me, there
+is not a creature it shines upon so happy as I.  God love thee,
+boy, God love thee!"
+
+He put his cheek upon that of the boy and stroked his hair gently.
+Then a little time of silence, and the storm had passed.
+
+"A fine, fine lad ye are," said Darrel, looking proudly at the
+young man, who stood now quite composed.  "Let me take thy hand.
+Ay, 'tis a mighty arm ye have, an' some day, some day it will shake
+the towers."
+
+"You will both dine with me in my quarters at one," said the
+warden, presently.
+
+Trove turned with a look of surprise.
+
+"Thank ye, sor; an' mind ye make room for Wit an' Happiness," said
+the tinker.
+
+"Bring them along--they're always welcome at my table," the warden
+answered with a laugh.
+
+"Know ye not they're in prison, now, for keeping bad company?" said
+Darrel, as he turned.  "At one, boy," he, added, shaking the boy's
+hand.  "Ah, then, good cheer an' many a merry jest."
+
+Darrel left the room, waving his hand.  Trove and the warden made
+their way to the prison office.
+
+"A wonderful man!" said the latter, as they went.  "We love and
+respect him and give him all the liberty we can.  For a long time
+he has been nursing in the hospital, and when I see that he is
+overworking I bring him to my office and set him at easy jobs."
+
+Darrel came presently, and they went to dinner.  The tinker bowed
+politely to the warden's wife and led her to the table.
+
+"Good friends," said he, as they were sitting down, "there is an
+hour that is short o' minutes an' yet holds a week o' pleasure--who
+pan tell me which hour it is?"
+
+"I never guessed a riddle," said the woman.
+
+"Marry, dear madam, 'tis the hour o' thy hospitality," said the old
+man.
+
+"When you are in it," she answered with good humour.
+
+"Fellow-travellers on the road to heaven," said Darrel, raising his
+glass, "St. Peter is fond of a smiling face."
+
+"And when you see him you'll make a jest," were the words of the
+warden.
+
+"For I believe he is a lover o' good company," said Darrel.
+
+The warden's wife remarked, then, that she had enjoyed his talk in
+the chapel.
+
+"I'm a new form o' punishment," said Darrel, soberly.
+
+"But they all enjoy it," she answered.
+
+"I'm not so rough as the ministers.  They use fire an' the fume o'
+sulphur."
+
+"And the men go to sleep."
+
+"Ay, the cruel master makes a thick hide," said Darrel, quickly.
+"So Nature puts her hand between the whip an' the horse, an' sleep
+between cruelty an' the congregation."
+
+"Nature is kind," was the remark of the warden.
+
+"An' shows the intent o' the Almighty," said Darrel.  "There are
+two words.  In them are all the sermons."
+
+"And what are they?" the woman asked.
+
+"Fear," Darrel answered thoughtfully; "that is one o' them."  He
+paused to sip his tea.
+
+"And the other is?"
+
+"Love."
+
+There was half a moment of silence.
+
+"Here's Life to Love an' Death to Fear," the tinker added, draining
+his cup.  "Ay, madam, fill again--'tis memorable tea."
+
+The woman refilled his cup.
+
+"Many a time I've sat at meat an' thought, O that mine enemy could
+taste thy tea!  But this, dear lady, this beverage is for a friend."
+
+So the dinner went on, others talking only to encourage the tongue
+of Darrel.  Trove, well as he knew the old man, had been surprised
+by his fortitude.  Far from being broken, the spirit in him was
+happy, masterful, triumphant.  He had work to do and was earning
+that high reward of happiness--to him the best thing under heaven.
+The dinner over, all rose, and Darrel bowed politely to the
+warden's wife.  Then he quoted:--
+
+  "'Like as the waves make toward the pebbled shore,
+  So do our minutes hasten to their end.'
+
+"Dear madam, they do hasten but to come as well as to go.  Thanks
+an' au revoir."
+
+Darrel and Trove went away with the warden, who bade them sit a
+while in his office.  Tinker and young man were there talking until
+the day was gone.  The warden sat apart, reading.  Now and again
+they whispered earnestly, as if they were not agreed, Darrel
+shaking his forefinger and his head, Trove came away as the dark
+fell, a sad and thoughtful look upon him.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIV
+
+More Evidence
+
+Trove went to the inn at Dannemora that evening he left Darrel and
+there found a letter.  It said that Leblanc was living near St.
+Albans.  Posted in Plattsburg and signed "Henry Hope," the letter
+gave no hint of bad faith, and with all haste he went to the place
+it named.  He was there a fortnight, seeking the Frenchman, but
+getting no word of him, and then came a new letter from the man
+Hope.  It said now that Leblanc had moved on to Middlebury.  Trove
+went there, spent the last of his money, and sat one day in the
+tavern office, considering what to do; for now, after weeks of
+wandering, he was, it seemed, no nearer the man he sought.  He had
+soon reached a thought of some value: this information of the
+unknown correspondent was, at least, unreliable, and he would give
+it no further heed.  What should he do?  On that point he was not
+long undecided, for while he was thinking of it a boy came and said:
+
+"There's a lady waiting to see you in the parlour, sir."
+
+He went immediately to the parlour above stairs, and there sat
+Polly in her best gown--"the sweetest-looking creature," he was
+wont to say, "this side of Paradise."  Polly rose, and his
+amazement checked his feet a moment.  Then he advanced quickly and
+would have kissed her, but she turned her face away and Stood
+looking down.  They were in a silence full of history.  Twice she
+tried to speak, but an odd stillness followed the first word,
+giving possibly the more adequate expression to her thoughts.
+
+"How came you here?" he whispered presently.
+
+"I--I have been trying to find you." said she, at length.
+
+He turned, looking from end to end of the large room; they were
+quite alone.
+
+"Polly," he whispered, "I believe you do love me."
+
+For a little time she made no answer.
+
+"No," she whispered, shaking her head; "that is, I--I do not think
+I love you."
+
+"Then why have you come to find me?"
+
+"Because--because you did not come to find me," she answered,
+glancing down at the toe of her pretty shoe.
+
+She turned impatiently and stood by an open window.  She was
+looking out upon a white orchard.  Odours of spring flower and
+apple blossom were in the soft wings of the wind.  Somehow they
+mingled with her feeling and were always in her memory of that
+hour.  Her arm moved slowly and a 'kerchief went to her eyes.
+Then, a little tremor in the plume upon her hat Trove went to her
+side.
+
+"Dear Polly!" he said, as he took her hand in his.  Gently she
+pulled it away.
+
+"I--I cannot speak to you now," she whispered.
+
+Then a long silence.  The low music of a million tiny wings came
+floating in at the window.  It seemed, somehow, like a voice of the
+past, with minutes, like the bees, hymning indistinguishably.
+Polly and Trove were thinking of the same things.  "I can doubt him
+no more," she thought, "and I know--I know that he loves me."  They
+could hear the flutter of bird wings beyond the window and in the
+stillness they got some understanding of each other.  She turned
+suddenly, and went to where he stood.
+
+"Sidney," she said, "I am sorry--I am sorry if I have hurt you."
+
+She lifted one of his hands and pressed her red cheek upon it
+fondly.  In a moment he spoke.
+
+"Long ago I knew that you were doubting me, but I couldn't help
+it," he said.
+
+"It was that--that horrible secret," she whispered.
+
+"I had no, right to your love," said he, "until--" he hesitated for
+a little, "until I could tell you the truth."
+
+"You loved somebody else?" she whispered, turning to him.  "Didn't
+you, now?  Tell me."
+
+"No," said he, calmly.  "The fact is--the fact is I had learned
+that my father was a thief."
+
+"Your father!" she answered.  "Do you think I care what your father
+did?  Your honour and your love were enough for me."
+
+"I did not know," he whispered, "and I should have made my way to
+you, but--" he paused again.
+
+"But what?" she demanded, impatiently.
+
+"Well, it was only fair you should have a chance to meet others,
+and I thought you were in love with Roberts."
+
+"Roberts!  He would have been glad of my love, I can tell you
+that."  She looked up at him.  "I have endured much for you, Sidney
+Trove, and I cannot keep my secret any longer.  He says that Darrel
+is now in prison for your crime."
+
+"And you believe him?" Trove whispered.
+
+"Not that," she answered quickly, "but you know I loved the dear
+old man; I cannot think him guilty any more than I could think it
+of you.  But there's a deep mystery in it all.  It has made me
+wretched.  Every one thinks you know more than you have told about
+it."
+
+"A beautiful mystery!" the young man whispered.  "He thought I
+should be convicted--who wouldn't?  I think he loved me, so that he
+took the shame and the suffering and the prison to save me."
+
+"He would have died for you," she answered; "but, Sidney, it was
+dreadful to let them take him away.  Couldn't you have done
+something?"
+
+"Something, dear Polly! and I with a foot in the grave?"
+
+"Where did you go that night?"
+
+"I do not know; but in the morning I found myself in our great
+pasture and was ill.  Some instinct led me home, and, as usual, I
+had gone across lots."  Then he told the story of that day and
+night and the illness that followed.
+
+"I, too, was ill," said Polly, "and I thought you were cruel not to
+come to me.  When I began to go out of doors they told me you were
+low with fever.  Then I got ready to go to you, and that very day I
+saw you pass the door.  I thought surely you would come to see me,
+but--but you went away."
+
+Polly's lips were trembling, and she covered her eyes a moment with
+her handkerchief.
+
+"I feared to be unwelcome," said he.
+
+"You and every one, except my mother, was determined that I should
+marry Roberts," Polly went on.  "He has been urgent, but you,
+Sidney, you wouldn't have me.  You have done everything you could
+to help him.  Now I've found you, and I'm going to tell you all,
+and you've got to listen to me.  He has proof, he says, that you
+are guilty of another crime, and--and he says you are now a
+fugitive trying to escape arrest."
+
+A little silence followed, in which Trove was thinking of the Hope
+letters and of Roberts' claim that he was engaged to Polly.
+
+"You have been wrapped in mysteries long enough.  I shall not let
+you go until you explain," she continued.
+
+"There's no mystery about this," said Trove, calmly.  "Roberts is a
+rascal, and that's the reason I'm here."
+
+She turned quickly with a look of surprise.
+
+"I mean it.  He knows I am guilty of no crime, but he does know
+that I am looking for Louis Leblanc, and he has fooled me with
+lying letters to keep me out of the way and win you with his guile."
+
+A serious look came into the eyes of Polly.
+
+"You are looking for Louis Leblanc," she whispered.
+
+"Yes; it is the first move in a plan to free Darrel, for I am sure
+that Leblanc committed the crime.  I shall know soon after I meet
+him."
+
+"How?"
+
+"If he should have a certain mark on the back of his left hand and
+were to satisfy me in two other details, I'd give my life to one
+purpose,--that of making him confess.  God help me! I cannot find
+the man.  But I shall not give up; I shall go and see the Governor."
+
+Turning her face away and looking out of the window, she felt for
+his hand.  Then she pressed it fondly.  That was the giving of all
+sacred things forever, and he knew it.  He was the same Sidney
+Trove, but never until that day had she seen the full height of his
+noble manhood, ever holding above its own the happiness of them it
+loved.  Suddenly her heart was full with thinking of the power and
+beauty of it.
+
+"I do love you, Polly," said Trove, at length.  "I've answered your
+queries,--all of them,--and now it's my turn.  If we were at
+Robin's Inn, I should put my arms about you, and I should not let
+you go until--until you had promised to be my wife."
+
+"And I should not promise for at least an hour," said she, smiling,
+as she turned, her dark eyes full of their new discovery.  "Let us
+go home."
+
+"I'm going to be imperative," said he, "and you must answer before
+I will let you go--"
+
+"Dear Sidney," said she, "let's wait until we reach home.  It's too
+bad to spoil it here.  But--" she whispered, looking about the
+room, "you may kiss me once now."
+
+"It's like a tale in _Harper's_," said he, presently.  "It's 'to be
+continued,' always, at the most exciting passage."
+
+"I shall take the cars at one o'clock," said she, smiling.  "But I
+shall not allow you to go with me.  You know the weird sisters."
+
+"It would be impossible," said Trove.  "I must get work somewhere;
+my money is gone."
+
+"Money!" said she, opening her purse.  "I'm a Lady Bountiful.
+Think of it--I've two hundred dollars here.  Didn't you know Riley
+Brooke cancelled the mortgage?  Mother had saved this money for a
+payment."
+
+"Cancelled the mortgage!" said Trove.
+
+"Yes, the dear old tinker repaired him, and now he's a new man.
+I'll give you a job, Sidney."
+
+"What to do?"
+
+"Go and see the Governor, and then--and then you are to report to
+me at Robin's Inn.  Mind you, there's to be no delay, and I'll pay
+you--let's see, I'll pay you a hundred dollars."
+
+Trove began to laugh, and thought of this odd fulfilling of the
+ancient promises.
+
+"I shall stay to-night with a cousin at Burlington.  Oh, there's
+one more thing--you're to get a new suit of clothes at Albany, and,
+remember, it must be very grand."
+
+It was near train time, and they left the inn.
+
+"I'm going to tell you everything," said she, as they were on their
+way to the depot.  "The day after to-morrow I am to see that
+dreadful Roberts.  I'm longing to give him his answer."
+
+Not an hour before then Roberts had passed them on his way to
+Boston.
+
+
+
+
+XXXV
+
+At the Sign of the Golden Spool[1]
+
+[1 The author desires to say that this chapter relates to no shop
+now in existence.]
+
+It was early May and a bright morning in Hillsborough.  There were
+lines of stores and houses on either side of the main thoroughfare
+from the river to Moosehead Inn, a long, low, white building that
+faced the public square.  Hunters coming off its veranda and gazing
+down the street, as if sighting over gun-barrels at the bridge,
+were wont to reckon the distance "nigh on to forty rod."  There
+were "Boston Stores" and "Great Emporiums" and shops, modest as
+they were small, in that forty rods of Hillsborough.  Midway was a
+little white building, its eaves within reach of one's hand, its
+gable on the line of the sidewalk overhanging which, from a crane
+above the door, was a big, golden spool.  In its two windows were
+lace and ribbons and ladies' hats and spools of thread, and blue
+shades drawn high from seven o'clock in the morning until dark.  It
+was the little shop of Ruth Tole--a house of Fate on the way from
+happening to history.  There secrets, travel-worn, were nourished a
+while and sent on their way; reputations were made over and often
+trimmed with excellent taste and discrimination.  The wicked might
+prosper for a time, but by and by the fates were at work on them,
+there in the little shop, and then every one smiled as the sinner
+passed, with the decoration of his rank upon him.  And the sinner
+smiled also, seeing not the badge on his own back but only that on
+the back of his brother, and was highly pleased, for, if he had sin
+deeper than his brother's he had some discretion.  Relentless and
+not over-just were they of this weird sisterhood.  Since the time
+of the gods they have been without honour but never without work,
+and often they have had a better purpose than they knew.  Those of
+Hillsborough did their work as if with a sense of its great
+solemnity.  There was a flavour of awe in their nods and whispers,
+and they seemed to know they were touching immortal souls.  But now
+and then they put on the masque of comedy.
+
+Ruth Tole was behind the counter, sorting threads.  She was a
+maiden of middle life and severe countenance, of few and decisive
+words.  The door of the little shop was ajar, and near it a woman
+sat knitting.  She had a position favourable for eye and ear.  She
+could see all who passed, on either side of the way, and not a word
+or move in the shop escaped her.  In the sisterhood she bore the
+familiar name of Lize.  She had been talking about that old case of
+Riley Brooke and the Widow Glover.
+
+"Looks to me," said she, thoughtfully, as she tickled her scalp
+with a knitting-needle, "that she took the kinks out o' him.  He's
+a good deal more respectable."
+
+"Like a panther with his teeth pulled," said a woman who stood by
+the counter, buying a spool of thread.  "Ain't you heard how they
+made up?"
+
+"Land sakes, no!" said the sister Lize, hurriedly finishing a
+stitch and then halting her fingers to pull the yarn.
+
+The shopkeeper began rolling ribbons with a look of indifference.
+She never took part in the gossip and, although she loved to hear
+it, had, mostly, the air of one without ears.
+
+"Well, that old tinker gave 'em both a good talking to," said the
+customer.  "He brings 'em face to face, and he says to him, says
+he, 'In the day o' the Judgment God'll mind the look o' your wife,'
+and then he says the same to her."
+
+"Singular man!" said the comely sister Lize, who now resumed her
+knitting.
+
+"He never robbed that bank, either, any more 'n I did."
+
+"Men ain't apt to claim a sin that don't belong to 'em--that's my
+opinion."
+
+"He did it to shield another."
+
+"Sidney Trove?" was the half-whispered query of the sister Lize.
+
+"Trove, no!" said the other, quickly.  "It was that old man with a
+gray beard who never spoke to anybody an' used to visit the tinker."
+
+She was interrupted by a newcomer--a stout woman of middle age who
+fluttered in, breathing heavily, under a look of pallor and
+agitation.
+
+"Sh-h-h!" said she, lifting a large hand.  She sank upon a chair,
+fanning herself.  She said nothing for a little, as if to give the
+Recording Angel a chance to dip her pen.  The customer, who was now
+counting a box of beads, turned quickly, and she that was called
+Lize dropped her knitting.
+
+"What is it, Bet, for mercy's sake?" said the latter.
+
+"Have you heard the news?" said she that was called Bet.
+
+"Land sakes, no!" said both the others.
+
+Then followed a moment of suspense, during which the newcomer sat
+biting her under lip, a merry smile in her face.  She was like a
+child dallying with a red plum.
+
+"You're too provoking!" said the sister Lize, impatiently.   "Why
+do you keep us hanging by the eyebrows?"  She pulled her yarn with
+some violence, and the ball dropped to the floor, rolling half
+across it.
+
+"Sh-h-h!" said the dear sister Bet again.  Another woman had
+stopped by the door.  Then a scornful whisper from the sister Lize.
+
+"It's that horrible Kate Tredder.  Mercy!  is she coming in?"
+
+She came in.  Long since she had ceased to enjoy credit or
+confidence at the little shop.
+
+"Nice day," said she.
+
+The sister Lize moved impatiently and picked up her work.  This
+untimely entrance had left her "hanging by the eyebrows" and red
+with anxiety.  She gave the newcomer a sweeping glance, sighed and
+said, "Yes."  The sister Bet grew serious and began tapping the
+floor with her toe.
+
+"I've been clear 'round the square," said Mrs. Tredder, "an' I
+guess I'll sit a while.  I ain't done a thing to-day, an' I don't
+b'lieve I'll try 'til after dinner.  Miss Tole, you may give me
+another yard o' that red silk ribbon."
+
+She sat by the counter, and Miss Tole sniffed a little and began to
+measure the ribbon.  She was deeply if secretly offended by this
+intrusion.
+
+"What's the news?" said the newcomer, turning to the sister Bet.
+
+"Oh, nothing!" said the other, wearily.
+
+"Ain't you heard about that woman up at the Moosehead?"
+
+"Heard all I care to," said the sister Bet, with jealous feeling.
+Here was another red plum off the same tree.
+
+"What about her?" said the sister Lize, now reaching on tiptoe, as
+it were.  The sister Bet rose impatiently and made for the door.
+
+"Going?" said she that was called Lize, a note of alarm in her
+voice.
+
+"Yes; do you think I've nothing else to do but sit here and
+gossip," said sister Bet, disappearing suddenly, her face red.
+
+The newcomer sat in a thoughtful attitude, her elbow on the counter.
+
+"Well?" said the sister Lize.
+
+"You all treat me so funny here I guess I'll go," said Mrs.
+Tredder, who now got up, her face darkening, and hurried away.
+They of the plums had both vanished.
+
+"Wretch!" said the sister Lize, hotly; "I could have choked her."
+She squirmed a little, moving her chair roughly.
+
+"She's forever sticking her nose into other people's business,"
+were the words of the customer who was counting beads.  She seemed
+to be near the point of tears.
+
+"Maybe that's why it's so red," the other answered with unspeakable
+contempt.  "I'm so mad I can hardly sit still."
+
+She wound her yarn close and stuck her needle into the ball.
+
+"Thank goodness!" said she, suddenly; "here comes Serene."
+
+The sister Serene Davis, a frail, fair lady, entered.
+
+"Well," said the latter, "I suppose you've heard--" she paused to
+get her breath.
+
+"What?" said the sister Lize, in a whisper, approaching the new
+arrival.
+
+"My heart is all in a flutter--don't hurry me."
+
+The sister Lize went to the door and closed it.  Then she turned
+quickly, facing the other woman.
+
+"Serene Davis," she began solemnly, "you'll never leave this room
+alive until you tell us."
+
+"Can't you let a body enjoy herself a minute?"
+
+"Tell me," she insisted, threatening with a needle.
+
+Ruth Tole regarded them with a look of firmness which seemed to
+say, "Stab her if she doesn't tell."
+
+"Well," said the sister Serene, "you know that stylish young widow
+that came a while ago to the Moosehead--the one that wore the
+splendid black silk the night o' the ball?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"She was a detective,"--this in a whisper.
+
+"What!" said the other two, awesomely.
+
+"A detective."
+
+Then a quick movement of chairs and a pulling of yarn.  Ruth
+dropped a spool of thread which rattled, as it fell, and rolled a
+space and lay neglected.
+
+The sister Serene was now laughing.
+
+"It's ridiculous!" she remarked.
+
+"Go on," said the others, and one of them added, "Land sakes! don't
+stop now."
+
+"Well, she got sick the other day and sent for a lawyer, an' who do
+you suppose it was?"
+
+"I dunno," said Ruth Tole.  The words had broken away from her, and
+she covered her mouth, quickly, and began to look out of the
+window.  The speaker had begun to laugh again.
+
+"'Twas Dick Roberts," she went on.  "He went over to the tavern;
+she lay there in bed and had a nurse in the room with her--a woman
+she got in Ogdensburg.  She tells the young lawyer she wants him to
+make her will.  Then she describes her property and he puts it
+down.  There was a palace in Wales and a castle on the Rhine and
+pearls and diamonds and fifty thousand pounds in a foreign bank,
+and I don't know what all.  Well, ye know, she was pert and
+handsome, and he began to take notice."
+
+The sisters looked from one to another and gave up to gleeful
+smiles, but Ruth was, if anything, a bit firmer than before.
+
+"Next day he brought her some flowers, and she began to get better.
+Then he took her out to ride.  One night about ten o'clock the
+nurse comes into the room sudden like, and finds him on his knees
+before the widow, kissing her dress an' talking all kinds o'
+nonsense."
+
+"Here! stop a minute," said the sister Lize, who had now dropped
+her knitting and begun to fan herself.  "You take my breath away."
+The details were too important for hasty consideration.
+
+"Makin' love?" said she with the beads, thoughtfully.
+
+"I should think likely," said the other, whereupon the three began
+to laugh again.  Their merriment over, through smiles they gave
+each other looks of dreamy reflection.
+
+"Now go on," said the sister Lize, leaning forward, her chin upon
+her hands.
+
+"There he knelt, kissing her dress," the narrator continued.
+
+"Why didn't he kiss her face?"
+
+"Because she wouldn't let him, I suppose."
+
+"Oh!" said the others, nodding their heads, thoughtfully.
+
+"When the nurse came," the sister Serene continued, "the widow went
+to a desk and wrote a letter and brought it to Dick.  Then says the
+widow, says she: 'You take this to my uncle in Boston.  If you can
+make him give his consent, I'd be glad to see you again.'
+
+"Dick, he rushed off that very evening an' took the cars at Madrid.
+What do you suppose the letter said?"
+
+The sister Serene began to shake with laughter.
+
+"What?" was the eager demand of the two sisters.
+
+"Well, the widow told the nurse and she told Mary Jones and Mary
+told me.  The letter was kind o' short and about like this:--
+
+"'Pardon me for introducing a scamp by the name of Roberts.  He's
+engaged to a very sweet young lady and has the impudence to make
+love to me.  I wish to get him out of this town for a while, and
+can't think of any better way.  Don't use him too roughly.  He was
+a detective once himself.'
+
+"Well, in a couple of days the widow got a telegraph message from
+her uncle, an' what do you suppose it said?"
+
+The sister Serene covered her face and began to quiver.  The other
+two were leaning toward her, smiling, their mouths open.
+
+"What was it?" said the sister Lize.
+
+"'Kicked him downstairs,'" the narrator quoted.
+
+"Y!" the two whispered.
+
+"Good enough for him."  It was the verdict of the little
+shopkeeper, sharply spoken, as she went on with her work.
+
+"So I say,"--this from the other three, who were now quite serious.
+
+"He'd better not come back here," said the sister Lize.
+
+"He never will, probably."
+
+"Who employed the widow?"
+
+"Nobody knows," said the sister Serene.  "Before she left town she
+had a check cashed, an' it come from Riley Brooke.  Some think
+Martha Vaughn herself knows all about it.  Sh-h-h! there goes
+Sidney Trove."
+
+"Ain't he splendid looking?" said she with the beads.
+
+Ruth Tole had opened the door, and they were now observing the
+street and those who were passing in it.
+
+"One of these days there'll be some tall love-making up there at
+the Widow Vaughn's," said she that was called Lize.
+
+"Like to be behind the door"--this from her with the beads.
+
+"I wouldn't," said the sister Serene.
+
+"No, you wouldn't!"
+
+"I'd rather be up next to the young man." A merry laugh, and then a
+sigh from the sister Lize, who looked a bit dreamy and began to
+tickle her head with a knitting-needle.
+
+"What are you sighing for?" said she with the beads,
+
+"Oh, well," said the other, yawning, "it makes me think o' the time
+when I was a girl."
+
+"Look! there's Jeanne Brulet,"--it was a quick whisper.
+
+They gathered close and began to shake their heads and frown.  Now,
+indeed, they were as the Fates of old.
+
+"Look at her clothes," another whispered.
+
+"They're better than I can wear.  I'd like to know where she gets
+the money."
+
+Then a look from one to the other--a look of fateful import, soon
+to travel far, and loose a hundred tongues.  That moment the bowl
+was broken, but the weird sisters knew not the truth.
+
+She that was called Lize, put up her knitting and rose from her
+chair.
+
+"There's work waiting for me at home," said she.
+
+"Quilting?"
+
+"No; I'm working on a shroud."
+
+
+
+
+XXXVI
+
+The Law's Approval
+
+Trove had come to Hillsborough that very hour he passed the Golden
+Spool.  In him a touch of dignity had sobered the careless eye of
+youth.  He was, indeed, a comely young man, his attire fashionable,
+his form erect.  Soon he was on the familiar road to Robin's Inn.
+There was now a sprinkle of yellow in the green valley; wings of
+azure and of gray in the sunlight; a scatter of song in the
+silence.  High on distant hills, here and there, was a little bank
+of snow.  These few dusty rags were all that remained of the great
+robe of winter.  Men were sowing and planting.  In the air was an
+odour of the harrowed earth, and up in the hills a shout of
+greeting came out of field or garden as Trove went by.
+
+It was a walk to remember, and when he had come near the far side
+of Pleasant Valley he could see Polly waving her hand to him at the
+edge of the maple grove.
+
+"Supper is waiting," said she, merrily, as she came to meet him.
+"There's blueberries, and biscuit, and lots of nice things."
+
+"I'm hungry," said be; "but first, dear, let us enjoy love and
+kisses."
+
+Then by the lonely road he held her close to him, and each could
+feel the heart-beat of the other; and for quite a moment speech
+would have been most idle and inadequate.
+
+"Now the promise, Polly," said he soon.  "I go not another step
+until I have your promise to be my wife."
+
+"You do not think I'd let one treat me that way unless I expected
+to marry him, do you ?" said Polly, as she fussed with a ribbon
+bow, her face red with blushes.  "You've mussed me all up."
+
+"I'm to be a teacher in the big school, and if you were willing, we
+could be married soon."
+
+"Oh, dear!" said she, sighing, and looking up at him with a smile;
+"I'm too happy to think."  Then followed another moment of silence,
+in which the little god, if he were near them, must have smiled.
+
+"Won't you name the day now?" he insisted.
+
+"Oh, let's keep that for the next chapter!" said she.  "Don't you
+know supper is waiting?"
+
+"It's all like those tales 'to be continued in our next,'" he
+answered with a laugh.
+
+Then they walked slowly up the long hill, arm in arm.
+
+"How very grand you look!" said she, proudly.  "Did you see the
+Governor?"
+
+"Yes, but he can do nothing now.  It's the only cloud in the sky."
+
+"Dear old man!" said Polly.  "We'll find a way to help him."
+
+"But he wouldn't thank us for help--there's the truth of it," said
+Trove, quickly.  "He's happy and content.  Here is a letter that
+came to-day.  'Dear Sidney,' he writes.  'Think of all I have said
+to thee, an', if ye remember well, boy, it will bear thee up.  Were
+I, indeed, as ye believe, drinking the cup o' bitterness for thy
+sake, know ye not the law will make it sweet for me?  After all I
+have said to thee, are ye not prepared?  Is my work wasted; is the
+seed fallen upon the rocks?  And if ye hold to thy view,
+consider--would ye rob the dark world o' the light o' sacrifice?
+"Nay," ye will answer.  Then I say: "If ye would give me peace, go
+to thy work, boy, and cease to waste thyself with worry and foolish
+wandering."'
+
+"Somehow it puts me to shame," said Trove, as he put the letter in
+his pocket.  "I'm so far beneath him.  I shall obey and go to work
+and pray for the speedy coming of God's justice."
+
+"It's the only thing to do," said she.  "Sidney, I hope now I have
+a right to ask if you know who is your father?"
+
+"I believe him to be dead."
+
+"Dead!" there was a note of surprise in the word.
+
+"I know not even his name."
+
+"It is all very strange," said Polly.  In a moment she added, "I
+hope you will forgive my mother if she seemed to doubt you."
+
+"I forgive all," said the young man.  "I know it was hard to
+believe me innocent."
+
+"And impossible to believe you guilty.  She was only waiting for
+more light."
+
+The widow and her two boys came out to meet them.
+
+"Mother, behold this big man!  He is to be my husband." The girl
+looked up at him proudly.
+
+"And my son?" said Mrs. Vaughn, with a smile, as she kissed him.
+"You've lost no time."
+
+"Oh!  I didn't intend to give up so soon," said Polly, "but--but
+the supper would have been ruined."
+
+"It's now on the table," said Mrs. Vaughn.
+
+"I've news for you," said Polly, as they were sitting down.  "Tunk
+has reformed."
+
+"He must have been busy," said Trove, "and he's ruined his epitaph."
+
+"His epitaph?"
+
+"Yes; that one Darrel wrote for him: 'Here lies Tunk.  O Grave!
+where is thy victory?'"
+
+"Tunk has one merit: he never deceived any one but himself," said
+the widow.
+
+"Horses have run away with him," Trove continued.  "His character
+is like a broken buggy; and his imagination--that's the unbroken
+colt.  Every day, for a long time, the colt has run away with the
+wagon, tipping it over and dragging it in the ditch, until every
+bolt is loose, and every spoke rattling, and every wheel awry.  I
+do hope he's repaired his 'ex.'"
+
+"He walks better and complains less," the widow answered.
+
+"Often he stands very straight and walks like you," said Polly,
+laughing.
+
+"He thinks you are the only great man," so spoke the widow.
+
+"Gone from one illusion to another," said Trove.  "It's a lesson;
+every one should go softly.  Tom, will you now describe the
+melancholy feat of Theophilus Thistleton?"
+
+The fable was quickly repeated.
+
+"That Mr. Thistleton was a foolish fellow, and there's many like
+him," said Trove.  "He had better have been thrusting blueberries
+into his mouth.  I declare!" he added, sitting back with a look of
+surprise, "I'm happy again."
+
+"And we are going to keep you so," Polly answered with decision.
+
+"Darrel would tell me that I am at last in harmony with a great law
+which, until now, I have been defying.  It is true; I have thought
+too much of my own desires."
+
+"I do not understand you," said Polly.  "Now, we heard of the shot
+and iron--how you came by them and how, one night, you threw them
+into the river at Hillsborough.  That led, perhaps, to most of your
+trouble.  I'd like to know what moral law you were breaking when
+you flung them into the river?"
+
+"A great law," Trove answered; "but one hard to phrase."
+
+"Suppose you try."
+
+"The innocent shall have no fear," said he.  "Until then I had kept
+the commandment."
+
+There was a little time of silence.
+
+"If you watch a coward, you'll see a most unhappy creature."  It
+was Trove who spoke.  "Darrel said once, 'A coward is the prey of
+all evil and the mark of thunderbolts.'"
+
+"I'll not admit you're a coward," were the words of Polly.
+
+"Well," said he, rising, "I had fear of only one thing,--that I
+should lose your love."
+
+Reaching home next day, Trove found that Allen had sold Phyllis.
+The mare had been shipped away.
+
+"She brought a thousand dollars," said his foster father, "and I'll
+divide the profit with you."
+
+The young man was now able to pay his debt to Polly, but for the
+first time he had a sense of guilt.
+
+Trove bought another filly--a proud-stepping great-granddaughter of
+old Justin Morgan.
+
+A rough-furred, awkward creature, of the size of a small dog, fled
+before him, as he entered the house in Brier Dale, and sought
+refuge under a table.  It was a young painter which Allen had
+captured back in the deep woods, after killing its dam.  Soon it
+rushed across the floor, chasing a ball of yarn, but quickly got
+under cover.  Before the end of that day Trove and the new pet were
+done with all distrust of each other.  The big cat grew in size and
+playful confidence.  Often it stalked the young man with still foot
+and lashing tail, leaping stealthily over chairs and, betimes,
+landing upon Trove's back.
+
+     *     *     *     *     *     *
+
+It was a June day, and Trove was at Robin's Inn.  A little before
+noon Polly and he and the two boys started for Brier Dale.  They
+waded the flowering meadows in Pleasant Valley, crossed a great
+pasture, and came under the forest roof.  Their feet were muffled
+in new ferns.  Their trail wavered up the side of a steep ridge,
+and slanted off in long loops to the farther valley.  There it
+crossed a brook and, for a mile or more, followed the mossy banks.
+On a ledge, mottled with rock velvet, by a waterfall, they sat down
+to rest, and Polly opened the dinner basket.  Somehow the music and
+the minted breath of the water and the scent of the moss and the
+wild violet seemed to flavour their meal.  Tom had brought a small
+gun with him, and, soon after they resumed their walk, saw some
+partridges and fired upon them.  All the birds flew save a hen that
+stood clucking with spread wings.  Coming close, they could see her
+eyes blinking in drops of blood.  Trove put his hand upon her, but
+she only bent her head a little and spread her wings the wider.
+
+"Tom," said he, "look at this little preacher of the woods.  Do you
+know what she's saying?"
+
+"No," said the boy, soberly.
+
+"Well, she's saying: 'Look at me and see what you've done.
+Hereafter, O boy! think before you pull the trigger.'  It's a pity,
+but we must finish the job."
+
+As they came out upon Brier Road the boys found a nest of hornets.
+It hung on a bough above the roadway.  Soon Paul had flung a stone
+that broke the nest open.  Hornets began to buzz around them, and
+all ran for refuge to a thicket of young firs.  In a moment they
+could hear a horse coming at a slow trot.  Trove peered through the
+bushes.  He could see Ezra Tower--that man of scornful piety--on a
+white horse.  Trove shouted a warning, but with no effect.
+Suddenly Tower broke his long silence, and the horse began to run.
+The little party made a detour, and came again to the road.
+
+"He did speak to the hornets," said Polly.
+
+"Swore, too," said Paul.
+
+"Nature has her own way with folly; you can't hold your tongue when
+she speaks to you," Trove answered.
+
+Near sunset, they came into Brier Dale.  Tunk was to be there at
+supper time, and drive home with Polly and her brothers.  The widow
+had told him not to come by the Brier Road; it would take him past
+Rickard's Inn, where he loved to tarry and display horsemanship.
+
+Mary Allen met them at the door.
+
+"Mother, here is my future wife," said Trove, proudly.
+
+Then ruddy lips of youth touched the faded cheek of the good woman.
+
+"We shall be married in September," said Trove, tossing his hat in
+the air.  "We're going to have a grand time, and mind you, mother,
+no more hard work for you.  Where is Tige?"  Tige was the young
+painter.
+
+"I don't know," said Mary Allen.  "He's up in a tree somewhere,
+maybe.  Come in, all of you; supper's ready."
+
+While they were eating.  Trove heard a sound of wheels, and went to
+the door.  Tunk had arrived.  He had a lump, the size of an
+apple,-on his forehead; another on his chin.  As Trove approached
+him, he spat over a front wheel, and sat looking down sadly.
+
+"Tunk, what's the matter ?"
+
+"Kicked," said he, with growing sadness.
+
+"A horse?" Trove inquired, with sympathy.
+
+Tunk thought a moment.
+
+"Couldn't say what 'twas," he answered presently.
+
+"I fear," said Trove, smiling, "that you came by the Brier Road."
+
+Suddenly there was a quick stir of boughs and a flash of tawny fur
+above them.  Then the young painter landed full on the back of
+Tunkhannock Hosely.  There was a wild yell; the horse leaped and
+ran, breaking through a fence and wrecking the wagon; the painter
+spat, and made for the woods, and was seen no more of men.  Tunk
+had picked up an axe, and climbed a ladder that stood leaning to
+the roof.  Trove and Allen caught the frightened horse.
+
+"Now," said the former, "let's try and capture Tunk."
+
+"He's taken to the roof," said Allen.
+
+"Where's that air painter?" Tunk shouted, as they came near.
+
+"Gone to the woods."
+
+"Heavens!" said Tunk, gloomily.  "I'm all tore up; there ain't
+nothin' left o' me--boots full o' blood.  I tell ye this country's
+a leetle too wild fer me."
+
+He came down the ladder slowly, and sat on the step and drew off
+his boots.  There was no blood in them.  Trove helped him remove
+his coat; all, save his imagination, was unharmed.
+
+"Wal," said he, thoughtfully, "that's what ye git fer doin' suthin'
+ye hadn't ought to.  I ain't goin' t' take no more chances."
+
+
+
+
+XXXVII
+
+The Return of Santa Claus
+
+Did ye hear the cock crow?  By the beard of my father, I'd
+forgotten you and myself and everything but the story.  It's near
+morning, and I've a weary tongue.  Another log and one more pipe.
+Then, sir, then I'll let you go.  I'm near the end.
+
+"Let me see--it's a winter day in New York City, after four years.
+The streets are crowded.  Here are men and women, but I see only
+the horses,--you know, sir, how I love them.  They go by with heavy
+truck and cab, steaming, straining', slipping in the deep snow.
+You hear the song of lashes, the whack of whips, and, now and then,
+the shout of some bedevilled voice.  Horses fall, and struggle, and
+lie helpless, and their drivers--well, if I were to watch them
+long, I should be in danger of madness and hell-fire.  Well, here
+is a big stable.  A tall man has halted by its open door, and
+addresses the manager.
+
+"'I learn that you have a bay mare with starred face and a white
+stocking.'  It is Trove who speaks.
+
+"'Yes; there she is, coming yonder.'
+
+"The mare is a rack of bones, limping, weary, sore.  But see her
+foot lift!  You can't kill the pride of the Barbary.  She falters;
+her driver lashes her over the head.  Trove is running toward her.
+He climbs a front wheel, and down comes the driver.  In a minute
+Trove has her by the bit.  He calls her by name--Phyllis!  The slim
+ears begin to move.  She nickers.  God, sir! she is trying to see
+him.  One eye is bleeding, the other blind.  His arms go round her
+neck, sir, and he hides his face in her mane.  That mare you
+ride--she is the granddaughter of Phyllis.  I'd as soon think of
+selling my wife.  Really, sir, Darrel was right.  God'll mind the
+look of your horses."
+
+
+So spake an old man sitting in the firelight.  Since they sat down
+the short hand of the clock had nearly circled the dial.  There was
+a little pause.  He did love a horse--that old man of the hills.
+
+"Trove went home with the mare," he continued.  "She recovered the
+sight of one eye, and had a box-stall and the brook pasture--you
+know, that one by the beech grove.  He got home the day before
+Christmas.  Polly met him at the depot--a charming lady, sir, and a
+child of three was with her,--a little girl, dark eyes and flaxen,
+curly hair.  You remember Beryl?--eyes like her mother's.
+
+"I was there at the depot that day.  Well, it looked as if they
+were still in their honeymoon.
+
+"'Dear little wife!' said Trove, as he kissed Polly.  Then he took
+the child in his arms, and I went to dinner with them.  They lived
+half a mile or so out of Hillsborough.
+
+"'Hello!' said Trove, as we entered.  'Here's a merry Christmas!'
+
+"Polly had trimmed the house.  There against the wall was a
+tapering fir-tree, hung with tinsel and popcorn.  All around the
+room were green branches of holly and hemlock.
+
+"'I'm glad you found Phyllis,' said she.
+
+"'Poor Phyllis!' he answered.  'They broke her down with hard work,
+and then sold her.  She'll be here to-morrow.'
+
+"'You saw Darrel on the way?'
+
+"'Yes, and he is the same miracle of happiness.  I think he will
+soon be free.  Leblanc is there in prison--convicted of a crime in
+Whitehall.  As I expected, there is a red mark on the back of his
+left hand.  Day after to-morrow we go again to Dannemora.
+Sweetheart!  I hurried home to see you.'  And then--well, I do like
+to see it--the fondness of young people.
+
+"Night came, dark and stormy, with snow in the west wind.  They
+were sitting there by the Christmas tree, all bright with
+candles--Polly, Trove, and the little child.  They were talking of
+old times.  They heard a rap at the door.  Trove flung it open.  He
+spoke a word of surprise.  There was the old Santa Claus of Cedar
+Hill--upon my word, sir--the very one.  He entered, shaking his
+great coat, his beard full of snow.  He let down his sack there by
+the lighted tree.  He beckoned to the little one.
+
+"'Go and see him--it is old Santa Claus,' said Polly, her voice
+trembling as she led the child.
+
+"Then, quickly, she took the hand of her husband.
+
+"'He is your father,' she whispered.
+
+"A moment they stood with hearts full, looking at Santa Claus and
+the child.  That little one had her arms about a knee, and, dumb
+with great wonder, gazed up at him.  There was a timid appeal in
+her sweet face.
+
+"The man did not move; he was looking down at the child.  In a
+moment she began to prattle and tug at him.  They saw his knees
+bend a bit.  Ah, sir, it seemed as if the baby were pulling him
+down.  He gently pushed the child away.  They heard a little cry--a
+kind of a wailing 'Oh-o-o,'--like that you hear in the chimney.
+Then, sir, down he went in his tracks--a quivering little
+heap,--and lay there at the foot of the tree.  Polly and Trove were
+bending over him.  Cap and wig had fallen from his head.  He was an
+old man.
+
+"'Father!' Trove whispered, touching the long white hair.  'O my
+father! speak to me.  Let me--let me see your face.'
+
+"Slowly--slowly, the old man rose, Trove helping him, and put on
+his cap.  Then, sir, he took a step back and stood straight as a
+king.  He waved them away with his hand.
+
+"'Nay, boy, remember,' he whispered.  'Ye were to let him pass.'
+And then he started for the door.
+
+"Trove went before him and stood against it.
+
+"'Hear me, boy, 'tis better that ye let him sleep until the trumpet
+calls an' ye both stand with all the quick an' the dead.'
+
+"'No, I have waited long, and I love--I love him,' Trove answered.
+
+"Those fair young people knelt beside the old man, clinging to his
+hands.
+
+"The good saint was crying.
+
+"'I came not here to bring shame,' said he presently.
+
+"'We honour and with all our souls we love you,' Trove answered.
+
+"'Who shall stand before it?' said the old man.  'Behold--behold
+how Love hath raised the dead!'  He flung off his cap and beard.
+
+"'If ye will have it so, know ye that I--Roderick Darrel--am thy
+father.'"
+
+
+"Now, sir, you may go.  I wish ye merry Christmas!" said that old
+man of the hills.
+
+But the other tarried, thoughtfully puffing his pipe.
+
+"And the father was not dead?"
+
+"'Twas only the living death," said the old man, now lighting a
+lantern.  "You know that grave in a poem of Sidney Trove:
+
+  'It has neither sod nor stone;
+  It has neither dust nor bone.'
+
+He planned to be as one dead to the world."
+
+"And the other man of mystery--who was he?"
+
+"Some child of misfortune.  He was befriended by the tinker and did
+errands for him."
+
+"He took the money to Trove that night the latter slept in the
+woods?"
+
+"And, for Darrel, returned to Thompson his own with usury.
+Thompson was the chief creditor."
+
+"With usury?"
+
+"Yes; for years it lay under the bed of Darrel.  By and by he put
+the money in a savings bank--all but a few dollars."
+
+"And why did he wait so long, before returning it?"
+
+"He tried to be rid of the money, but was unable to find Thompson.
+And Trove, he lived to repay every creditor.  Ah, sir, he was a man
+of a thousand."
+
+"That story of Darrel's in the little shop--I see--it was fact in a
+setting of fiction."
+
+"That's all it pretended to be," said the old man of the hills.
+
+"One more query," said the other.  He was now mounted.  "I know
+Darrel went to prison for the sake of the boy, but did some one set
+him free?"
+
+"His own character.  Leblanc came to love him--like the other
+prisoners--and, sir, he confessed.  I declare!--it's daylight now
+and here I am with the lantern.   Good-by, and Merry Christmas!"
+
+The other rode away, slowly, looking back at the dim glow of the
+lantern, which now, indeed, was like a symbol of the past.
+
+
+
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+
+
+
+Eben Holden
+
+A Tale of the North Country
+
+By IRVING BACHELLER.  Bound in red silk cloth, decorative cover,
+gilt top, rough edges.  Size, 5 x 7 3/4 Price, $1.50
+
+The most popular book in America.
+
+Within eight months after publication it had reached its two
+hundred and fiftieth thousand.  The most American of recent novels,
+it has indeed been hailed as the long looked for "American novel."
+
+William Dean Howells says of it: "I have read 'Eben Holden' with a
+great joy in its truth and freshness.  You have got into your book
+a kind of life not in literature before, and you have got it there
+simply and frankly.  It is 'as pure as water and as good as bread.'"
+
+Edmund Clarence Stedman says of it: "It is a forest-scented,
+fresh-aired, bracing, and wholly American story of country and town
+life."
+
+
+D'RI AND I
+
+By IRVING BACHELLER, author of "Eben Holden." Seven drawings by F.
+C. Yohn.  Red silk cloth, illustrated cover, gilt top, rough edges.
+Size, 5 1/4 x 7 3/4 Price, $1.50.  160th Thousand.
+
+THE LONDON TIMES says; "Mr. Bacheller is admirable alike in his
+scenes of peace and war.  He paints the silent woods in the fall of
+the year with the rich golden glow of the Indian summer.  He is
+eloquently poetical in the lonely watcher's contemplation of
+thousands of twinkling stars reflected from the broad bosom of the
+St. Lawrence, and he is grimly humorous in some of his dramatic
+episodes.  Nor does anything in Crane's 'Red Badge of Courage'
+bring home to us more forcibly the horrors of war than the
+between-decks and the cockpit of a crippled ship swept from stem to
+stern by the British broadsides in an action brought a entrance on
+Lake Erie."
+
+
+CANDLE LIGHT
+
+Being sundry tales and thoughts in verse.  By IRVING BACHELLER,
+author of "Eben Holden" and "D'ri and I."  Six illustrations by
+prominent illustrators.  Decorative cover, gilt top, rough edges.
+Price, $1.25, net.
+
+MR. BACHELLER'S Poems in a book very handsome in the points of
+typography, binding, and illustration is made up of a collection of
+verse ranging from dramatic incidents of peace and war to lovely
+idyllic pictures and verse read on academic occasions.  The whole
+collection is marked by virility, simplicity of manner, and genuine
+strength and feeling.  It will be widely welcomed by lovers of good
+poetry and the admirers of Mr. Bacheller's famous books of fiction.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Darrel of the Blessed Isles, by Irving Bacheller
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES ***
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