diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/mtwmn10.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/mtwmn10.txt | 7102 |
1 files changed, 7102 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/mtwmn10.txt b/old/mtwmn10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..079fce3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/mtwmn10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7102 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext of A Mountain Woman, by Elia W. Peattie +#3 in our series by Elia W. Peattie + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +A Mountain Woman + +by Elia W. Peattie + +September, 1998 [Etext #1877] + + +Project Gutenberg Etext of A Mountain Woman, by Elia W. Peattie +******This file should be named mtwmn10.txt or mtwmn10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, mtwmn11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, mtwmn10a.txt + + +This etext was prepared by Judy Boss, Omaha, NE + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, +all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a +copyright notice is included. Therefore, we do NOT keep these books +in compliance with any particular paper edition, usually otherwise. + + +We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance +of the official release dates, for time for better editing. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an +up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes +in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has +a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a +look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a +new copy has at least one byte more or less. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-two text +files per month, or 384 more Etexts in 1998 for a total of 1500+ +If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the +total should reach over 150 billion Etexts given away. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only 10% of the present number of computer users. 2001 +should have at least twice as many computer users as that, so it +will require us reaching less than 5% of the users in 2001. + + +We need your donations more than ever! + + +All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/CMU": and are +tax deductible to the extent allowable by law. (CMU = Carnegie- +Mellon University). + +For these and other matters, please mail to: + +Project Gutenberg +P. O. Box 2782 +Champaign, IL 61825 + +When all other email fails try our Executive Director: +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +We would prefer to send you this information by email +(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail). + +****** +If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please +FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives: +[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type] + +ftp uiarchive.cso.uiuc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd etext/etext90 through /etext96 +or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information] +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET INDEX?00.GUT +for a list of books +and +GET NEW GUT for general information +and +MGET GUT* for newsletters. + +**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** +(Three Pages) + + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- +tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor +Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at +Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project"). Among other +things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + net profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by Judy Boss, Omaha, NE + + + + + +Note: I have omitted signature designations and have closed +abbreviations, e.g., "do n't" becoming "don't," etc. In +addition, +I have made the following changes to the text: +PAGE LINE ORIGINAL CHANGED TO + 38 19 seem to seemed to + 47 9 beafsteak beefsteak + 56 4 divertisement divertissement + 91 19 divertisement divertissement + 155 17 scarfs. scarves. + 169 20 scarfs, scarves, + + + + + +A + +Mountain Woman + + +By +Elia Wilkinson Peattie + + + +To + +My best Friend, and kindest Critic, + +My Husband. + + + +FOREWORD. + + + + +MOST of the tales in this little book have +been printed before. "A Mountain Woman" +appeared in Harper's Weekly, as did "The +Three Johns" and "A Resuscitation." "Jim +Lancy's Waterloo" was printed in the Cosmo- +politan, "A Michigan Man" in Lippincott's, +and "Up the Gulch" in Two Tales. The +courtesy of these periodicals in permitting the +stories to be republished is cordially acknowl- +edged. + +E. W. P. + + + + +Contents + + +A MOUNTAIN WOMAN + +JIM LANCY'S WATERLOO + +THE THREE JOHNS + +A RESUSCITATION + +TWO PIONEERS + +UP THE GULCH + +A MICHIGAN MAN + +A LADY OF YESTERDAY + + + + +A Mountain Woman + +IF Leroy Brainard had not had such a +respect for literature, he would have +written a book. + +As it was, he played at being an architect +-- and succeeded in being a charming fellow. +My sister Jessica never lost an opportunity +of laughing at his endeavors as an architect. + +"You can build an enchanting villa, but +what would you do with a cathedral?" + +"I shall never have a chance at a cathe- +dral," he would reply. "And, besides, it +always seems to me so material and so im- +pertinent to build a little structure of stone +and wood in which to worship God!" + +You see what he was like? He was frivo- +lous, yet one could never tell when he would +become eloquently earnest. + +Brainard went off suddenly Westward one +day. I suspected that Jessica was at the +bottom of it, but I asked no questions; and +I did not hear from him for months. Then I +got a letter from Colorado. + +"I have married a mountain woman," he +wrote. "None of your puny breed of modern +femininity, but a remnant left over from the +heroic ages, -- a primitive woman, grand and +vast of spirit, capable of true and steadfast +wifehood. No sophistry about her; no +knowledge even that there is sophistry. +Heavens! man, do you remember the ron- +deaux and triolets I used to write to those +pretty creatures back East? It would take +a Saga man of the old Norseland to write +for my mountain woman. If I were an +artist, I would paint her with the north star +in her locks and her feet on purple cloud. +I suppose you are at the Pier. I know you +usually are at this season. At any rate, I +shall direct this letter thither, and will follow +close after it. I want my wife to see some- +thing of life. And I want her to meet your +sister." + +"Dear me!" cried Jessica, when I read +the letter to her; "I don't know that I care +to meet anything quite so gigantic as that +mountain woman. I'm one of the puny breed +of modern femininity, you know. I don't +think my nerves can stand the encounter." + +"Why, Jessica!" I protested. She blushed +a little. + +"Don't think bad of me, Victor. But, you +see, I've a little scrap-book of those triolets +upstairs." Then she burst into a peal of +irresistible laughter. "I'm not laughing +because I am piqued," she said frankly. +"Though any one will admit that it is +rather irritating to have a man who left +you in a blasted condition recover with +such extraordinary promptness. As a phi- +lanthropist, one of course rejoices, but as a +woman, Victor, it must be admitted that one +has a right to feel annoyed. But, honestly, +I am not ungenerous, and I am going to do +him a favor. I shall write, and urge him +not to bring his wife here. A primitive +woman, with the north star in her hair, +would look well down there in the Casino +eating a pineapple ice, wouldn't she? It's +all very well to have a soul, you know; but +it won't keep you from looking like a guy +among women who have good dressmakers. +I shudder at the thought of what the poor +thing will suffer if he brings her here." + +Jessica wrote, as she said she would; but, +for all that, a fortnight later she was walking +down the wharf with the "mountain woman," +and I was sauntering beside Leroy. At +dinner Jessica gave me no chance to talk +with our friend's wife, and I only caught +the quiet contralto tones of her voice now +and then contrasting with Jessica's vivacious +soprano. A drizzling rain came up from +the east with nightfall. Little groups of +shivering men and women sat about in the +parlors at the card-tables, and one blond +woman sang love songs. The Brainards +were tired with their journey, and left us +early. When they were gone, Jessica burst +into eulogy. + +"That is the first woman," she declared, +"I ever met who would make a fit heroine +for a book." + +"Then you will not feel under obligations +to educate her, as you insinuated the other +day?" + +"Educate her! I only hope she will +help me to unlearn some of the things I +know. I never saw such simplicity. It is +antique!" + +"You're sure it's not mere vacuity?" +"Victor! How can you? But you haven't +talked with her. You must to-morrow. +Good-night." She gathered up her trail- +ing skirts and started down the corridor. +Suddenly she turned back. "For Heaven's +sake!" she whispered, in an awed tone, +"I never even noticed what she had on!" + +The next morning early we made up a +riding party, and I rode with Mrs. Brainard. +She was as tall as I, and sat in her saddle +as if quite unconscious of her animal. The +road stretched hard and inviting under our +horses' feet. The wind smelled salt. The +sky was ragged with gray masses of cloud +scudding across the blue. I was beginning +to glow with exhilaration, when suddenly my +companion drew in her horse. + +"If you do not mind, we will go back," +she said. + +Her tone was dejected. I thought she +was tired. + +"Oh, no!" she protested, when I apolo- +gized for my thoughtlessness in bringing her +so far. "I'm not tired. I can ride all day. +Where I come from, we have to ride if +we want to go anywhere; but here there +seems to be no particular place to -- to +reach." + +"Are you so utilitarian?" I asked, laugh- +ingly. "Must you always have some reason +for everything you do? I do so many things +just for the mere pleasure of doing them, +I'm afraid you will have a very poor opinion +of me." + +"That is not what I mean," she said, +flushing, and turning her large gray eyes on +me. "You must not think I have a reason +for everything I do." She was very earnest, +and it was evident that she was unacquainted +with the art of making conversation. "But +what I mean," she went on, "is that there is +no place -- no end -- to reach." She looked +back over her shoulder toward the west, +where the trees marked the sky line, and an +expression of loss and dissatisfaction came +over her face. "You see," she said, apolo- +getically, "I'm used to different things -- to +the mountains. I have never been where I +could not see them before in my life." + +"Ah, I see! I suppose it is odd to look +up and find them not there." + +"It's like being lost, this not having any- +thing around you. At least, I mean," she +continued slowly, as if her thought could +not easily put itself in words, -- "I mean +it seems as if a part of the world had been +taken down. It makes you feel lonesome, +as if you were living after the world had +begun to die." + +"You'll get used to it in a few days. It +seems very beautiful to me here. And then +you will have so much life to divert you." + +"Life? But there is always that every- +where." + +"I mean men and women." + +"Oh! Still, I am not used to them. I +think I might be not -- not very happy with +them. They might think me queer. I +think I would like to show your sister the +mountains." + +"She has seen them often." + +"Oh, she told me. But I don't mean +those pretty green hills such as we saw com- +ing here. They are not like my mountains. +I like mountains that go beyond the clouds, +with terrible shadows in the hollows, and +belts of snow lying in the gorges where the +sun cannot reach, and the snow is blue in +the sunshine, or shining till you think it is +silver, and the mist so wonderful all about +it, changing each moment and drifting up +and down, that you cannot tell what name +to give the colors. These mountains of +yours here in the East are so quiet; mine +are shouting all the time, with the pines and +the rivers. The echoes are so loud in the +valley that sometimes, when the wind is +rising, we can hardly hear a man talk unless +he raises his voice. There are four cataracts +near where I live, and they all have different +voices, just as people do; and one of them +is happy -- a little white cataract -- and it falls +where the sun shines earliest, and till night +it is shining. But the others only get the +sun now and then, and they are more noisy +and cruel. One of them is always in the +shadow, and the water looks black. That +is partly because the rocks all underneath +it are black. It falls down twenty great +ledges in a gorge with black sides, and a +white mist dances all over it at every leap. +I tell father the mist is the ghost of the +waters. No man ever goes there; it is too +cold. The chill strikes through one, and +makes your heart feel as if you were dying. +But all down the side of the mountain, +toward the south and the west, the sun shines +on the granite and draws long points of +light out of it. Father tells me soldiers +marching look that way when the sun strikes +on their bayonets. Those are the kind of +mountains I mean, Mr. Grant." + +She was looking at me with her face trans- +figured, as if it, like the mountains she told +me of, had been lying in shadow, and wait- +ing for the dazzling dawn. + +"I had a terrible dream once," she went +on; "the most terrible dream ever I had. +I dreamt that the mountains had all been +taken down, and that I stood on a plain to +which there was no end. The sky was burn- +ing up, and the grass scorched brown from +the heat, and it was twisting as if it were in +pain. And animals, but no other person +save myself, only wild things, were crouch- +ing and looking up at that sky. They could +not run because there was no place to which +to go." + +"You were having a vision of the last +man," I said. "I wonder myself sometimes +whether this old globe of ours is going to +collapse suddenly and take us with her, or +whether we will disappear through slow +disastrous ages of fighting and crushing, +with hunger and blight to help us to the +end. And then, at the last, perhaps, some +luckless fellow, stronger than the rest, will +stand amid the ribs of the rotting earth and +go mad." + +The woman's eyes were fixed on me, +large and luminous. "Yes," she said; "he +would go mad from the lonesomeness of it. +He would be afraid to be left alone like that +with God. No one would want to be taken +into God's secrets." + +"And our last man," I went on, "would +have to stand there on that swaying wreck +till even the sound of the crumbling earth +ceased. And he would try to find a voice +and would fail, because silence would have +come again. And then the light would go +out --" + +The shudder that crept over her made +me stop, ashamed of myself. + +"You talk like father," she said, with a +long-drawn breath. Then she looked up +suddenly at the sun shining through a rift +in those reckless gray clouds, and put out +one hand as if to get it full of the headlong +rollicking breeze. "But the earth is not +dying," she cried. "It is well and strong, +and it likes to go round and round among +all the other worlds. It likes the sun and +moon; they are all good friends; and it +likes the people who live on it. Maybe it +is they instead of the fire within who keep +it warm; or maybe it is warm just from +always going, as we are when we run. We +are young, you and I, Mr. Grant, and Leroy, +and your beautiful sister, and the world is +young too!" Then she laughed a strong +splendid laugh, which had never had the +joy taken out of it with drawing-room re- +strictions; and I laughed too, and felt that +we had become very good companions +indeed, and found myself warming to the +joy of companionship as I had not since I +was a boy at school. + +That afternoon the four of us sat at a +table in the Casino together. The Casino, +as every one knows, is a place to amuse +yourself. If you have a duty, a mission, or +an aspiration, you do not take it there with +you, it would be so obviously out of place; +if poverty is ahead of you, you forget it; if +you have brains, you hasten to conceal them; +they would be a serious encumbrance. + +There was a bubbling of conversation, a +rustle and flutter such as there always is +where there are many women. All the +place was gay with flowers and with gowns +as bright as the flowers. I remembered the +apprehensions of my sister, and studied +Leroy's wife to see how she fitted into this +highly colored picture. She was the only +woman in the room who seemed to wear +draperies. The jaunty slash and cut of +fashionable attire were missing in the long +brown folds of cloth that enveloped her +figure. I felt certain that even from Jessica's +standpoint she could not be called a guy. +Picturesque she might be, past the point of +convention, but she was not ridiculous. + +"Judith takes all this very seriously," said +Leroy, laughingly. "I suppose she would +take even Paris seriously." + +His wife smiled over at him. "Leroy +says I am melancholy," she said, softly; +"but I am always telling him that I am +happy. He thinks I am melancholy be- +cause I do not laugh. I got out of the way +of it by being so much alone. You only +laugh to let some one else know you are +pleased. When you are alone there is no +use in laughing. It would be like explain- +ing something to yourself." + +"You are a philosopher, Judith. Mr. +Max Müller would like to know you." + +"Is he a friend of yours, dear?" + +Leroy blushed, and I saw Jessica curl +her lip as she noticed the blush. She laid +her hand on Mrs. Brainard's arm. + +"Have you always been very much +alone?" she inquired. + +"I was born on the ranch, you know; +and father was not fond of leaving it. In- +deed, now he says he will never again go +out of sight of it. But you can go a long +journey without doing that; for it lies on a +plateau in the valley, and it can be seen +from three different mountain passes. +Mother died there, and for that reason and +others -- father has had a strange life -- he +never wanted to go away. He brought a +lady from Pennsylvania to teach me. She +had wonderful learning, but she didn't +make very much use of it. I thought if I +had learning I would not waste it reading +books. I would use it to -- to live with. +Father had a library, but I never cared for +it. He was forever at books too. Of +course," she hastened to add, noticing the +look of mortification deepen on her hus- +band's face, "I like books very well if there +is nothing better at hand. But I always +said to Mrs. Windsor -- it was she who +taught me -- why read what other folk have +been thinking when you can go out and +think yourself? Of course one prefers one's +own thoughts, just as one prefers one's own +ranch, or one's own father." + +"Then you are sure to like New York +when you go there to live," cried Jessica; +"for there you will find something to make +life entertaining all the time. No one need +fall back on books there." + +"I'm not sure. I'm afraid there must be +such dreadful crowds of people. Of course +I should try to feel that they were all like +me, with just the same sort of fears, and +that it was ridiculous for us to be afraid of +each other, when at heart we all meant to +be kind." + +Jessica fairly wrung her hands. "Hea- +vens!" she cried. "I said you would like +New York. I am afraid, my dear, that it +will break your heart!" + +"Oh," said Mrs. Brainard, with what was +meant to be a gentle jest, "no one can +break my heart except Leroy. I should +not care enough about any one else, you +know." + +The compliment was an exquisite one. +I felt the blood creep to my own brain in +a sort of vicarious rapture, and I avoided +looking at Leroy lest he should dislike to +have me see the happiness he must feel. +The simplicity of the woman seemed to +invigorate me as the cool air of her moun- +tains might if it blew to me on some bright +dawn, when I had come, fevered and sick +of soul, from the city. + +When we were alone, Jessica said to me: +"That man has too much vanity, and he +thinks it is sensitiveness. He is going to +imagine that his wife makes him suffer. +There's no one so brutally selfish as your +sensitive man. He wants every one to live +according to his ideas, or he immediately +begins suffering. That friend of yours +hasn't the courage of his convictions. He +is going to be ashamed of the very qualities +that made him love his wife." + +There was a hop that night at the hotel, +quite an unusual affair as to elegance, given +in honor of a woman from New York, who +wrote a novel a month. + +Mrs. Brainard looked so happy that night +when she came in the parlor, after the +music had begun, that I felt a moisture +gather in my eyes just because of the beauty +of her joy, and the forced vivacity of the +women about me seemed suddenly coarse +and insincere. Some wonderful red stones, +brilliant as rubies, glittered in among the +diaphanous black driftings of her dress. +She asked me if the stones were not very +pretty, and said she gathered them in one +of her mountain river-beds. + +"But the gown?" I said. "Surely, you +do not gather gowns like that in river-beds, +or pick them off mountain-pines?" + +"But you can get them in Denver. Father +always sent to Denver for my finery. He +was very particular about how I looked. +You see, I was all he had --" She broke +off, her voice faltering. + +"Come over by the window," I said, to +change her thought. "I have something to +repeat to you. It is a song of Sydney +Lanier's. I think he was the greatest poet +that ever lived in America, though not +many agree with me. But he is my dear +friend anyway, though he is dead, and I +never saw him; and I want you to hear +some of his words." + +I led her across to an open window. The +dancers were whirling by us. The waltz +was one of those melancholy ones which +speak the spirit of the dance more elo- +quently than any merry melody can. The +sound of the sea booming beyond in the +darkness came to us, and long paths of +light, now red, now green, stretched toward +the distant light-house. These were the +lines I repeated: -- + + +"What heartache -- ne'er a hill! +Inexorable, vapid, vague, and chill +The drear sand levels drain my spirit low. +With one poor word they tell me all they know; +Whereat their stupid tongues, to tease my pain, +Do drawl it o'er and o'er again. +They hurt my heart with griefs I cannot name; + Always the same -- the same." + + +But I got no further. I felt myself moved +with a sort of passion which did not seem to +come from within, but to be communicated +to me from her. A certain unfamiliar hap- +piness pricked through with pain thrilled +me, and I heard her whispering, -- + +"Do not go on, do not go on! I cannot +stand it to-night!" + +"Hush," I whispered back; "come out +for a moment!" We stole into the dusk +without, and stood there trembling. I +swayed with her emotion. There was a +long silence. Then she said: "Father may +be walking alone now by the black cataract. +That is where he goes when he is sad. I +can see how lonely he looks among those +little twisted pines that grow from the rock. +And he will be remembering all the evenings +we walked there together, and all the things +we said." I did not answer. Her eyes +were still on the sea. + +"What was the name of the man who +wrote that verse you just said to me?" + +I told her. + +"And he is dead? Did they bury him +in the mountains? No? I wish I could +have put him where he could have heard +those four voices calling down the canyon." + +"Come back in the house," I said; "you +must come, indeed," I said, as she shrank +from re-entering. + +Jessica was dancing like a fairy with Le- +roy. They both saw us and smiled as we +came in, and a moment later they joined us. +I made my excuses and left my friends to +Jessica's care. She was a sort of social +tyrant wherever she was, and I knew one +word from her would insure the popularity +of our friends -- not that they needed the +intervention of any one. Leroy had been +a sort of drawing-room pet since before he +stopped wearing knickerbockers. + +"He is at his best in a drawing-room," +said Jessica, "because there he deals with +theory and not with action. And he has +such beautiful theories that the women, who +are all idealists, adore him." + +The next morning I awoke with a con- +viction that I had been idling too long. I +went back to the city and brushed the dust +from my desk. Then each morning, I, as +Jessica put it, "formed public opinion" +to the extent of one column a day in the +columns of a certain enterprising morning +journal. + +Brainard said I had treated him shabbily +to leave upon the heels of his coming. But +a man who works for his bread and butter +must put a limit to his holiday. It is dif- +ferent when you only work to add to your +general picturesqueness. That is what I +wrote Leroy, and it was the unkindest thing +I ever said to him; and why I did it I do +not know to this day. I was glad, though, +when he failed to answer the letter. It gave +me a more reasonable excuse for feeling +out of patience with him. + +The days that followed were very dull. +It was hard to get back into the way of +working. I was glad when Jessica came +home to set up our little establishment and +to join in the autumn gayeties. Brainard +brought his wife to the city soon after, and +went to housekeeping in an odd sort of a +way. + +"I couldn't see anything in the place save +curios," Jessica reported, after her first call +on them. "I suppose there is a cooking- +stove somewhere, and maybe even a pantry +with pots in it. But all I saw was Alaska +totems and Navajo blankets. They have +as many skins around on the floor and +couches as would have satisfied an ancient +Briton. And everybody was calling there. +You know Mr. Brainard runs to curios in +selecting his friends as well as his furniture. +The parlors were full this afternoon of ab- +normal people, that is to say, with folks one +reads about. I was the only one there who +hadn't done something. I guess it's be- +cause I am too healthy." + +"How did Mrs. Brainard like such a +motley crew?" + +"She was wonderful -- perfectly wonder- +ful! Those insulting creatures were all +studying her, and she knew it. But her +dignity was perfect, and she looked as proud +as a Sioux chief. She listened to every one, +and they all thought her so bright." + +"Brainard must have been tremendously +proud of her." + +"Oh, he was -- of her and his Chilcat +portières." + +Jessica was there often, but -- well, I was +busy. At length, however, I was forced to +go. Jessica refused to make any further +excuses for me. The rooms were filled with +small celebrities. + +"We are the only nonentities," whispered +Jessica, as she looked around; "it will make +us quite distinguished." + +We went to speak to our hostess. She +stood beside her husband, looking taller +than ever; and her face was white. Her +long red gown of clinging silk was so pe- +culiar as to give one the impression that she +was dressed in character. It was easy to +tell that it was one of Leroy's fancies. I +hardly heard what she said, but I know she +reproached me gently for not having been +to see them. I had no further word with +her till some one led her to the piano, and +she paused to say, -- + +"That poet you spoke of to me -- the one +you said was a friend of yours -- he is my +friend now too, and I have learned to sing +some of his songs. I am going to sing one +now." She seemed to have no timidity at +all, but stood quietly, with a half smile, +while a young man with a Russian name +played a strange minor prelude. Then she +sang, her voice a wonderful contralto, cold at +times, and again lit up with gleams of pas- +sion. The music itself was fitful, now full +of joy, now tender, and now sad: + + +"Look off, dear love, across the sallow sands, + And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea, +How long they kiss in sight of all the lands, + Ah! longer, longer we." + + +"She has a genius for feeling, hasn't +she?" Leroy whispered to me. + +"A genius for feeling!" I repeated, +angrily. "Man, she has a heart and a soul +and a brain, if that is what you mean! I +shouldn't think you would be able to look +at her from the standpoint of a critic." + +Leroy shrugged his shoulders and went +off. For a moment I almost hated him for +not feeling more resentful. I felt as if he +owed it to his wife to take offence at my +foolish speech. + +It was evident that the "mountain woman" +had become the fashion. I read reports in +the papers about her unique receptions. I +saw her name printed conspicuously among +the list of those who attended all sorts of +dinners and musicales and evenings among +the set that affected intellectual pursuits. +She joined a number of women's clubs of +an exclusive kind. + +"She is doing whatever her husband tells +her to," said Jessica. "Why, the other day +I heard her ruining her voice on 'Siegfried'!" + +But from day to day I noticed a difference +in her. She developed a terrible activity. +She took personal charge of the affairs of +her house; she united with Leroy in keep- +ing the house filled with guests; she got +on the board of a hospital for little children, +and spent a part of every day among the +cots where the sufferers lay. Now and then +when we spent a quiet evening alone with +her and Leroy, she sewed continually on +little white night-gowns for these poor babies. +She used her carriage to take the most ex- +traordinary persons riding. + +"In the cause of health," Leroy used to +say, "I ought to have the carriage fumi- +gated after every ride Judith takes, for she +is always accompanied by some one who looks +as if he or she should go into quarantine." + +One night, when he was chaffing her in +this way, she flung her sewing suddenly +from her and sprang to her feet, as if she +were going to give way to a burst of girlish +temper. Instead of that, a stream of tears +poured from her eyes, and she held out her +trembling hands toward Jessica. + +"He does not know," she sobbed. "He +cannot understand." + +One memorable day Leroy hastened over +to us while we were still at breakfast to say +that Judith was ill, -- strangely ill. All night +long she had been muttering to herself as if +in a delirium. Yet she answered lucidly all +questions that were put to her. + +"She begs for Miss Grant. She says +over and over that she 'knows,' whatever +that may mean." + +When Jessica came home she told me she +did not know. She only felt that a tumult +of impatience was stirring in her friend. + +"There is something majestic about her, -- +something epic. I feel as if she were mak- +ing me live a part in some great drama, the +end of which I cannot tell. She is suffering, +but I cannot tell why she suffers." + +Weeks went on without an abatement in +this strange illness. She did not keep her +bed. Indeed, she neglected few of her usual +occupations. But her hands were burning, +and her eyes grew bright with that wild +sort of lustre one sees in the eyes of those +who give themselves up to strange drugs or +manias. She grew whimsical, and formed +capricious friendships, only to drop them. + +And then one day she closed her house +to all acquaintances, and sat alone continu- +ally in her room, with her hands clasped +in her lap, and her eyes swimming with the +emotions that never found their way to her +tongue. + +Brainard came to the office to talk with +me about her one day. "I am a very miser- +able man, Grant," he said. "I am afraid I +have lost my wife's regard. Oh, don't tell me +it is partly my fault. I know it well enough. +And I know you haven't had a very good +opinion of me lately. But I am remorseful +enough now, God knows. And I would give +my life to see her as she was when I found +her first among the mountains. Why, she +used to climb them like a strong man, and +she was forever shouting and singing. And +she had peopled every spot with strange +modern mythological creatures. Her father +is an old dreamer, and she got the trick from +him. They had a little telescope on a great +knoll in the centre of the valley, just where +it commanded a long path of stars, and they +used to spend nights out there when the +frost literally fell in flakes. When I think +how hardy and gay she was, how full of +courage and life, and look at her now, so +feverish and broken, I feel as if I should go +mad. You know I never meant to do her +any harm. Tell me that much, Grant." + +"I think you were very egotistical for a +while, Brainard, and that is a fact. And +you didn't appreciate how much her nature +demanded. But I do not think you are re- +sponsible for your wife's present condition. +If there is any comfort in that statement, +you are welcome to it." + +"But you don't mean --" he got no +further. + +"I mean that your wife may have her +reservations, just as we all have, and I am +paying her high praise when I say it. You +are not so narrow, Leroy, as to suppose for +a moment that the only sort of passion a +woman is capable of is that which she enter- +tains for a man. How do I know what +is going on in your wife's soul? But it is +nothing which even an idealist of women, +such as I am, old fellow, need regret." + +How glad I was afterward that I spoke +those words. They exercised a little re- +straint, perhaps, on Leroy when the day +of his terrible trial came. They made him +wrestle with the demon of suspicion that +strove to possess him. I was sitting in my +office, lagging dispiritedly over my work +one day, when the door burst open and +Brainard stood beside me. Brainard, I say, +and yet in no sense the man I had known, +-- not a hint in this pale creature, whose +breath struggled through chattering teeth, +and whose hands worked in uncontrollable +spasms, of the nonchalant elegant I had +known. Not a glimpse to be seen in those +angry and determined eyes of the gayly +selfish spirit of my holiday friend. + +"She's gone!" he gasped. "Since yes- +terday. And I'm here to ask you what +you think now? And what you know." + +A panorama of all shameful possibilities +for one black moment floated before me. +I remember this gave place to a wave, cold +as death, that swept from head to foot; +then Brainard's hands fell heavily on my +shoulders. + +"Thank God at least for this much," he +said, hoarsely; "I didn't know at first but +I had lost both friend and wife. But I see +you know nothing. And indeed in my +heart I knew all the time that you did not. +Yet I had to come to you with my anger. +And I remembered how you defended her. +What explanation can you offer now?" + +I got him to sit down after a while and +tell me what little there was to tell. He +had been away for a day's shooting, and +when he returned he found only the per- +plexed servants at home. A note was left +for him. He showed it to me. + +"There are times," it ran, "when we must +do as we must, not as we would. I am go- +ing to do something I have been driven to +do since I left my home. I do not leave +any message of love for you, because you +would not care for it from a woman so weak +as I. But it is so easy for you to be happy +that I hope in a little while you will forget +the wife who yielded to an influence past +resisting. It may be madness, but I am +not great enough to give it up. I tried to +make the sacrifice, but I could not. I tried +to be as gay as you, and to live your sort of +life; but I could not do it. Do not make +the effort to forgive me. You will be hap- +pier if you simply hold me in the contempt +I deserve." + +I read the letter over and over. I do not +know that I believe that the spirit of inani- +mate things can permeate to the intelligence +of man. I am sure I always laughed at +such ideas. Yet holding that note with its +shameful seeming words, I felt a conscious- +ness that it was written in purity and love. +And then before my eyes there came a scene +so vivid that for a moment the office with its +familiar furniture was obliterated. What I +saw was a long firm road, green with mid- +summer luxuriance. The leisurely thudding +of my horse's feet sounded in my ears. Be- +side me was a tall, black-robed figure. I +saw her look back with that expression of +deprivation at the sky line. "It's like liv- +ing after the world has begun to die," said +the pensive minor voice. "It seems as if +part of the world had been taken down." + +"Brainard," I yelled, "come here! I +have it. Here's your explanation. I can +show you a new meaning for every line of +this letter. Man, she has gone to the moun- +tains. She has gone to worship her own +gods!" + +Two weeks later I got a letter from Brain- +ard, dated from Colorado. + +"Old man," it said, "you're right. She +is here. I found my mountain woman here +where the four voices of her cataracts had +been calling to her. I saw her the moment +our mules rounded the road that commands +the valley. We had been riding all night +and were drenched with cold dew, hungry +to desperation, and my spirits were of lead. +Suddenly we got out from behind the gran- +ite wall, and there she was, standing, where I +had seen her so often, beside the little water- +fall that she calls the happy one. She was +looking straight up at the billowing mist +that dipped down the mountain, mammoth +saffron rolls of it, plunging so madly from +the impetus of the wind that one marvelled +how it could be noiseless. Ah, you do not +know Judith! That strange, unsophisti- +cated, sometimes awkward woman you saw +bore no more resemblance to my mountain +woman than I to Hercules. How strong and +beautiful she looked standing there wrapped +in an ecstasy! It was my primitive woman +back in her primeval world. How the blood +leaped in me! All my old romance, so dif- +ferent from the common love-histories of +most men, was there again within my reach! +All the mystery, the poignant happiness +were mine again. Do not hold me in con- +tempt because I show you my heart. You +saw my misery. Why should I grudge you +a glimpse of my happiness? She saw me +when I touched her hand, not before, so +wrapped was she. But she did not seem +surprised. Only in her splendid eyes there +came a large content. She pointed to the +dancing little white fall. 'I thought some- +thing wonderful was going to happen,' she +whispered, 'for it has been laughing so.' + +"I shall not return to New York. I am +going to stay here with my mountain wo- +man, and I think perhaps I shall find out +what life means here sooner than I would +back there with you. I shall learn to see +large things large and small things small. +Judith says to tell you and Miss Grant that +the four voices are calling for you every +day in the valley. + +"Yours in fullest friendship, + +"LEROY BRAINARD." + + + +Jim Lancy's Waterloo + + +"WE must get married before time to put +in crops," he wrote. "We must make +a success of the farm the first year, for luck. +Could you manage to be ready to come out +West by the last of February? After March +opens there will be no let-up, and I do not +see how I could get away. Make it Febru- +ary, Annie dear. A few weeks more or less +can make no difference to you, but they +make a good deal of difference to me." + +The woman to whom this was written read +it with something like anger. "I don't be- +lieve he's so impatient for me!" she said +to herself. "What he wants is to get the +crops in on time." But she changed the date +of their wedding, and made it February. + +Their wedding journey was only from +the Illinois village where she lived to their +Nebraska farm. They had never been much +together, and they had much to say to each +other. + +"Farming won't come hard to you," Jim +assured her. "All one needs to farm with +is brains." + +"What a success you'll make of it!" she +cried saucily. + +"I wish I had my farm clear," Jim went +on; "but that's more than any one has +around me. I'm no worse off than the rest. +We've got to pay off the mortgage, Annie." + +"Of course we must. We'll just do with- +out till we get the mortgage lifted. Hard +work will do anything, I guess. And I'm +not afraid to work, Jim, though I've never +had much experience." + +Jim looked out of the window a long time, +at the gentle undulations of the brown Iowa +prairie. His eyes seemed to pierce beneath +the sod, to the swelling buds of the yet +invisible grass. He noticed how disdain- +fully the rains of the new year beat down +the grasses of the year that was gone. It +opened to his mind a vision of the season's +possibilities. For a moment, even amid +the smoke of the car, he seemed to scent +clover, and hear the stiff swishing of the +corn and the dull burring of the bees. + +"I wish sometimes," he said, leaning for- +ward to look at his bride, "that I had been +born something else than a farmer. But I +can no more help farming, Annie, than a +bird can help singing, or a bee making +honey. I didn't take to farming. I was +simply born with a hoe in my hand." + +"I don't know a blessed thing about it," +Annie confessed. "But I made up my +mind that a farm with you was better than +a town without you. That's all there is to +it, as far as I am concerned." + +Jim Lancy slid his arm softly about her +waist, unseen by the other passengers. +Annie looked up apprehensively, to see if +any one was noticing. But they were +eating their lunches. It was a common +coach on which they were riding. There +was a Pullman attached to the train, and +Annie had secretly thought that, as it was +their wedding journey, it might be more +becoming to take it. But Jim had made +no suggestion about it. What he said later +explained the reason. + +"I would have liked to have brought you +a fine present," he said. "It seemed shabby +to come with nothing but that little ring. +But I put everything I had on our home, +you know. And yet, I'm sure you'll think +it poor enough after what you've been used +to. You'll forgive me for only bringing the +ring, my dear?" + +"But you brought me something better," +Annie whispered. She was a foolish little +girl. "You brought me love, you know." +Then they rode in silence for a long time. +Both of them were new to the phraseology +of love. Their simple compliments to each +other were almost ludicrous. But any one +who might have chanced to overhear them +would have been charmed, for they betrayed +an innocence as beautiful as an unclouded +dawn. + +Annie tried hard not to be depressed +by the treeless stretches of the Nebraska +plains. + +"This is different from Illinois," she +ventured once, gently; "it is even different +from Iowa." + +"Yes, yes," cried Jim, enthusiastically, "it +is different! It is the finest country in the +world! You never feel shut in. You can +always see off. I feel at home after I get +in Nebraska. I'd choke back where you +live, with all those little gullies and the trees +everywhere. It's a mystery to me how +farmers have patience to work there." + +Annie opened her eyes. There was evi- +dently more than one way of looking at a +question. The farm-houses seemed very +low and mean to her, as she looked at them +from the window. There were no fences, +excepting now and then the inhospitable +barbed wire. The door-yards were bleak to +her eyes, without the ornamental shrubbery +which every farmer in her part of the country +was used to tending. The cattle stood un- +shedded in their corrals. The reapers and +binders stood rusting in the dull drizzle. + +"How shiftless!" cried Annie, indignantly. +"What do these men mean by letting their +machinery lie out that way? I should think +one winter of lying out would hurt it more +than three summers of using." + +"It does. But sheds are not easily had. +Lumber is dear." + +"But I should think it would be economy +even then." + +"Yes," he said, "perhaps. But we all do +that way out here. It takes some money for +a man to be economical with. Some of us +haven't even that much." + +There was a six-mile ride from the station. +The horses were waiting, hitched up to a +serviceable light wagon, and driven by the +"help." He was a thin young man, with +red hair, and he blushed vicariously for Jim +and Annie, who were really too entertained +with each other, and at the idea of the new +life opening up before them, to think any- +thing about blushing. At the station, a +number of men insisted on shaking hands +with Jim, and being introduced to his wife. +They were all bearded, as if shaving were +an unnecessary labor, and their trousers were +tucked in dusty top-boots, none of which +had ever seen blacking. Annie had a sense +of these men seeming unwashed, or as if +they had slept in their clothes. But they +had kind voices, and their eyes were very +friendly. So she shook hands with them all +with heartiness, and asked them to drive out +and bring their womenkind. + +"I am going to make up my mind not +to be lonesome," she declared; "but, all the +same, I shall want to see some women." + +Annie had got safe on the high seat of +the wagon, and was balancing her little feet +on the inclined foot-rest, when a woman +came running across the street, calling +aloud, -- + +"Mr. Lancy! Mr. Lancy! You're not +going to drive away without introducing +me to your wife!" + +She was a thin little woman, with move- +ments as nervous and as graceless as those of +a grasshopper. Her dun-colored garments +seemed to have all the hue bleached out of +them with wind and weather. Her face was +brown and wrinkled, and her bright eyes +flashed restlessly, deep in their sockets. Two +front teeth were conspicuously missing; and +her faded hair was blown in wisps about +her face. Jim performed the introduction, +and Annie held out her hand. It was a +pretty hand, delicately gloved in dove color. +The woman took it in her own, and after +she had shaken it, held it for a silent mo- +ment, looking at it. Then she almost threw +it from her. The eyes which she lifted +to scan the bright young face above her +had something like agony in them. Annie +blushed under this fierce scrutiny, and the +woman, suddenly conscious of her demeanor, +forced a smile to her lips. + +"I'll come out an' see yeh," she said, in +cordial tones. "May be, as a new house- +keeper, you'll like a little advice. You've a +nice place, an' I wish yeh luck." + +"Thank you. I'm sure I'll need advice," +cried Annie, as they drove off. Then she +said to Jim, "Who is that old woman?" + +"Old woman? Why, she ain't a day over +thirty, Mis' Dundy ain't." + +Annie looked at her husband blankly. +But he was already talking of something +else, and she asked no more about the +woman, though all the way along the road +the face seemed to follow her. It might +have been this that caused the tightening +about her heart. For some way her vivacity +had gone; and the rest of the ride she asked +no questions, but sat looking straight before +her at the northward stretching road, with +eyes that felt rather than saw the brown, +bare undulations, rising every now and then +clean to the sky; at the side, little famished- +looking houses, unacquainted with paint, +disorderly yards, and endless reaches of +furrowed ground, where in summer the corn +had waved. + +The horses needed no indication of the +line to make them turn up a smooth bit of +road that curved away neatly 'mid the ragged +grasses. At the end of it, in a clump of +puny scrub oaks, stood a square little house, +in uncorniced simplicity, with blank, uncur- +tained windows staring out at Annie, and for +a moment her eyes, blurred with the cold, +seemed to see in one of them the despairing +face of the woman with the wisps of faded +hair blowing about her face. + +"Well, what do you think of it?" Jim +cried, heartily, swinging her down from her +high seat, and kissing her as he did so. +"This is your home, my girl, and you are as +welcome to it as you would be to a palace, +if I could give it to you." + +Annie put up her hands to hide the trem- +bling of her lips; and she let Jim see there +were tears in her eyes as an apology for not +replying. The young man with the red hair +took away the horses, and Jim, with his arm +around his wife's waist, ran toward the house +and threw open the door for her to enter. +The intense heat of two great stoves struck +in their faces; and Annie saw the big burner, +erected in all its black hideousness in the +middle of the front room, like a sort of +household hoodoo, to be constantly propi- +tiated, like the gods of Greece; and in the +kitchen, the new range, with a distracted +tea-kettle leaping on it, as if it would like +to loose its fetters and race away over the +prairie after its cousin, the locomotive. + +It was a house of four rooms, and a +glance revealed the fact that it had been +provided with the necessaries. + +"I think we can be very comfortable +here," said Jim, rather doubtfully. + +Annie saw she must make some response. +"I am sure we can be more than comfort- +able, Jim," she replied. "We can be happy. +Show me, if you please, where my room +is. I must hang my cloak up in the right +place so that I shall feel as if I were getting +settled." + +It was enough. Jim had no longer any +doubts. He felt sure they were going to be +happy ever afterward. + +It was Annie who got the first meal; she +insisted on it, though both the men wanted +her to rest. And Jim hadn't the heart to +tell her that, as a general thing, it would +not do to put two eggs in the corn-cake, +and that the beefsteak was a great luxury. +When he saw her about to break an egg for +the coffee, however, he interfered. + +"The shells of the ones you used for the +cake will settle the coffee just as well," he +said. "You see we have to be very careful +of eggs out here at this season." + +"Oh! Will the shells really settle it? +This is what you must call prairie lore. +I suppose out here we find out what the +real relations of invention and necessity +are -- eh?" + +Jim laughed disproportionately. He +thought her wonderfully witty. And he +and the help ate so much that Annie +opened her eyes. She had thought there +would be enough left for supper. But +there was nothing left. + +For the next two weeks Jim was able to be +much with her; and they amused themselves +by decorating the house with the bright +curtainings that Annie had brought, and +putting up shelves for a few pieces of china. +She had two or three pictures, also, which +had come from her room in her old home, +and some of those useless dainty things with +which some women like to litter the room. + +"Most folks," Jim explained, "have to be +content with one fire, and sit in the kitchen; +but I thought, as this was our honeymoon, +we would put on some lugs." + +Annie said nothing then; but a day or +two after she ventured, -- + +"Perhaps it would be as well now, dear, +if we kept in the kitchen. I'll keep it as +bright and pleasant as I can. And, any- +way, you can be more about with me when +I'm working then. We'll lay a fire in the +front-room stove, so that we can light it if +anybody comes. We can just as well save +that much." + +Jim looked up brightly. "All right," he +said. "You're a sensible little woman. +You see, every cent makes a difference. +And I want to be able to pay off five +hundred dollars of that mortgage this +year." + +So, after that, they sat in the kitchen; and +the fire was laid in the front room, against +the coming of company. But no one came, +and it remained unlighted. + +Then the season began to show signs of +opening, -- bleak signs, hardly recognizable +to Annie; and after that Jim was not much +in the house. The weeks wore on, and +spring came at last, dancing over the hills. +The ground-birds began building, and at +four each morning awoke Annie with their +sylvan opera. The creek that ran just at +the north of the house worked itself into a +fury and blustered along with much noise +toward the great Platte which, miles away, +wallowed in its vast sandy bed. The hills +flushed from brown to yellow, and from +mottled green to intensest emerald, and in +the superb air all the winds of heaven +seemed to meet and frolic with laughter +and song. + +Sometimes the mornings were so beauti- +ful that, the men being afield and Annie all +alone, she gave herself up to an ecstasy and +kneeled by the little wooden bench outside +the door, to say, "Father, I thank Thee," +and then went about her work with all the +poem of nature rhyming itself over and over +in her heart. + +It was on such a day as this that Mrs. +Dundy kept her promise and came over to +see if the young housekeeper needed any of +the advice she had promised her. She had +walked, because none of the horses could be +spared. It had got so warm now that the +fire in the kitchen heated the whole house +sufficiently, and Annie had the rooms clean +to exquisiteness. Mrs. Dundy looked about +with envious eyes. + +"How lovely!" she said. + +"Do you think so?" cried Annie, in sur- +prise. "I like it, of course, because it is +home, but I don't see how you could call +anything here lovely." + +"Oh, you don't understand," her visitor +went on. "It's lovely because it looks so +happy. Some of us have -- well, kind o' +lost our grip." + +"It's easy to do that if you don't feel +well," Annie remarked sympathetically. "I +haven't felt as well as usual myself, lately. +And I do get lonesome and wonder what +good it does to fix up every day when there +is no one to see. But that is all nonsense, +and I put it out of my head." + +She smoothed out the clean lawn apron +with delicate touch. Mrs. Dundy followed +the movement with her eyes. + +"Oh, my dear," she cried, "you don't +know nothin' about it yet! But you will +know! You will!" and those restless, hot +eyes of hers seemed to grow more restless +and more hot as they looked with infinite +pity at the young woman before her. + +Annie thought of these words often as the +summer came on, and the heat grew. Jim +was seldom to be seen now. He was up at +four each morning, and the last chore was +not completed till nine at night. Then he +threw himself in bed and lay there log-like +till dawn. He was too weary to talk much, +and Annie, with her heart aching for his +fatigue, forbore to speak to him. She +cooked the most strengthening things she +could, and tried always to look fresh and +pleasant when he came in. But she often +thought her pains were in vain, for he hardly +rested his sunburned eyes on her. His skin +got so brown that his face was strangely +changed, especially as he no longer had +time to shave, and had let a rough beard +straggle over his cheeks and chin. On +Sundays Annie would have liked to go to +church, but the horses were too tired to be +taken out, and she did not feel well enough +to walk far; besides, Jim got no particular +good out of walking over the hills unless +he had a plough in his hand. + +Harvest came at length, and the crop was +good. There were any way from three to +twenty men at the house then, and Annie +cooked for all of them. Jim had tried to +get some one to help her, but he had not +succeeded. Annie strove to be brave, re- +membering that farm-women all over the +country were working in similar fashion. +But in spite of all she could do, the days +got to seem like nightmares, and sleep be- +tween was but a brief pause in which she was +always dreaming of water, and thinking that +she was stooping to put fevered lips to a +running brook. Some of these men were +very disgusting to Annie. Their manners +were as bad as they could well be, and a +coarse word came naturally to their lips. + +"To be master of the soil, that is one +thing," said she to herself in sickness of +spirit; "but to be the slave of it is another. +These men seem to have got their souls all +covered with muck." She noticed that +they had no idea of amusement. They had +never played anything. They did not even +care for base-ball. Their idea of happiness +appeared to be to do nothing; and there was +a good part of the year in which they were +happy, -- for these were not for the most +part men owning farms; they were men +who hired out to help the farmer. A good +many of them had been farmers at one time +and another, but they had failed. They all +talked politics a great deal, -- politics and rail- +roads. Annie had not much patience with +it all. She had great confidence in the +course of things. She believed that in this +country all men have a fair chance. So +when it came about that the corn and the +wheat, which had been raised with such +incessant toil, brought them no money, but +only a loss, Annie stood aghast. + +"I said the rates were ruinous," Jim said +to her one night, after it was all over, and +he had found out that the year's slavish +work had brought him a loss of three +hundred dollars; "it's been a conspiracy +from the first. The price of corn is all +right. But by the time we set it down in +Chicago we are out eighteen cents a bushel. +It means ruin. What are we going to do? +Here we had the best crop we've had for +years -- but what's the use of talking! +They have us in their grip." + +"I don't see how it is," Annie protested. +"I should think it would be for the inter- +est of the roads to help the people to be as +prosperous as possible." + +"Oh, we can't get out! And we're +bound to stay and raise grain. And they're +bound to cart it. And that's all there is to +it. They force us to stand every loss, even +to the shortage that is made in transportation. +The railroad companies own the elevators, +and they have the cinch on us. Our grain +is at their mercy. God knows how I'm +going to raise that interest. As for the five +hundred we were going to pay on the mort- +gage this year, Annie, we're not in it." + +Autumn was well set in by this time, and +the brilliant cold sky hung over the prairies +as young and fresh as if the world were not +old and tired. Annie no longer could look +as trim as when she first came to the little +house. Her pretty wedding garments were +beginning to be worn and there was no +money for more. Jim would not play chess +now of evenings. He was forever writing +articles for the weekly paper in the adjoin- +ing town. They talked of running him for +the state legislature, and he was anxious +for the nomination. + +"I think I might be able to stand it if I +could fight 'em!" he declared; "but to sit +here idle, knowing that I have been cheated +out of my year's work, just as much as if I +had been knocked down on the road and +the money taken from me, is enough to +send me to the asylum with a strait-jacket +on!" + +Life grew to take on tragic aspects. Annie +used to find herself wondering if anywhere +in the world there were people with light +hearts. For her there was no longer antici- +pation of joy, or present companionship, or +any divertissement in the whole world. Jim +read books which she did not understand, +and with a few of his friends, who dropped +in now and then evenings or Sundays, talked +about these books in an excited manner. + +She would go to her room to rest, and +lying there in the darkness on the bed, +would hear them speaking together, some- +times all at once, in those sternly vindictive +tones men use when there is revolt in their +souls. + +"It is the government which is helping +to impoverish us," she would hear Jim +saying. "Work is money. That is to +say, it is the active form of money. The +wealth of a country is estimated by its +power of production. And its power of +production means work. It means there +are so many men with so much capacity. +Now the government owes it to these men +to have money enough to pay them for +their work; and if there is not enough +money in circulation to pay to each man for +his honest and necessary work, then I say +that government is in league with crime. +It is trying to make defaulters of us. It has +a hundred ways of cheating us. When I +bought this farm and put the mortgage on +it, a day's work would bring twice the +results it will now. That is to say, the +total at the end of the year showed my +profits to be twice what they would be +now, even if the railway did not stand in +the way to rob us of more than we earn. +So that it will take just twice as many +days' work now to pay off this mortgage +as it would have done at the time it was +contracted. It's a conspiracy, I tell you! +Those Eastern capitalists make a science of +ruining us." + +He got more eloquent as time went on, +and Annie, who had known him first as +rather a careless talker, was astonished at +the boldness of his language. But conver- +sation was a lost art with him. He no +longer talked. He harangued. + +In the early spring Annie's baby was +born, -- a little girl with a nervous cry, who +never slept long at a time, and who seemed +to wail merely from distaste at living. It +was Mrs. Dundy who came over to look +after the house till Annie got able to do so. +Her eyes had that fever in them, as ever. +She talked but little, but her touch on +Annie's head was more eloquent than words. +One day Annie asked for the glass, and +Mrs. Dundy gave it to her. She looked in +it a long time. The color was gone from +her cheeks, and about her mouth there was +an ugly tightening. But her eyes flashed +and shone with that same -- no, no, it could +not be that in her face also was coming the +look of half-madness! She motioned Mrs. +Dundy to come to her. + +"You knew it was coming," she said, +brokenly, pointing to the reflection in the +glass. "That first day, you knew how it +would be." + +Mrs. Dundy took the glass away with a +gentle hand. + +"How could I help knowing?" she said +simply. She went into the next room, and +when she returned Annie noticed that the +handkerchief stuck in her belt was wet, as +if it had been wept on. + +A woman cannot stay long away from +her home on a farm at planting time, even +if it is a case of life and death. Mrs. Dundy +had to go home, and Annie crept about +her work with the wailing baby in her arms. +The house was often disorderly now; but +it could not be helped. The baby had to +be cared for. It fretted so much that Jim +slept apart in the mow of the barn, that his +sleep might not be disturbed. It was a +pleasant, dim place, full of sweet scents, and +he liked to be there alone. Though he had +always been an unusual worker, he worked +now more like a man who was fighting off +fate, than a mere toiler for bread. + +The corn came up beautifully, and far as +the eye could reach around their home it +tossed its broad green leaves with an ocean- +like swelling of sibilant sound. Jim loved +it with a sort of passion. Annie loved it, +too. Sometimes, at night, when her fatigue +was unbearable, and her irritation wearing +out both body and soul, she took her little +one in her arms and walked among the +corn, letting its rustling soothe the baby to +sleep. + +The heat of the summer was terrible. +The sun came up in that blue sky like a +curse, and hung there till night came to +comfort the blistering earth. And one +morning a terrible thing happened. Annie +was standing out of doors in the shade of +those miserable little oaks, ironing, when +suddenly a blast of air struck her in the +face, which made her look up startled. For +a moment she thought, perhaps, there was +a fire near in the grass. But there was none. +Another blast came, hotter this time, and +fifteen minutes later that wind was sweep- +ing straight across the plain, burning and +blasting. Annie went in the house to finish +her ironing, and was working there, when +she heard Jim's footstep on the door-sill. +He could not pale because of the tan, but +there was a look of agony and of anger -- +almost brutish anger -- in his eyes. Then +he looked, for a moment, at Annie standing +there working patiently, and rocking the +little crib with one foot, and he sat down on +the door-step and buried his face in his +brown arms. + +The wind blew for three days. At the +end of that time every ear was withered in +the stalk. The corn crop was ruined. + +But there were the other crops which +must be attended to, and Jim watched those +with the alertness of a despairing man; and +so harvest came again, and again the house +was filled with men who talked their careless +talk, and who were not ashamed to gorge +while this one woman cooked for them. +The baby lay on a quilt on the floor in the +coolest part of the kitchen. Annie fed it +irregularly. Sometimes she almost forgot +it. As for its wailing, she had grown so +used to it that she hardly heard it, any +more than she did the ticking of the clock. +And yet, tighter than anything else in life, +was the hold that little thing had on her +heart-strings. At night, after the intermin- +able work had been finished -- though in +slovenly fashion -- she would take it up and +caress it with fierceness, and worn as she +was, would bathe it and soothe it, and give +it warm milk from the big tin pail. + +"Lay the child down," Jim would say +impatiently, while the men would tell how +their wives always put the babies on the +bed and let them cry if they wanted to. +Annie said nothing, but she hushed the +little one with tender songs. + +One day, as usual, it lay on its quilt +while Annie worked. It was a terribly busy +morning. She had risen at four to get the +washing out of the way before the men got +on hand, and there were a dozen loaves of +bread to bake, and the meals to get, and +the milk to attend to, and the chickens and +pigs to feed. So occupied was she that she +never was able to tell how long she was +gone from the baby. She only knew that +the heat of her own body was so great that +the blood seemed to be pounding at her +ears, and she staggered as she crossed the +yard. But when she went at last with a +cup of milk to feed the little one, it lay with +clenched fists and fixed eyes, and as she +lifted it, a last convulsion laid it back breath- +less, and its heart had ceased to beat. + +Annie ran with it to her room, and tried +such remedies as she had. But nothing +could keep the chill from creeping over the +wasted little form, -- not even the heat of +the day, not even the mother's agonized +embrace. Then, suddenly, Annie looked +at the clock. It was time to get the dinner. +She laid the piteous tiny shape straight on +the bed, threw a sheet over it, and went +back to the weltering kitchen to cook for +those men, who came at noon and who must +be fed -- who must be fed. + +When they were all seated at the table, +Jim among them, and she had served them, +she said, standing at the head of the table, +with her hands on her hips: -- + +"I don't suppose any of you have time +to do anything about it; but I thought you +might like to know that the baby is dead. +I wouldn't think of asking you to spare the +horses, for I know they have to rest. But +I thought, if you could make out on a cold +supper, that I would go to the town for a +coffin." + +There was satire in the voice that stung +even through the dull perceptions of these +men, and Jim arose with a cry and went to +the room where his dead baby lay. + +About two months after this Annie in- +sisted that she must go home to Illinois. +Jim protested in a way. + +"You know, I'd like to send you," he +said; "but I don't see where the money is +to come from. And since I've got this +nomination, I want to run as well as I can. +My friends expect me to do my best for +them. It's a duty, you know, and nothing +less, for a few men, like me, to get in the +legislature. We're going to get a railroad +bill through this session that will straighten +out a good many things. Be patient a little +longer, Annie." + +"I want to go home," was the only reply +he got. "You must get the money, some +way, for me to go home with." + +"I haven't paid a cent of interest yet," +he cried angrily. "I don't see what you +mean by being so unreasonable!" + +"You must get the money, some way," +she reiterated. + +He did not speak to her for a week, ex- +cept when he was obliged to. But she did +not seem to mind; and he gave her the +money. He took her to the train in the +little wagon that had met her when she first +came. At the station, some women were +gossiping excitedly, and Annie asked what +they were saying. + +"It's Mis' Dundy," they said. "She's +been sent to th' insane asylum at Lincoln. +She's gone stark mad. All she said on the +way out was, 'Th' butter won't come! Th' +butter won't come!'" Then they laughed a +little -- a strange laugh; and Annie thought +of a drinking-song she had once heard, +"Here's to the next who dies." + +Ten days after this Jim got a letter from +her. "I am never coming back, Jim," it +said. "It is hopeless. I don't think I +would mind standing still to be shot down +if there was any good in it. But I'm not +going back there to work harder than any +slave for those money-loaners and the rail- +roads. I guess they can all get along with- +out me. And I am sure I can get along +without them. I do not think this will make +you feel very bad. You haven't seemed +to notice me very much lately when I've +been around, and I do not think you will +notice very much when I am gone. I know +what this means. I know I am breaking +my word when I leave you. But remember, +it is not you I leave, but the soil, Jim! I +will not be its slave any longer. If you +care to come for me here, and live another +life -- but no, there would be no use. Our +love, like our toil, has been eaten up by +those rapacious acres. Let us say good- +by." + +Jim sat all night with this letter in his +hand. Sometimes he dozed heavily in his +chair. But he did not go to bed; and the +next morning he hitched up his horses and +rode to town. He went to the bank which +held his notes. + +"I'll confess judgment as soon as you +like," he said. "It's all up with me." + +It was done as quickly as the law would +allow. And the things in the house were +sold by auction. All the farmers were there +with their wives. It made quite an outing +for them. Jim moved around impassively, +and chatted, now and then, with some of +the men about what the horses ought to +bring. + +The auctioneer was a clever fellow. Be- +tween the putting up of the articles, he sang +comic songs, and the funnier the song, the +livelier the bidding that followed. The +horses brought a decent price, and the ma- +chinery a disappointing one; and then, after +a delicious snatch about Nell who rode the +sway-backed mare at the county fair, he +got down to the furniture, -- the furniture +which Jim had bought when he was expect- +ing Annie. + +Jim was walking around with his hands +in his pockets, looking unconcerned, and, +as the furniture began to go off, he came +and sat down in the midst of it. Every +one noticed his indifference. Some of them +said that after all he couldn't have been +very ambitious. He didn't seem to take +his failure much to heart. Every one was +concentrating attention on the cooking- +stove, when Jim leaned forward, quickly, +over a little wicker work-stand. + +There was a bit of unfinished sewing there, +and it fell out as he lifted the cover. It was +a baby's linen shirt. Jim let it lie, and then +lifted from its receptacle a silver thimble. +He put it in his vest-pocket. + +The campaign came on shortly after this, +and Jim Lancy was defeated. "I'm going +to Omaha," said he to the station-master, +"and I've got just enough to buy a ticket +with. There's a kind of satisfaction in giv- +ing the last cent I have to the railroads." + +Two months later, a "plain drunk" was +registered at the station in Nebraska's me- +tropolis. When they searched him they +found nothing in his pockets but a silver +thimble, and Joe Benson, the policeman +who had brought in the "drunk," gave it +to the matron, with his compliments. But +she, when no one noticed, went softly to +where the man was sleeping, and slipped +it back into his pocket, with a sigh. For +she knew somehow -- as women do know +things -- that he had not stolen that thimble. + + + +THE equinoctial line itself is not more +imaginary than the line which divided +the estates of the three Johns. The herds +of the three Johns roamed at will, and +nibbled the short grass far and near without +let or hindrance; and the three Johns them- +selves were utterly indifferent as to boun- +dary lines. Each of them had filed his +application at the office of the government +land-agent; each was engaged in the tedious +task of "proving up;" and each owned +one-third of the L-shaped cabin which stood +at the point where the three ranches touched. +The hundred and sixty acres which would +have completed this quadrangle had not +yet been "taken up." + +The three Johns were not anxious to have +a neighbor. Indeed, they had made up +their minds that if one appeared on that +adjoining "hun'erd an' sixty," it would go +hard with him. For they did not deal in +justice very much -- the three Johns. They +considered it effete. It belonged in the +East along with other outgrown supersti- +tions. And they had given it out widely +that it would be healthier for land applicants +to give them elbow-room. It took a good +many miles of sunburnt prairie to afford +elbow-room for the three Johns. + +They met by accident in Hamilton at the +land-office. John Henderson, fresh from +Cincinnati, manifestly unused to the ways +of the country, looked at John Gillispie with +a lurking smile. Gillispie wore a sombrero, +fresh, white, and expansive. His boots had +high heels, and were of elegant leather and +finely arched at the instep. His corduroys +disappeared in them half-way up the thigh. +About his waist a sash of blue held a laced +shirt of the same color in place. Hender- +son puffed at his cigarette, and continued +to look a trifle quizzical. + +Suddenly Gillispie walked up to him and +said, in a voice of complete suavity, "Damn +yeh, smoke a pipe!" + +"Eh?" said Henderson, stupidly. + +"Smoke a pipe," said the other. "That +thing you have is bad for your complexion." + +"I can take care of my complexion," said +Henderson, firmly. + +The two looked each other straight in the +eye. + +"You don't go on smoking that thing till +you have apologized for that grin you had +on your phiz a moment ago." + +"I laugh when I please, and I smoke +what I please," said Henderson, hotly, his +face flaming as he realized that he was in +for his first "row." + +That was how it began. How it would +have ended is not known -- probably there +would have been only one John -- if it had +not been for the almost miraculous appear- +ance at this moment of the third John. For +just then the two belligerents found them- +selves prostrate, their pistols only half-cocked, +and between them stood a man all gnarled +and squat, like one of those wind-torn oaks +which grow on the arid heights. He was +no older than the others, but the lines in +his face were deep, and his large mouth +twitched as he said: -- + +"Hold on here, yeh fools! There's too +much blood in you to spill. You'll spile +th' floor, and waste good stuff. We need +blood out here!" + +Gillispie bounced to his feet. Henderson +arose suspiciously, keeping his eyes on his +assailants. + +"Oh, get up!" cried the intercessor. +"We don't shoot men hereabouts till they +git on their feet in fightin' trim." + +"What do you know about what we do +here?" interrupted Gillispie. "This is the +first time I ever saw you around." + +"That's so," the other admitted. "I'm +just down from Montana. Came to take up +a quarter section. Where I come from we +give men a show, an' I thought perhaps yeh +did th' same here." + +"Why, yes," admitted Gillispie, "we do. +But I don't want folks to laugh too much +-- not when I'm around -- unless they tell +me what the joke is. I was just mentioning +it to the gentleman," he added, dryly. + +"So I saw," said the other; "you're kind +a emphatic in yer remarks. Yeh ought to +give the gentleman a chance to git used to +the ways of th' country. He'll be as tough +as th' rest of us if you'll give him a chance. +I kin see it in him." + +"Thank you," said Henderson. "I'm +glad you do me justice. I wish you wouldn't +let daylight through me till I've had a chance +to get my quarter section. I'm going to +be one of you, either as a live man or a +corpse. But I prefer a hundred and sixty +acres of land to six feet of it." + +"There, now!" triumphantly cried the +squat man. "Didn't I tell yeh? Give him +a show! 'Tain't no fault of his that he's a +tenderfoot. He'll get over that." + +Gillispie shook hands with first one and +then the other of the men. "It's a square +deal from this on," he said. "Come and +have a drink." + +That's how they met -- John Henderson, +John Gillispie, and John Waite. And a week +later they were putting up a shanty together +for common use, which overlapped each of +their reservations, and satisfied the law with +its sociable subterfuge. + +The life wasn't bad, Henderson decided; +and he adopted all the ways of the country +in an astonishingly short space of time. +There was a freedom about it all which was +certainly complete. The three alternated +in the night watch. Once a week one of +them went to town for provisions. They +were not good at the making of bread, so +they contented themselves with hot cakes. +Then there was salt pork for a staple, and +prunes. They slept in straw-lined bunks, +with warm blankets for a covering. They +made a point of bringing reading-matter +back from town every week, and there were +always cards to fall back on, and Waite sang +songs for them with natural dramatic talent. + +Nevertheless, in spite of their content- +ment, none of them was sorry when the +opportunity offered for going to town. +There was always a bit of stirring gossip to +be picked up, and now and then there was +a "show" at the "opera-house," in which, +it is almost unnecessary to say, no opera +had ever been sung. Then there was the +hotel, at which one not only got good fare, +but a chat with the three daughters of Jim +O'Neal, the proprietor -- girls with the acci- +dent of two Irish parents, who were, not- +withstanding, as typically American as they +well could be. A half-hour's talk with these +cheerful young women was all the more to +be desired for the reason that within riding +distance of the three Johns' ranch there were +only two other women. One was Minerva +Fitch, who had gone out from Michigan +accompanied by an oil-stove and a knowl- +edge of the English grammar, with the +intention of teaching school, but who had +been unable to carry these good intentions +into execution for the reason that there were +no children to teach, -- at least, none but +Bow-legged Joe. He was a sad little fellow, +who looked like a prairie-dog, and who had +very much the same sort of an outlook on life. +The other woman was the brisk and efficient +wife of Mr. Bill Deems, of "Missourah." +Mr. Deems had never in his life done any- +thing, not even so much as bring in a basket +of buffalo chips to supply the scanty fire. +That is to say, he had done nothing strictly +utilitarian. Yet he filled his place. He was +the most accomplished story-teller in the +whole valley, and this accomplishment of his +was held in as high esteem as the improvisa- +tions of a Welsh minstrel were among his +reverencing people. His wife alone depre- +cated his skill, and interrupted his spirited +narratives with sarcastic allusions concerning +the empty cupboard, and the "state of her +back," to which, as she confided to any who +would listen, "there was not a rag fit to wear." + +These two ladies had not, as may be +surmised, any particular attraction for John +Henderson. Truth to tell, Henderson had +not come West with the intention of lik- +ing women, but rather with a determina- +tion to see and think as little of them as +possible. Yet even the most confirmed +misogynist must admit that it is a good +thing to see a woman now and then, and for +this reason Henderson found it amusing to +converse with the amiable Misses O'Neal. +At twenty-five one cannot be unyielding in +one's avoidance of the sex. + +Henderson, with his pony at a fine lope, +was on his way to town one day, in that +comfortable frame of mind adduced by an +absence of any ideas whatever, when he +suddenly became conscious of a shiver that +seemed to run from his legs to the pony, +and back again. The animal gave a startled +leap, and lifted his ears. There was a stir- +ring in the coarse grasses; the sky, which +a moment before had been like sapphire, +dulled with an indescribable grayness. + +Then came a little singing afar off, as if +from a distant convocation of cicadæ, and +before Henderson could guess what it meant, +a cloud of dust was upon him, blinding and +bewildering, pricking with sharp particles +at eyes and nostrils. The pony was an ugly +fellow, and when Henderson felt him put his +forefeet together, he knew what that meant, +and braced himself for the struggle. But it +was useless; he had not yet acquired the +knack of staying on the back of a bucking +bronco, and the next moment he was on +the ground, and around him whirled that +saffron chaos of dust. The temperature +lowered every moment. Henderson in- +stinctively felt that this was but the begin- +ning of the storm. He picked himself up +without useless regrets for his pony, and +made his way on. + +The saffron hue turned to blackness, and +then out of the murk shot a living green +ball of fire, and ploughed into the earth. +Then sheets of water, that seemed to come +simultaneously from earth and sky, swept +the prairie, and in the midst of it struggled +Henderson, weak as a little child, half bereft +of sense by the strange numbness of head +and dullness of eye. Another of those green +balls fell and burst, as it actually appeared +to him, before his horrified eyes, and the +bellow and blare of the explosion made him +cry out in a madness of fright and physical +pain. In the illumination he had seen a +cabin only a few feet in front of him, and +toward it he made frantically, with an ani- +mal's instinctive desire for shelter. + +The door did not yield at once to his +pressure, and in the panic of his fear he +threw his weight against it. There was a +cry from within, a fall, and Henderson flung +himself in the cabin and closed the door. + +In the dusk of the storm he saw a woman +half prostrate. It was she whom he had +pushed from the door. He caught the hook +in its staple, and turned to raise her. She +was not trembling as much as he, but, like +himself, she was dizzy with the shock of +the lightning. In the midst of all the +clamor Henderson heard a shrill crying, and +looking toward the side of the room, he +dimly perceived three tiny forms crouched +in one of the bunks. The woman took the +smallest of the children in her arms, and +kissed and soothed it; and Henderson, after +he had thrown a blanket at the bottom of +the door to keep out the drifting rain, sat +with his back to it, bracing it against the +wind, lest the frail staple should give way. +He managed some way to reach out and lay +hold of the other little ones, and got them +in his arms, -- a boy, so tiny he seemed +hardly human, and a girl somewhat sturdier. +They cuddled in his arms, and clutched his +clothes with their frantic little hands, and +the three sat so while the earth and the +heavens seemed to be meeting in angry +combat. + +And back and forth, back and forth, in +the dimness swayed the body of the woman, +hushing her babe. + +Almost as suddenly as the darkness had +fallen, it lifted. The lightning ceased to +threaten, and almost frolicked, -- little way- +ward flashes of white and yellow dancing +in mid-air. The wind wailed less frequently, +like a child who sobs in its sleep. And at +last Henderson could make his voice heard. + +"Is there anything to build a fire with?" +he shouted. "The children are shiver- +ing so." + +The woman pointed to a basket of buffalo +chips in the corner, and he wrapped his +little companions up in a blanket while he +made a fire in the cooking-stove. The baby +was sleeping by this time, and the woman +began tidying the cabin, and when the +fire was burning brightly, she put some +coffee on. + +"I wish I had some clothes to offer you," +she said, when the wind had subsided suffi- +ciently to make talking possible. "I'm +afraid you'll have to let them get dry on you." + +"Oh, that's of no consequence at all! +We're lucky to get off with our lives. I +never saw anything so terrible. Fancy! +half an hour ago it was summer; now it is +winter!" + +"It seems rather sudden when you're not +used to it," the woman admitted. "I've +lived in the West six years now; you can't +frighten me any more. We never die out +here before our time comes." + +"You seem to know that I haven't been +here long," said Henderson, with some +chagrin. + +"Yes," admitted the woman; "you have +the ear-marks of a man from the East." + +She was a tall woman, with large blue +eyes, and a remarkable quantity of yellow +hair braided on top of her head. Her gown +was of calico, of such a pattern as a widow +might wear. + +"I haven't been out of town a week yet," +she said. "We're not half settled. Not +having any one to help makes it harder; +and the baby is rather fretful." + +"But you're not alone with all these little +codgers?" cried Henderson, in dismay. + +The woman turned toward him with a sort +of defiance. "Yes, I am," she said; "and +I'm as strong as a horse, and I mean to get +through all right. Here were the three +children in my arms, you may say, and no +way to get in a cent. I wasn't going to +stand it just to please other folk. I said, +let them talk if they want to, but I'm going +to hold down a claim, and be accumulating +something while the children are getting up +a bit. Oh, I'm not afraid!" + +In spite of this bold assertion of bravery, +there was a sort of break in her voice. She +was putting dishes on the table as she talked, +and turned some ham in the skillet, and got +the children up before the fire, and dropped +some eggs in water, -- all with a rapidity that +bewildered Henderson. + +"How long have you been alone?" he +asked, softly. + +"Three months before baby was born, +and he's five months old now. I -- I -- you +think I can get on here, don't you? There +was nothing else to do." + +She was folding another blanket over the +sleeping baby now, and the action brought +to her guest the recollection of a thousand +tender moments of his dimly remembered +youth. + +"You'll get on if we have anything to do +with it," he cried, suppressing an oath with +difficulty, just from pure emotion. + +And he told her about the three Johns' +ranch, and found it was only three miles +distant, and that both were on the same +road; only her cabin, having been put up +during the past week, had of course been +unknown to him. So it ended in a sort of +compact that they were to help each other +in such ways as they could. Meanwhile the +fire got genial, and the coffee filled the cabin +with its comfortable scent, and all of them +ate together quite merrily, Henderson cut- +ting up the ham for the youngsters; and he +told how he chanced to come out; and she +entertained him with stories of what she +thought at first when she was brought a +bride to Hamilton, the adjacent village, and +convulsed him with stories of the people, +whom she saw with humorous eyes. + +Henderson marvelled how she could in +those few minutes have rescued the cabin +from the desolation in which the storm had +plunged it. Out of the window he could +see the stricken grasses dripping cold moist- +ure, and the sky still angrily plunging for- +ward like a disturbed sea. Not a tree or a +house broke the view. The desolation of it +swept over him as it never had before. But +within the little ones were chattering to +themselves in odd baby dialect, and the +mother was laughing with them. + +"Women aren't always useless," she said, +at parting; "and you tell your chums that +when they get hungry for a slice of home- +made bread they can get it here. And the +next time they go by, I want them to stop +in and look at the children. It'll do them +good. They may think they won't enjoy +themselves, but they will." + +"Oh, I'll answer for that!" cried he, +shaking hands with her. "I'll tell them we +have just the right sort of a neighbor." + +"Thank you," said she, heartily. "And +you may tell them that her name is Cathe- +rine Ford." + +Once at home, he told his story. + +"H'm!" said Gillispie, "I guess I'll have +to go to town myself to-morrow." + +Henderson looked at him blackly. "She's +a woman alone, Gillispie," said he, severely, +"trying to make her way with handicaps -- " + +"Shet up, can't ye, ye darned fool?" +roared Gillispie. "What do yeh take me +fur?" + +Waite was putting on his rubber coat +preparatory to going out for his night with +the cattle. "Guess you're makin' a mistake, +my boy," he said, gently. "There ain't no +danger of any woman bein' treated rude in +these parts." + +"I know it, by Jove!" cried Henderson, +in quick contriteness. + +"All right," grunted Gillispie, in tacit +acceptance of this apology. "I guess you +thought you was in civilized parts." + +Two days after this Waite came in late +to his supper. "Well, I seen her," he +announced. + +"Oh! did you?" cried Henderson, know- +ing perfectly well whom he meant. "What +was she doing?" + +"Killin' snakes, b'gosh! She says th' +baby's crazy fur um, an' so she takes aroun' +a hoe on her shoulder wherever she goes, +an' when she sees a snake, she has it out +with 'im then an' there. I says to 'er, 'Yer +don't expec' t' git all th' snakes outen this +here country, d' yeh?' 'Well,' she says, +'I'm as good a man as St. Patrick any day.' +She is a jolly one, Henderson. She tuk +me in an' showed me th' kids, and give me +a loaf of gingerbread to bring home. Here +it is; see?" + +"Hu!" said Gillispie. "I'm not in it." +But for all of his scorn he was not above +eating the gingerbread. + +It was gardening time, and the three +Johns were putting in every spare moment +in the little paling made of willow twigs +behind the house. It was little enough +time they had, though, for the cattle were +new to each other and to the country, and +they were hard to manage. It was generally +conceded that Waite had a genius for herd- +ing, and he could take the "mad" out of a +fractious animal in a way that the others +looked on as little less than superhuman. +Thus it was that one day, when the clay had +been well turned, and the seeds arranged on +the kitchen table, and all things prepared +for an afternoon of busy planting, that Waite +and Henderson, who were needed out with +the cattle, felt no little irritation at the inex- +plicable absence of Gillispie, who was to +look after the garden. It was quite night- +fall when he at last returned. Supper was +ready, although it had been Gillispie's turn +to prepare it. + +Henderson was sore from his saddle, and +cross at having to do more than his share +of the work. "Damn yeh!" he cried, as +Gillispie appeared. "Where yeh been?" + +"Making garden," responded Gillispie, +slowly. + +"Making garden!" Henderson indulged +in some more harmless oaths. + +Just then Gillispie drew from under his +coat a large and friendly looking apple-pie. +"Yes," he said, with emphasis; "I've bin +a-makin' garden fur Mis' Ford." + +And so it came about that the three Johns +knew her and served her, and that she never +had a need that they were not ready to +supply if they could. Not one of them +would have thought of going to town with- +out stopping to inquire what was needed +at the village. As for Catherine Ford, she +was fighting her way with native pluck and +maternal unselfishness. If she had feared +solitude she did not suffer from it. The +activity of her life stifled her fresh sorrow. +She was pleasantly excited by the rumors +that a railroad was soon to be built near the +place, which would raise the value of the +claim she was "holding down" many thou- +sand dollars. + +It is marvellous how sorrow shrinks when +one is very healthy and very much occupied. +Although poverty was her close companion, +Catherine had no thought of it in this prim- +itive manner of living. She had come out +there, with the independence and determi- +nation of a Western woman, for the purpose +of living at the least possible expense, and +making the most she could while the baby +was "getting out of her arms." That process +has its pleasures, which every mother feels +in spite of burdens, and the mind is happily +dulled by nature's merciful provision. With +a little child tugging at the breast, care and +fret vanish, not because of the happiness +so much as because of a certain mammal +complacency, which is not at all intellectual, +but serves its purpose better than the pro- +foundest method of reasoning. + +So without any very unbearable misery at +her recent widowhood, this healthy young +woman worked in field and house, cared for +her little ones, milked the two cows out in +the corral, sewed, sang, rode, baked, and +was happy for very wholesomeness. Some- +times she reproached herself that she was +not more miserable, remembering that long +grave back in the unkempt little prairie +cemetery, and she sat down to coax her +sorrow into proper prominence. But the +baby cooing at her from its bunk, the low +of the cattle from the corral begging her to +relieve their heavy bags, the familiar call +of one of her neighbors from without, even +the burning sky of the summer dawns, broke +the spell of this conjured sorrow, and in +spite of herself she was again a very hearty +and happy young woman. Besides, if one +has a liking for comedy, it is impossible to +be dull on a Nebraska prairie. The people +are a merrier divertissement than the theatre +with its hackneyed stories. Catherine Ford +laughed a good deal, and she took the three +Johns into her confidence, and they laughed +with her. There was Minerva Fitch, who +insisted on coming over to tell Catherine +how to raise her children, and who was +almost offended that the children wouldn't +die of sunstroke when she predicted. And +there was Bob Ackerman, who had inflam- +matory rheumatism and a Past, and who +confided the latter to Mrs. Ford while she +doctored the former with homoeopathic +medicines. And there were all the strange +visionaries who came out prospecting, and +quite naturally drifted to Mrs. Ford's cabin +for a meal, and paid her in compliments of +a peculiarly Western type. And there were +the three Johns themselves. Catherine con- +sidered it no treason to laugh at them a +little. + +Yet at Waite she did not laugh much. +There had come to be something pathetic in +the constant service he rendered her. The +beginning of his more particular devotion +had started in a particular way. Malaria +was very bad in the country. It had carried +off some of the most vigorous on the prairie, +and twice that summer Catherine herself had +laid out the cold forms of her neighbors on +ironing-boards, and, with the assistance of +Bill Deems of Missourah, had read the +burial service over them. She had averted +several other fatal runs of fever by the con- +tents of her little medicine-case. These +remedies she dealt out with an intelligence +that astonished her patients, until it was +learned that she was studying medicine at +the time that she met her late husband, and +was persuaded to assume the responsibilities +of matrimony instead of those of the medi- +cal profession. + +One day in midsummer, when the sun +was focussing itself on the raw pine boards +of her shanty, and Catherine had the shades +drawn for coolness and the water-pitcher +swathed in wet rags, East Indian fashion, +she heard the familiar halloo of Waite down +the road. This greeting, which was usually +sent to her from the point where the dip- +ping road lifted itself into the first view of +the house, did not contain its usual note of +cheerfulness. Catherine, wiping her hands +on her checked apron, ran out to wave a +welcome; and Waite, his squat body looking +more distorted than ever, his huge shoulders +lurching as he walked, came fairly plung- +ing down the hill. + +"It's all up with Henderson!" he cried, +as Catherine approached. "He's got the +malery, an' he says he's dyin'." + +"That's no sign he's dying, because he +says so," retorted Catherine. + +"He wants to see yeh," panted Waite, +mopping his big ugly head. "I think he's +got somethin' particular to say." + +"How long has he been down?" + +"Three days; an' yeh wouldn't know +'im." + +The children were playing on the floor at +that side of the house where it was least +hot. Catherine poured out three bowls of +milk, and cut some bread, meanwhile telling +Kitty how to feed the baby. + +"She's a sensible thing, is the little +daughter," said Catherine, as she tied on +her sunbonnet and packed a little basket +with things from the cupboard. She kissed +the babies tenderly, flung her hoe -- her +only weapon of defence -- over her shoulder, +and the two started off. + +They did not speak, for their throats were +soon too parched. The prairie was burned +brown with the sun; the grasses curled as +if they had been on a gridiron. A strong +wind was blowing; but it brought no com- +fort, for it was heavy with a scorching heat. +The skin smarted and blistered under it, and +the eyes felt as if they were filled with sand. +The sun seemed to swing but a little way +above the earth, and though the sky was +intensest blue, around about this burning +ball there was a halo of copper, as if the +very ether were being consumed in yellow +fire. + +Waite put some big burdock-leaves on +Catherine's head under her bonnet, and now +and then he took a bottle of water from his +pocket and made her swallow a mouthful. +She staggered often as she walked, and the +road was black before her. Still, it was not +very long before the oddly shaped shack of +the three Johns came in sight; and as he +caught a glimpse of it, Waite quickened his +footsteps. + +"What if he should be gone?" he said, +under his breath. + +"Oh, come off!" said Catherine, angrily. +"He's not gone. You make me tired!" + +But she was trembling when she stopped +just before the door to compose herself for +a moment. Indeed, she trembled so very +much that Waite put out his sprawling hand +to steady her. She gently felt the pressure +tightening, and Waite whispered in her ear: + +"I guess I'd stand by him as well as any- +body, excep' you, Mis' Ford. He's been +my bes' friend. But I guess you like him +better, eh?" + +Catherine raised her finger. She could +hear Henderson's voice within; it was +pitiably querulous. He was half sitting up +in his bunk, and Gillispie had just handed +him a plate on which two cakes were swim- +ming in black molasses and pork gravy. +Henderson looked at it a moment; then +over his face came a look of utter despair. +He dropped his head in his arms and broke +into uncontrolled crying. + +"Oh, my God, Gillispie," he sobbed, "I +shall die out here in this wretched hole! I +want my mother. Great God, Gillispie, am +I going to die without ever seeing my +mother?" + +Gillispie, maddened at this anguish, which +he could in no way alleviate, sought comfort +by first lighting his pipe and then taking his +revolver out of his hip-pocket and playing +with it. Henderson continued to shake with +sobs, and Catherine, who had never before +in her life heard a man cry, leaned against +the door for a moment to gather courage. +Then she ran into the house quickly, laugh- +ing as she came. She took Henderson's +arms away from his face and laid him back +on the pillow, and she stooped over him +and kissed his forehead in the most matter- +of-fact way. + +"That's what your mother would do if she +were here," she cried, merrily. "Where's +the water?" + +She washed his face and hands a long +time, till they were cool and his convulsive +sobs had ceased. Then she took a slice of +thin bread from her basket and a spoonful +of amber jelly. She beat an egg into some +milk and dropped a little liquor within it, +and served them together on the first clean +napkin that had been in the cabin of the +three Johns since it was built + +At this the great fool on the bed cried +again, only quietly, tears of weak happi- +ness running from his feverish eyes. And +Catherine straightened the disorderly cabin. +She came every day for two weeks, and by +that time Henderson, very uncertain as to the +strength of his legs, but once more accoutred +in his native pluck, sat up in a chair, for +which she had made clean soft cushions, +writing a letter to his mother. The floor +was scrubbed; the cabin had taken to itself +cupboards made of packing-boxes; it had +clothes-presses and shelves; curtains at the +windows; boxes for all sort of necessaries, +from flour to tobacco; and a cook-book on +the wall, with an inscription within which +was more appropriate than respectful. + +The day that she announced that she +would have no further call to come back, +Waite, who was looking after the house +while Gillispie was afield, made a little +speech. + +"After this here," he said, "we four +stands er falls together. Now look here, +there's lots of things can happen to a person +on this cussed praira, and no one be none +th' wiser. So see here, Mis' Ford, every +night one of us is a-goin' to th' roof of this +shack. From there we can see your place. +If anything is th' matter -- it don't signify +how little er how big -- you hang a lantern +on th' stick that I'll put alongside th' house +to-morrow. Yeh can h'ist th' light up with +a string, and every mornin' before we go +out we'll look too, and a white rag'll bring us +quick as we can git there. We don't say +nothin' about what we owe yeh, fur that +ain't our way, but we sticks to each other +from this on." + +Catherine's eyes were moist. She looked +at Henderson. His face had no expression +in it at all. He did not even say good-by +to her, and she turned, with the tears sud- +denly dried under her lids, and walked +down the road in the twilight. + +Weeks went by, and though Gillispie and +Waite were often at Catherine's, Henderson +never came. Gillispie gave it out as his +opinion that Henderson was an ungrateful +puppy; but Waite said nothing. This +strange man, who seemed like a mere unto- +ward accident of nature, had changed dur- +ing the summer. His big ill-shaped body +had grown more gaunt; his deep-set gray +eyes had sunk deeper; the gentleness which +had distinguished him even on the wild +ranges of Montana became more marked. +Late in August he volunteered to take on +himself the entire charge of the night +watch. + +"It's nicer to be out at night," he said +to Catherine. "Then you don't keep look- +ing off at things; you can look inside;" and +he struck his breast with his splay hand. + +Cattle are timorous under the stars. The +vastness of the plains, the sweep of the wind +under the unbroken arch, frighten them; +they are made for the close comforts of the +barn-yard; and the apprehension is con- +tagious, as every ranchman knows. Waite +realized the need of becoming good friends +with his animals. Night after night, riding +up and down in the twilight of the stars, or +dozing, rolled in his blanket, in the shelter +of a knoll, he would hear a low roar; it +was the cry of the alarmist. Then from +every direction the cattle would rise with +trembling awkwardness on their knees, and +answer, giving out sullen bellowings. Some +of them would begin to move from place to +place, spreading the baseless alarm, and +then came the time for action, else over the +plain in mere fruitless frenzy would go the +whole frantic band, lashed to madness by +their own fears, trampling each other, heed- +less of any obstacle, in pitiable, deadly rout. +Waite knew the premonitory signs well, and +at the first warning bellow he was on his +feet, alert and determined, his energy +nerved for a struggle in which he always +conquered. + +Waite had a secret which he told to none, +knowing, in his unanalytical fashion, that it +would not be believed in. But soon as ever +the dark heads of the cattle began to lift +themselves, he sent a resonant voice out +into the stillness. The songs he sang were +hymns, and he made them into a sort of +imperative lullaby. Waite let his lungs +and soul fill with the breath of the night; +he gave himself up to the exaltation of +mastering those trembling brutes. Mount- +ing, melodious, with even and powerful +swing he let his full notes fall on the air +in the confidence of power, and one by one +the reassured cattle would lie down again, +lowing in soft contentment, and so fall +asleep with noses stretched out in mute +attention, till their presence could hardly +be guessed except for the sweet aroma of +their cuds. + One night in the early dusk, he saw Cath- +erine Ford hastening across the prairie with +Bill Deems. He sent a halloo out to them, +which they both answered as they ran on. +Waite knew on what errand of mercy Cath- +erine was bent, and he thought of the chil- +dren over at the cabin alone. The cattle +were quiet, the night beautiful, and he con- +cluded that it was safe enough, since he was +on his pony, to ride down there about mid- +night and see that the little ones were safe. + +The dark sky, pricked with points of in- +tensest light, hung over him so beneficently +that in his heart there leaped a joy which +even his ever-present sorrow could not dis- +turb. This sorrow Waite openly admitted +not only to himself, but to others. He had +said to Catherine: "You see, I'll always hev +to love yeh. An' yeh'll not git cross with +me; I'm not goin' to be in th' way." And +Catherine had told him, with tears in her +eyes, that his love could never be but a com- +fort to any woman. And these words, which +the poor fellow had in no sense mistaken, +comforted him always, became part of his +joy as he rode there, under those piercing +stars, to look after her little ones. He found +them sleeping in their bunks, the baby tight +in Kitty's arms, the little boy above them in +the upper bunk, with his hand in the long +hair of his brown spaniel. Waite softly +kissed each of them, so Kitty, who was half +waking, told her mother afterwards, and +then, bethinking him that Catherine might +not be able to return in time for their break- +fast, found the milk and bread, and set it for +them on the table. Catherine had been +writing, and her unfinished letter lay open +beside the ink. He took up the pen and +wrote, + +"The childdren was all asleep at twelv. + +"J. W." + + +He had not more than got on his pony +again before he heard an ominous sound +that made his heart leap. It was a frantic +dull pounding of hoofs. He knew in a +second what it meant. There was a stam- +pede among the cattle. If the animals had +all been his, he would not have lost his sense +of judgment. But the realization that he +had voluntarily undertaken the care of them, +and that the larger part of them belonged +to his friends, put him in a passion of appre- +hension that, as a ranchman, was almost in- +explicable. He did the very thing of all +others that no cattle-man in his right senses +would think of doing. Gillispie and Hender- +son, talking it over afterward, were never +able to understand it. It is possible -- just +barely possible -- that Waite, still drunk on +his solitary dreams, knew what he was doing, +and chose to bring his little chapter to an +end while the lines were pleasant. At any +rate, he rode straight forward, shouting and +waving his arms in an insane endeavor to +head off that frantic mob. The noise woke +the children, and they peered from the +window as the pawing and bellowing herd +plunged by, trampling the young steers +under their feet. + +In the early morning, Catherine Ford, spent +both in mind and body, came walking slowly +home. In her heart was a prayer of thanks- +giving. Mary Deems lay sleeping back in +her comfortless shack, with her little son by +her side. + +"The wonder of God is in it," said Cath- +erine to herself as she walked home. "All +the ministers of all the world could not have +preached me such a sermon as I've had +to-night." + +So dim had been the light and so per- +turbed her mind that she had not noticed +how torn and trampled was the road. But +suddenly a bulk in her pathway startled her. +It was the dead and mangled body of a steer. +She stooped over it to read the brand on its +flank. "It's one of the three Johns'," she +cried out, looking anxiously about her. +"How could that have happened?" + +The direction which the cattle had taken +was toward her house, and she hastened +homeward. And not a quarter of a mile +from her door she found the body of Waite +beside that of his pony, crushed out of its +familiar form into something unspeakably +shapeless. In her excitement she half +dragged, half carried that mutilated body +home, and then ran up her signal of alarm +on the stick that Waite himself had erected +for her convenience. She thought it would +be a long time before any one reached her, +but she had hardly had time to bathe the +disfigured face and straighten the disfigured +body before Henderson was pounding at her +door. Outside stood his pony panting from +its terrific exertions. Henderson had not +seen her before for six weeks. Now he +stared at her with frightened eyes. + +"What is it? What is it?" he cried. +"What has happened to you, my -- my +love?" + +At least afterward, thinking it over as she +worked by day or tossed in her narrow bunk +at night, it seemed to Catherine that those +were the words he spoke. Yet she could +never feel sure; nothing in his manner after +that justified the impassioned anxiety of his +manner in those first few uncertain moments; +for a second later he saw the body of his +friend and learned the little that Catherine +knew. They buried him the next day in a +little hollow where there was a spring and +some wild aspens. + +"He never liked the prairie," Catherine +said, when she selected the spot. "And I +want him to lie as sheltered as possible." + +After he had been laid at rest, and she +was back, busy with tidying her neglected +shack, she fell to crying so that the children +were scared. + +"There's no one left to care what becomes +of us," she told them, bitterly. "We might +starve out here for all that any one cares." + +And all through the night her tears fell, +and she told herself that they were all for the +man whose last thought was for her and her +babies; she told herself over and over again +that her tears were all for him. After this +the autumn began to hurry on, and the snow +fell capriciously, days of biting cold giving +place to retrospective glances at summer. +The last of the vegetables were taken out of +the garden and buried in the cellar; and a +few tons of coal -- dear almost as diamonds +-- were brought out to provide against the +severest weather. Ordinarily buffalo chips +were the fuel. Catherine was alarmed at +the way her wretched little store of money +began to vanish. The baby was fretful with +its teething, and was really more care than +when she nursed it. The days shortened, +and it seemed to her that she was forever +working by lamp-light The prairies were +brown and forbidding, the sky often a mere +gray pall. The monotony of the life began +to seem terrible. Sometimes her ears ached +for a sound. For a time in the summer so +many had seemed to need her that she had +been happy in spite of her poverty and her +loneliness. Now, suddenly, no one wanted +her. She could find no source of inspiration. +She wondered how she was going to live +through the winter, and keep her patience +and her good-nature. + +"You'll love me," she said, almost fiercely, +one night to the children -- "you'll love +mamma, no matter how cross and homely +she gets, won't you?" + +The cold grew day by day. A strong +winter was setting in. Catherine took up +her study of medicine again, and sat over +her books till midnight. It occurred to her +that she might fit herself for nursing by +spring, and that the children could be put +with some one -- she did not dare to think +with whom. But this was the only solution +she could find to her problem of existence. + +November settled down drearily. Few +passed the shack. Catherine, who had no +one to speak with excepting the children, +continually devised amusements for them. +They got to living in a world of fantasy, +and were never themselves, but always wild +Indians, or arctic explorers, or Robinson +Crusoes. Kitty and Roderick, young as +they were, found a never-ending source of +amusement in these little grotesque dreams +and dramas. The fund of money was get- +ting so low that Catherine was obliged to +economize even in the necessities. If it had +not been for her two cows, she would hardly +have known how to find food for her little +ones. But she had a wonderful way of mak- +ing things with eggs and milk, and she kept +her little table always inviting. The day +before Thanksgiving she determined that +they should all have a frolic. + +"By Christmas," she said to Kitty, "the +snow may be so bad that I cannot get +to town. We'll have our high old time +now." + +There is no denying that Catherine used +slang even in talking to the children. The +little pony had been sold long ago, and +going to town meant a walk of twelve miles. +But Catherine started out early in the +morning, and was back by nightfall, not +so very much the worse, and carrying in +her arms bundles which might have fatigued +a bronco. + +The next morning she was up early, and +was as happy and ridiculously excited over +the prospect of the day's merrymaking as +if she had been Kitty. Busy as she was, +she noticed a peculiar oppression in the air, +which intensified as the day went on. The +sky seemed to hang but a little way above +the rolling stretch of frost-bitten grass. But +Kitty laughing over her new doll, Roderick +startling the sullen silence with his drum, +the smell of the chicken, slaughtered to +make a prairie holiday, browning in the +oven, drove all apprehensions from Cath- +erine's mind. She was a common creature. +Such very little things could make her happy. +She sang as she worked; and what with the +drumming of her boy, and the little exulting +shrieks of her baby, the shack was filled with +a deafening and exhilarating din. + +It was a little past noon, when she became +conscious that there was sweeping down on +her a gray sheet of snow and ice, and not +till then did she realize what those lowering +clouds had signified. For one moment she +stood half paralyzed. She thought of every- +thing, -- of the cattle, of the chance for being +buried in this drift, of the stock of provi- +sions, of the power of endurance of the +children. While she was still thinking, the +first ice-needles of the blizzard came pepper- +ing the windows. The cattle ran bellowing +to the lee side of the house and crouched +there, and the chickens scurried for the coop. +Catherine seized such blankets and bits of +carpet as she could find, and crammed them +at windows and doors. Then she piled coal +on the fire, and clothed the children in all +they had that was warmest, their out-door gar- +ments included; and with them close about +her, she sat and waited. The wind seemed +to push steadily at the walls of the house. +The howling became horrible. She could +see that the children were crying with fright, +but she could not hear them. The air was +dusky; the cold, in spite of the fire, intol- +erable. In every crevice of the wretched +structure the ice and snow made their way. +It came through the roof, and began piling +up in little pointed strips under the crevices. +Catherine put the children all together in +one bunk, covered them with all the bed- +clothes she had, and then stood before them +defiantly, facing the west, from whence the +wind was driving. Not suddenly, but by +steady pressure, at length the window-sash +yielded, and the next moment that whirlwind +was in the house, -- a maddening tumult of +ice and wind, leaving no room for resistance; +a killing cold, against which it was futile to +fight. Catherine threw the bedclothes over +the heads of the children, and then threw +herself across the bunk, gasping and chok- +ing for breath. Her body would not have +yielded to the suffering yet, so strongly +made and sustained was it; but her dismay +stifled her. She saw in one horrified moment +the frozen forms of her babies, now so pink +and pleasant to the sense; and oblivion came +to save her from further misery. + +She was alive -- just barely alive -- when +Gillispie and Henderson got there, three +hours later, the very balls of their eyes +almost frozen into blindness. But for an +instinct stronger than reason they would +never have been able to have found their +way across that trackless stretch. The chil- +dren lying unconscious under their coverings +were neither dead nor actually frozen, al- +though the men putting their hands on their +little hearts could not at first discover the +beating. Stiff and suffering as these young +fellows were, it was no easy matter to get +the window back into place and re-light the +fire. They had tied flasks of liquor about +their waists; and this beneficent fluid they +used with that sense of appreciation which +only a pioneer can feel toward whiskey. It +was hours before Catherine rewarded them +with a gleam of consciousness. Her body +had been frozen in many places. Her arms, +outstretched over her children and holding +the clothes down about them, were rigid. +But consciousness came at length, dimly +struggling up through her brain; and over +her she saw her friends rubbing and rubbing +those strong firm arms of hers with snow. + +She half raised her head, with a horror of +comprehension in her eyes, and listened. A +cry answered her, -- a cry of dull pain from +the baby. Henderson dropped on his knees +beside her. + +"They are all safe," he said. "And we +will never leave you again. I have been +afraid to tell you how I love you. I thought +I might offend you. I thought I ought to +wait -- you know why. But I will never let +you run the risks of this awful life alone +again. You must rename the baby. From +this day his name is John. And we will +have the three Johns again back at the old +ranch. It doesn't matter whether you love +me or not, Catherine, I am going to take +care of you just the same. Gillispie agrees +with me." + +"Damme, yes," muttered Gillispie, feeling +of his hip-pocket for consolation in his old +manner. + +Catherine struggled to find her voice, but +it would not come. + +"Do not speak," whispered John. "Tell +me with your eyes whether you will come +as my wife or only as our sister." + +Catherine told him. + +"This is Thanksgiving day," said he. +"And we don't know much about praying, +but I guess we all have something in our +hearts that does just as well." + +"Damme, yes," said Gillispie, again, as +he pensively cocked and uncocked his re- +volver. + + + + +A Resuscitation + +AFTER being dead twenty years, he +walked out into the sunshine. + +It was as if the bones of a bleached skele- +ton should join themselves on some forgotten +plain, and look about them for the vanished +flesh. + +To be dead it is not necessary to be in +the grave. There are places where the +worms creep about the heart instead of the +body. + +The penitentiary is one of these. +David Culross had been in the penitentiary +twenty years. Now, with that worm-eaten +heart, he came out into liberty and looked +about him for the habiliments with which +he had formerly clothed himself, -- for +hope, self-respect, courage, pugnacity, and +industry. + +But they had vanished and left no trace, +like the flesh of the dead men on the plains, +and so, morally unapparelled, in the hideous +skeleton of his manhood, he walked on down +the street under the mid-June sunshine. + +You can understand, can you not, how a +skeleton might wish to get back into its +comfortable grave? David Culross had not +walked two blocks before he was seized +with an almost uncontrollable desire to beg +to be shielded once more in that safe and +shameful retreat from which he had just +been released. A horrible perception of the +largeness of the world swept over him. +Space and eternity could seem no larger +to the usual man than earth -- that snug +and insignificant planet -- looked to David +Culross. + +"If I go back," he cried, despairingly, +looking up to the great building that arose +above the stony hills, "they will not take +me in." He was absolutely without a refuge, +utterly without a destination; he did not +have a hope. There was nothing he desired +except the surrounding of those four narrow +walls between which he had lain at night +and dreamed those ever-recurring dreams, -- +dreams which were never prophecies or +promises, but always the hackneyed history +of what he had sacrificed by his crime, and +relinquished by his pride. + +The men who passed him looked at him +with mingled amusement and pity. They +knew the "prison look," and they knew the +prison clothes. For though the State gives +to its discharged convicts clothes which are +like those of other men, it makes a hundred +suits from the same sort of cloth. The +police know the fabric, and even the citizens +recognize it. But, then, were each man +dressed in different garb he could not be +disguised. Every one knows in what dull +school that sidelong glance is learned, that +aimless drooping of the shoulders, that +rhythmic lifting of the heavy foot. + +David Culross wondered if his will were +dead. He put it to the test. He lifted up +his head to a position which it had not held +for many miserable years. He put his hands +in his pockets in a pitiful attempt at non- +chalance, and walked down the street with +a step which was meant to be brisk, but +which was in fact only uncertain. In his +pocket were ten dollars. This much the +State equips a man with when it sends him +out of its penal halls. It gives him also +transportation to any point within reasonable +distance that he may desire to reach. Cul- +ross had requested a ticket to Chicago. He +naturally said Chicago. In the long color- +less days it had been in Chicago that all +those endlessly repeated scenes had been +laid. Walking up the street now with that +wavering ineffectual gait, these scenes came +back to surge in his brain like waters cease- +lessly tossed in a wind-swept basin. + +There was the office, bare and clean, where +the young stoop-shouldered clerks sat writ- +ing. In their faces was a strange resem- +blance, just as there was in the backs of the +ledgers, and in the endless bills on the +spindles. If one of them laughed, it was +not with gayety, but with gratification at +the discomfiture of another. None of them +ate well. None of them were rested after +sleep. All of them rode on the stuffy one- +horse cars to and from their work. Sun- +days they lay in bed very late, and ate more +dinner than they could digest. There was +a certain fellowship among them, -- such fel- +lowship as a band of captives among canni- +bals might feel, each of them waiting with +vital curiosity to see who was the next to be +eaten. But of that fellowship that plans in +unison, suffers in sympathy, enjoys vicari- +ously, strengthens into friendship and com- +munion of soul they knew nothing. Indeed, +such camaraderie would have been disap- +proved of by the Head Clerk. He would +have looked on an emotion with exactly the +same displeasure that he would on an error +in the footing of the year's accounts. It was +tacitly understood that one reached the +proud position of Head Clerk by having no +emotions whatever. + +Culross did not remember having been +born with a pen in his hand, or even with one +behind his ear; but certainly from the day he +had been let out of knickerbockers his con- +stant companion had been that greatly over- +estimated article. His father dying at a time +that cut short David's school-days, he went +out armed with his new knowledge of double- +entry, determined to make a fortune and a +commercial name. Meantime, he lived in a +suite of three rooms on West Madison Street +with his mother, who was a good woman, +and lived where she did that she might +be near her favorite meeting-house. She +prayed, and cooked bad dinners, principally +composed of dispiriting pastry. Her idea +of house-keeping was to keep the shades +down, whatever happened; and when David +left home in the evening for any purpose of +pleasure, she wept. David persuaded him- +self that he despised amusement, and went +to bed each night at half-past nine in a +folding bedstead in the front room, and, by +becoming absolutely stolid from mere vege- +tation, imagined that he was almost fit to be +a Head Clerk. + +Walking down the street now after the +twenty years, thinking of these dead but inno- +cent days, this was the picture he saw; and as +he reflected upon it, even the despoiled and +desolate years just passed seemed richer by +contrast. + +He reached the station thus dreaming, and +found, as he had been told when the warden +bade him good-by, that a train was to be at +hand directly bound to the city. A few +moments later he was on that train. Well +back in the shadow, and out of sight of the +other passengers, he gave himself up to the +enjoyment of the comfortable cushion. He +would willingly have looked from the win- +dow, -- green fields were new and wonderful; +drifting clouds a marvel; men, houses, horses, +farms, all a revelation, -- but those haunting +visions were at him again, and would not +leave brain or eye free for other things. + +But the next scene had warmer tints. It +was the interior of a rich room, -- crimson +and amber fabrics, flowers, the gleam of a +statue beyond the drapings; the sound of a +tender piano unflinging a familiar melody, +and a woman. She was just a part of all the +luxury. + +He himself, very timid and conscious of +his awkwardness, sat near, trying barrenly +to get some of his thoughts out of his brain +on to his tongue. + +"Strange, isn't it," the woman broke in +on her own music, "that we have seen each +other so very often and never spoken? I've +often thought introductions were ridiculous. +Fancy seeing a person year in and year +out, and really knowing all about him, and +being perfectly acquainted with his name +-- at least his or her name, you know -- and +then never speaking! Some one comes +along, and says, 'Miss Le Baron, this is Mr. +Culross,' just as if one didn't know that all +the time! And there you are! You cease +to be dumb folks, and fall to talking, and +say a lot of things neither of you care about, +and after five or six weeks of time and sun- +dry meetings, get down to honestly saying +what you mean. I'm so glad we've got +through with that first stage, and can say +what we think and tell what we really like." + +Then the playing began again, -- a harp- +like intermingling of soft sounds. Zoe Le +Baron's hands were very girlish. Every- +thing about her was unformed. Even her +mind was so. But all promised a full com- +pletion. The voice, the shoulders, the smile, +the words, the lips, the arms, the whole +mind and body, were rounding to maturity. + +"Why do you never come to church in +the morning?" asks Miss Le Baron, wheel- +ing around on her piano-stool suddenly. +"You are only there at night, with your +mother." + +"I go only on her account," replies David, +truthfully. "In the morning I am so tired +with the week's work that I rest at home. +I ought to go, I know." + +"Yes, you ought," returns the young +woman, gravely. "It doesn't really rest +one to lie in bed like that. I've tried it at +boarding-school. It was no good whatever." + +"Should you advise me," asks David, +in a confiding tone, "to arise early on +Sunday?" + +The girl blushes a little. "By all means!" +she cries, her eyes twinkling, "and -- and +come to church. Our morning sermons are +really very much better than those in the +evening." And she plays a waltz, and what +with the music and the warmth of the room +and the perfume of the roses, a something +nameless and mystical steals over the poor +clerk, and swathes him about like the fumes +of opium. They are alone. The silence is +made deeper by that rhythmic unswelling +of sound. As the painter flushes the bare +wall into splendor, these emotions illumi- +nated his soul, and gave to it that high cour- +age that comes when men or women suddenly +realize that each life has its significance, -- +their own lives no less than the lives of +others. + +The man sitting there in the shadow in +that noisy train saw in his vision how the +lad arose and moved, like one under a spell, +toward the piano. He felt again the en- +chantment of the music-ridden quiet, of the +perfume, and the presence of the woman. + +"Knowing you and speaking with you +have not made much difference with me," +he whispers, drunk on the new wine of +passion, "for I have loved you since I saw +you first. And though it is so sweet to hear +you speak, your voice is no more beautiful +than I thought it would be. I have loved +you a long time, and I want to know --" + +The broken man in the shadow remem- +bered how the lad stopped, astonished at his +boldness and his fluency, overcome suddenly +at the thought of what he was saying. The +music stopped with a discord. The girl +arose, trembling and scarlet. + +"I would not have believed it of you," +she cries, "to take advantage of me like +this, when I am alone -- and -- everything. +You know very well that nothing but trouble +could come to either of us from your telling +me a thing like that." + +He puts his hands up to his face to keep +off her anger. He is trembling with +confusion. + +Then she broke in penitently, trying to +pull his hands away from his hot face: +"Never mind! I know you didn't mean +anything. Be good, do, and don't spoil the +lovely times we have together. You know +very well father and mother wouldn't let us +see each other at all if they -- if they thought +you were saying anything such as you said +just now." + +"Oh, but I can't help it!" cries the boy, +despairingly. "I have never loved anybody +at all till now. I don't mean not another +girl, you know. But you are the first being +I ever cared for. I sometimes think mother +cares for me because I pay the rent. And +the office -- you can't imagine what that is +like. The men in it are moving corpses. +They're proud to be that way, and so was I +till I knew you and learned what life was like. +All the happy moments I have had have +been here. Now, if you tell me that we are +not to care for each other --" + +There was some one coming down the +hall. The curtain lifted. A middle-aged +man stood there looking at him. + +"Culross," said he, "I'm disappointed in +you. I didn't mean to listen, but I couldn't +help hearing what you said just now. I +don't blame you particularly. Young men +will be fools. And I do not in any way +mean to insult you when I tell you to stop +your coming here. I don't want to see you +inside this door again, and after a while you +will thank me for it. You have taken a +very unfair advantage of my invitation. I +make allowances for your youth." + +He held back the curtain for the lad to +pass out. David threw a miserable glance +at the girl. She was standing looking at +her father with an expression that David +could not fathom. He went into the hall, +picked up his hat, and walked out in +silence. + +David wondered that night, walking the +chilly streets after he quitted the house, and +often, often afterward, if that comfortable +and prosperous gentleman, safe beyond the +perturbations of youth, had any idea of +what he had done. How COULD he know +anything of the black monotony of the life +of the man he turned from his door? The +"desk's dead wood" and all its hateful +slavery, the dull darkened rooms where his +mother prosed through endless evenings, +the bookless, joyless, hopeless existence +that had cramped him all his days rose up +before him, as a stretch of unbroken plain +may rise before a lost man till it maddens +him. + +The bowed man in the car-seat remem- +bered with a flush of reminiscent misery +how the lad turned suddenly in his walk +and entered the door of a drinking-room +that stood open. It was very comfortable +within. The screens kept out the chill of +the autumn night, the sawdust-sprinkled +floor was clean, the tables placed near +together, the bar glittering, the attendants +white-aproned and brisk. + +David liked the place, and he liked better +still the laughter that came from a room +within. It had a note in it a little different +from anything he had ever heard before in +his life, and one that echoed his mood. He +ventured to ask if he might go into the +farther room. + +It does not mean much when most young +men go to a place like this. They take +their bit of unwholesome dissipation quietly +enough, and are a little coarser and more +careless each time they indulge in it, perhaps. +But certainly their acts, whatever gradual +deterioration they may indicate, bespeak no +sudden moral revolution. With this young +clerk it was different. He was a worse man +from the moment he entered the door, for +he did violence to his principles; he killed +his self-respect. + +He had been paid at the office that night, +and he had the money -- a week's miserable +pittance -- in his pocket. His every action +revealed the fact that he was a novice in +recklessness. His innocent face piqued the +men within. They gave him a welcome +that amazed him. Of course the rest of the +evening was a chaos to him. The throat +down which he poured the liquor was as +tender as a child's. The men turned his +head with their ironical compliments. Their +boisterous good-fellowship was as intoxicat- +ing to this poor young recluse as the liquor. + +It was the revulsion from this feeling, +when he came to a consciousness that the +men were laughing at him and not with +him, that wrecked his life. He had gone +from beer to whiskey, and from whiskey to +brandy, by this time, at the suggestion of +the men, and was making awkward lunges +with a billiard cue, spurred on by the mock- +ing applause of the others. One young +fellow was particularly hilarious at his +expense. His jokes became insults, or so +they seemed to David. + +A quarrel followed, half a jest on the part +of the other, all serious as far as David was +concerned. And then -- Well, who could +tell how it happened? The billiard cue was +in David's hand, and the skull of the jester +was split, a horrible gaping thing, revolt- +ingly animal. + +David never saw his home again. His +mother gave it out in church that her heart +was broken, and she wrote a letter to David +begging him to reform. She said she +would never cease to pray for him, that +he might return to grace. He had an +attorney, an impecunious and very aged +gentleman, whose life was a venerable +failure, and who talked so much about his +personal inconveniences from indigestion +that he forgot to take a very keen interest +in the concerns of his client. David's trial +made no sensation. He did not even have +the cheap sympathy of the morbid. The +court-room was almost empty the dull +spring day when the east wind beat against +the window, jangling the loose panes all +through the reading of the verdict. + +Twenty years! + +Twenty years in the penitentiary! + +David looked up at the judge and smiled. +Men have been known to smile that way +when the car-wheel crashes over their legs, +or a bullet lets the air through their lungs. + +All that followed would have seemed +more terrible if it had not appeared to be +so remote. David had to assure himself +over and over that it was really he who was +put in that disgraceful dress, and locked in +that shameful walk from corridor to work- +room, from work-room to chapel. The work +was not much more monotonous than that +to which he had been accustomed in the +office. Here, as there, one was reproved +for not doing the required amount, but never +praised for extraordinary efforts. Here, as +there, the workers regarded each other with +dislike and suspicion. Here, as there, work +was a penalty and not a pleasure. + +It is the nights that are to be dreaded in +a penitentiary. Speech eases the brain of +free men; but the man condemned to eter- +nal silence is bound to endure torments. +Thought, which might be a diversion, be- +comes a curse; it is a painful disease which +becomes chronic. It does not take long to +forget the days of the week and the months +of the year when time brings no variance. +David drugged himself on dreams. He +knew it was weakness, but it was the wine +of forgetfulness, and he indulged in it. He +went over and over, in endless repetition, +every scene in which Zoe Le Baron had +figured. + +He learned by a paper that she had gone +to Europe. He was glad of that. For there +were hours in which he imagined that his +fate might have caused her distress -- not +much, of course, but perhaps an occasional +hour of sympathetic regret. But it was +pleasanter not to think of that. He pre- +ferred to remember the hours they had +spent together while she was teaching him +the joy of life. + +How lovely her gray eyes were! Deep, +yet bright, and full of silent little speeches. +The rooms in which he imagined her as +moving were always splendid; the gowns +she wore were of rustling silk. He never in +any dream, waking or sleeping, associated +her with poverty or sorrow or pain. Gay +and beautiful, she moved from city to city, +in these visions of David's, looking always +at wonderful things, and finding laughter in +every happening. + +It was six months after his entrance into +his silent abode that a letter came for him. + +"By rights, Culross," said the warden, "I +should not give this letter to you. It isn't +the sort we approve of. But you're in for +a good spell, and if there is anything that +can make life seem more tolerable, I don't +know but you're entitled to it. At least, +I'm not the man to deny it to you." + +This was the letter: -- + +"MY DEAR FRIEND, -- I hope you do not +think that all these months, when you have +been suffering so terribly, I have been think- +ing of other things! But I am sure you +know the truth. You know that I could +not send you word or come to see you, or +I would have done it. When I first heard of +what you had done, I saw it all as it hap- +pened, -- that dreadful scene, I mean, in the +saloon. I am sure I have imagined every- +thing just as it was. I begged papa to help +you, but he was very angry. You see, +papa was so peculiar. He thought more +of the appearances of things, perhaps, than +of facts. It infuriated him to think of me +as being concerned about you or with you. +I did not know he could be so angry, and +his anger did not die, but for days it cast +such a shadow over me that I used to wish +I was dead. Only I would not disobey him, +and now I am glad of that. We were in +France three months, and then, coming home, +papa died. It was on the voyage. I wish +he had asked me to forgive him, for then +I think I could have remembered him with +more tenderness. But he did nothing of +the kind. He did not seem to think he had +done wrong in any way, though I feel that +some way we might have saved you. I am +back here in Chicago in the old home. But +I shall not stay in this house. It is so large +and lonesome, and I always see you and +father facing each other angrily there in the +parlor when I enter it. So I am going to +get me some cosey rooms in another part of +the city, and take my aunt, who is a sweet +old lady, to live with me; and I am going +to devote my time -- all of it -- and all of my +brains to getting you out of that terrible +place. What is the use of telling me that +you are a murderer? Do I not know you +could not be brought to hurt anything? +I suppose you must have killed that poor +man, but then it was not you, it was that +dreadful drink -- it was Me! That is what +continually haunts me. If I had been a +braver girl, and spoken the words that were +in my heart, you would not have gone into +that place. You would be innocent to-day. +It was I who was responsible for it all. I +let father kill your heart right there before +me, and never said a word. Yet I knew +how it was with you, and -- this is what I +ought to have said then, and what I must +say now -- and all the time I felt just as +you did. I thought I should die when I +saw you go away, and knew you would +never come back again. Only I was so +selfish, I was so wicked, I would say nothing. + +"I have no right to be comfortable and +hopeful, and to have friends, with you shut +up from liberty and happiness. I will not +have those comfortable rooms, after all. +I will live as you do. I will live alone +in a bare room. For it is I who am guilty! +And then I will feel that I also am being +punished. + +"Do you hate me? Perhaps my telling +you now all these things, and that I felt +toward you just as you did toward me, will +not make you happy. For it may be that +you despise me. + +"Anyway, I have told you the truth now. +I will go as soon as I hear from you to a +lawyer, and try to find out how you may be +liberated. I am sure it can be done when +the facts are known. + +"Poor boy! How I do hope you have +known in your heart that I was not for- +getting you. Indeed, day or night, I have +thought of nothing else. Now I am free to +help you. And be sure, whatever happens, +that I am working for you. + +"ZOE LE BARON." + + +That was all. Just a girlish, constrained +letter, hardly hinting at the hot tears that +had been shed for many weary nights, coyly +telling of the impatient young love and all +the maidenly shame. + +David permitted himself to read it only +once. Then a sudden resolution was born -- +a heroic one. Before he got the letter he +was a crushed and unsophisticated boy; +when he had read it, and absorbed its full +significance, he became suddenly a man, +capable of a great sacrifice. + +"I return your letter," he wrote, without +superscription, "and thank you for your +anxiety about me. But the truth is, I had +forgotten all about you in my trouble. You +were not in the least to blame for what hap- +pened. I might have known I would come +to such an end. You thought I was good, +of course; but it is not easy to find out the +life of a young man. It is rather mortifying +to have a private letter sent here, because +the warden reads them all. I hope you will +enjoy yourself this winter, and hasten to +forget one who had certainly forgotten you +till reminded by your letter, which I return. + +"Respectfully, + +"DAVID CULROSS." + + +That night some deep lines came into +his face which never left it, and which made +him look like a man of middle age. + +He never doubted that his plan would +succeed; that, piqued and indignant at his +ingratitude, she would hate him, and in a +little time forget he ever lived, or remember +him only to blush with shame at her past +association with him. He saw her happy, +loved, living the usual life of women, with +all those things that make life rich. + +For there in the solitude an understand- +ing of deep things came to him. He who +thought never to have a wife grew to know +what the joy of it must be. He perceived +all the subtle rapture of wedded souls. He +learned what the love of children was, the +pride of home, the unselfish ambition for +success that spurs men on. All the emo- +tions passed in procession at night before +him, tricked out in palpable forms. + +A burst of girlish tears would dissipate +whatever lingering pity Zoe felt for him. +How often he said that! With her sensi- +tiveness she would be sure to hate a man +who had mortified her. + +So he fell to dreaming of her again as +moving among happy and luxurious scenes, +exquisitely clothed, with flowers on her +bosom and jewels on her neck; and he saw +men loving her, and was glad, and saw her +at last loving the best of them, and told +himself in the silence of the night that +it was as he wished. + +Yet always, always, from weary week to +weary week, he rehearsed the scenes. They +were his theatre, his opera, his library, his +lecture hall. + +He rehearsed them again there on the +cars. He never wearied of them. To be +sure, other thoughts had come to him at +night. Much that to most men seems com- +plex and puzzling had grown to appear +simple to him. In a way his brain had +quickened and deepened through the years +of solitude. He had thought out a great +many things. He had read a few good +books and digested them, and the visions in +his heart had kept him from being bitter. + +Yet, suddenly confronted with liberty, +turned loose like a pastured colt, without +master or rein, he felt only confusion and +dismay. He might be expected to feel ex- +ultation. He experienced only fright. It +is precisely the same with the liberated colt. + +The train pulled into a bustling station, +in which the multitudinous noises were +thrown back again from the arched iron +roof. The relentless haste of all the people +was inexpressibly cruel to the man who +looked from the window wondering whither +he would go, and if, among all the thousands +that made up that vast and throbbing city, +he would ever find a friend. + +For a moment David longed even for +that unmaternal mother who had forgotten +him in the hour of his distress; but she had +been dead for many years. + +The train stopped. Every one got out. +David forced himself to his feet and followed. +He had been driven back into the world. +It would have seemed less terrible to have +been driven into a desert. He walked +toward the great iron gates, seeing the +people and hearing the noises confusedly. + +As he entered the space beyond the grat- +ing some one caught him by the arm. It +was a little middle-aged woman in plain +clothes, and with sad gray eyes. + +"Is this David?" said she. + +He did not speak, but his face answered +her. + +"I knew you were coming to-day. I've +waited all these years, David. You didn't +think I believed what you said in that letter +did you? This way, David, -- this is the +way home." + + + + +Two Pioneers + +IT was the year of the small-pox. The +Pawnees had died in their cold tepees +by the fifties, the soldiers lay dead in the +trenches without the fort, and many a gay +French voyageur, who had thought to go +singing down the Missouri on his fur-laden +raft in the springtime, would never again +see the lights of St. Louis, or the coin of +the mighty Choteau company. + +It had been a winter of tragedies. The +rigors of the weather and the scourge of +the disease had been fought with Indian +charm and with Catholic prayer. Both +were equally unavailing. If a man was +taken sick at the fort they put him in a +warm room, brought him a jug of water +once a day, and left him to find out what his +constitution was worth. Generally he re- +covered; for the surgeon's supplies had +been exhausted early in the year. But the +Indians, in their torment, rushed into the +river through the ice, and returned to roll +themselves in their blankets and die in +ungroaning stoicism. + +Every one had grown bitter and hard. +The knives of the trappers were sharp, and +not one whit sharper than their tempers. +Some one said that the friendly Pawnees +were conspiring with the Sioux, who were +always treacherous, to sack the settlement. +The trappers doubted this. They and the +Pawnees had been friends many years, and +they had together killed the Sioux in four +famous battles on the Platte. Yet -- who +knows? There was pestilence in the air, +and it had somehow got into men's souls as +well as their bodies. + +So, at least, Father de Smet said. He +alone did not despair. He alone tried +neither charm nor curse. He dressed him +an altar in the wilderness, and he prayed at +it -- but not for impossible things. When +in a day's journey you come across two +lodges of Indians, sixty souls in each, lying +dead and distorted from the plague in their +desolate tepees, you do not pray, if you are +a man like Father de Smet. You go on to +the next lodge where the living yet are, and +teach them how to avoid death. + +Besides, when you are young, it is much +easier to act than to pray. When the chil- +dren cried for food, Father de Smet took +down the rifle from the wall and went out +with it, coming back only when he could +feed the hungry. There were places where +the prairie was black with buffalo, and the +shy deer showed their delicate heads among +the leafless willows of the Papillion. When +they -- the children -- were cold, this young +man brought in baskets of buffalo chips +from the prairie and built them a fire, or he +hung more skins up at the entrance to the +tepees. If he wanted to cross a river and +had no boat at hand, he leaped the uncertain +ice, or, in clear current, swam, with his +clothes on his head in a bundle. + +A wonderful traveller for the time was +Father de Smet. Twice he had gone as far +as the land of the Flathead nation, and he +could climb mountain passes as well as any +guide of the Rockies. He had built a dozen +missions, lying all the way from the Colum- +bia to the Kaw. He had always a jest at +his tongue's end, and served it out with as +much readiness as a prayer; and he had, +withal, an arm trained to do execution. +Every man on the plains understood the +art of self-preservation. Even in Cainsville, +over by the council ground of the western +tribes, which was quite the most civilized +place for hundreds of miles, life was uncer- +tain when the boats came from St. Louis +with bad whiskey in their holds. But no one +dared take liberties with the holy father. +The thrust from his shoulder was straight +and sure, and his fist was hard. + +Yet it was not the sinner that Father de +Smet meant to crush. He always supple- +mented his acts of physical prowess with +that explanation. It was the sin that he +struck at from the shoulder -- and may not +even an anointed one strike at sin? + +Father de Smet could draw a fine line, +too, between the things which were bad in +themselves, and the things which were only +extrinsically bad. For example, there were +the soups of Mademoiselle Ninon. Mam'selle +herself was not above reproach, but her soups +were. Mademoiselle Ninon was the only +Parisian thing in the settlement. And she +was certainly to be avoided -- which was per- +haps the reason that no one avoided her. It +was four years since she had seen Paris. She +was sixteen then, and she followed the for- +tunes of a certain adventurer who found it +advisable to sail for Montreal. Ninon had +been bored back in Paris, it being dull in the +mantua-making shop of Madame Guittar. If +she had been a man she would have taken +to navigation, and might have made herself +famous by sailing to some unknown part of +the New World. Being a woman, she took a +lover who was going to New France, and for- +got to weep when he found an early and vio- +lent death. And there were others at hand, +and Ninon sailed around the cold blue lakes, +past Sault St. Marie, and made her way +across the portages to the Mississippi, and +so down to the sacred rock of St. Louis. +That was a merry place. Ninon had fault +to find neither with the wine nor the dances. +They were all that one could have desired, +and there was no limit to either of them. +But still, after a time, even this grew tire- +some to one of Ninon's spirit, and she took +the first opportunity to sail up the Missouri +with a certain young trapper connected with +the great fur company, and so found her- +self at Cainsville, with the blue bluffs rising +to the east of her, and the low white +stretches of the river flats undulating down +to where the sluggish stream wound its way +southward capriciously. + +Ninon soon tired of her trapper. For +one thing she found out that he was a +coward. She saw him run once in a buffalo +fight. That was when the Pawnee stood +still with a blanket stretched wide in a gaudy +square, and caught the head of the mad +animal fairly in the tough fabric; his mus- +tang's legs trembled under him, but he did +not move, -- for a mustang is the soul of an +Indian, and obeys each thought; the Indian +himself felt his heart pounding at his ribs; +but once with that garment fast over the +baffled eyes of the struggling brute, the +rest was only a matter of judicious knife- +thrusts. Ninon saw this. She rode past +her lover, and snatched the twisted bullion +cord from his hat that she had braided and +put there, and that night she tied it on the +hat of the Pawnee who had killed the buffalo. + +The Pawnees were rather proud of the +episode, and as for the Frenchmen, they did +not mind. The French have always been +very adaptable in America. Ninon was +universally popular. + +And so were her soups. + +Every man has his price. Father de +Smet's was the soups of Mademoiselle Ninon. +Fancy! If you have an educated palate and +are obliged to eat the strong distillation of +buffalo meat, cooked in a pot which has +been wiped out with the greasy petticoat of +a squaw! When Ninon came down from +St. Louis she brought with her a great +box containing neither clothes, furniture, +nor trinkets, but something much more +wonderful! It was a marvellous compound- +ing of spices and seasonings. The aromatic +liquids she set before the enchanted men of +the settlement bore no more relation to +ordinary buffalo soup than Chateaubrand's +Indian maidens did to one of the Paw- +nee girls, who slouched about the settle- +ment with noxious tresses and sullen slavish +coquetries. + +Father de Smet would not at any time +have called Ninon a scarlet woman. But +when he ate the dish of soup or tasted the +hot corn-cakes that she invariably invited +him to partake of as he passed her little +house, he refrained with all the charity of +a true Christian and an accomplished epicure +from even thinking her such. And he re- +membered the words of the Saviour, "Let +him who is without sin among you cast the +first stone." + +To Father de Smet's healthy nature +nothing seemed more superfluous than sin. +And he was averse to thinking that any +committed deeds of which he need be +ashamed. So it was his habit, especially if +the day was pleasant and his own thoughts +happy, to say to himself when he saw one +of the wild young trappers leaving the cabin +of Mademoiselle Ninon: "He has been +for some of the good woman's hot cakes," +till he grew quite to believe that the only +attractions that the adroit Frenchwoman +possessed were of a gastronomic nature. + +To tell the truth, the attractions of Made- +moiselle Ninon were varied. To begin +with, she was the only thing in that wilder- +ness to suggest home. Ninon had a genius +for home-making. Her cabin, in which she +cooked, slept, ate, lived, had become a +boudoir. + +The walls were hung with rare and beau- +tiful skins; the very floor made rich with +huge bear robes, their permeating odors +subdued by heavy perfumes brought, like +the spices, from St. Louis. The bed, in day- +time, was a couch of beaver-skins; the fire- +place had branching antlers above it, on +which were hung some of the evidences of +the fair Ninon's coquetry, such as silken +scarves, of the sort the voyageurs from the +far north wore; and necklaces made by the +Indians of the Pacific coast and brought to +Ninon by -- but it is not polite to inquire +into these matters. There were little moc- +casins also, much decorated with porcupine- +quills, one pair of which Father de Smet +had brought from the Flathead nation, and +presented to Ninon that time when she +nursed him through a frightful run of fever. +She would take no money for her patient +services. + +"Father," said she, gravely, when he +offered it to her, "I am not myself virtuous. +But I have the distinction of having pre- +served the only virtuous creature in the +settlement for further usefulness. Some- +times, perhaps, you will pray for Ninon." + +Father de Smet never forgot those prayers. + +These were wild times, mind you. No +use to keep your skirts coldly clean if you +wished to be of help. These men were sub- +duing a continent. Their primitive qualities +came out. Courage, endurance, sacrifice, +suffering without complaint, friendship to +the death, indomitable hatred, unfaltering +hope, deep-seated greed, splendid gayety +-- it takes these things to subdue a conti- +nent. Vice is also an incidental, -- that is +to say, what one calls vice. This is because +it is the custom to measure these men as if +they were governed by the laws of civili- +zation, where there is neither law nor +civilization. + +This much is certain: gentlemen cannot +conquer a country. They tried gentlemen +back in Virginia, and they died, partly from +lack of intellect, but mostly from lack of +energy. After the yeomen have fought the +conquering fight, it is well enough to bring +in gentlemen, who are sometimes clever +lawmakers, and who look well on thrones +or in presidential chairs. + +But to return to the winter of the small- +pox. It was then that the priest and Ninon +grew to know each other well. They be- +came acquainted first in the cabin where +four of the trappers lay tossing in delirium. +The horrible smell of disease weighted the +air. Outside wet snow fell continuously +and the clouds seemed to rest only a few +feet above the sullen bluffs. The room was +bare of comforts, and very dirty. Ninon +looked about with disgust. + +"You pray," said she to the priest, "and +I will clean the room." + +"Not so," returned the broad-shouldered +father, smilingly, "we will both clean the +room." Thus it came that they scrubbed +the floor together, and made the chimney +so that it would not smoke, and washed the +blankets on the beds, and kept the wood- +pile high. They also devised ventilators, +and let in fresh air without exposing the +patients. They had no medicine, but they +continually rubbed the suffering men with +bear's grease. + +"It's better than medicine," said Ninon, +after the tenth day, as, wan with watching, she +held the cool hand of one of the recovering +men in her own. "If we had had medicines +we should have killed these men." + +"You are a woman of remarkable sense," +said the holy father, who was eating a dish +of corn-meal and milk that Ninon had just +prepared, "and a woman also of Christian +courage." + +"Christian courage?" echoed Ninon; "do +you think that is what you call it? I am +not afraid, no, not I; but it is not Christian +courage. You mistake in calling it that." +There were tears in her eyes. The priest +saw them. + +"God lead you at last into peaceful ways," +said he, softly, lifting one hand in blessing. +"Your vigil is ended. Go to your home +and sleep. You know the value of the +temporal life that God has given to man. +In the hours of the night, Ninon, think of +the value of eternal life, which it is also +His to give." + +Ninon stared at him a moment with a +dawning horror in her eyes. + +Then she pointed to the table. + +"Whatever you do," said she, "don't +forget the bear's grease." And she went +out laughing. The priest did not pause +to recommend her soul to further blessing. +He obeyed her directions. + +March was wearing away tediously. The +river was not yet open, and the belated +boats with needed supplies were moored +far down the river. Many of the reduced +settlers were dependent on the meat the +Indians brought them for sustenance. The +mud made the roads almost impassable; for +the frost lay in a solid bed six inches below +the surface, and all above that was semi- +liquid muck. Snow and rain alternated, +and the frightful disease did not cease its +ravages. + +The priest got little sleep. Now he was +at the bed of a little half-breed child, +smoothing the straight black locks from +the narrow brow; now at the cot of some +hulking trapper, who wept at the pain, but +died finally with a grin of bravado on his +lips; now in a foul tepee, where some grave +Pawnee wrapped his mantle about him, and +gazed with prophetic and unflinching eyes +into the land of the hereafter. + +The little school that the priest started +had been long since abandoned. It was only +the preservation of life that one thought of +in these days. And recklessness had made +the men desperate. To the ravages of dis- +ease were added horrible murders. Moral +health is always low when physical health +is so. + +Give a nation two winters of grippe, and +it will have an epidemic of suicide. Give +it starvation and small-pox, and it will have +a contagion of murders. There are subtle +laws underlying these things, -- laws which +the physicians think they can explain; but +they are mistaken. The reason is not so +material as it seems. + +But spring was near in spite of falling +snow and the dirty ice in the river. There +was not even a flushing of the willow twigs +to tell it by, nor a clearing of the leaden +sky, -- only the almanac. Yet all men +were looking forward to it The trappers +put in the feeble days of convalescence, +making long rafts on which to pile the +skins dried over winter, -- a fine variety, +worth all but their weight in gold. Money +was easily got in those days; but there +are circumstances under which money is +valueless. + +Father de Smet thought of this the day +before Easter, as he plunged through the +mud of the winding street in his bearskin +gaiters. Stout were his legs, firm his lungs, +as he turned to breathe in the west wind; +clear his sharp and humorous eyes. He +was going to the little chapel where the +mission school had previously been held. +Here was a rude pulpit, and back of it a +much-disfigured virgin, dressed in turkey- +red calico. Two cheap candles in their tin +sticks guarded this figure, and beneath, on +the floor, was spread an otter-skin of perfect +beauty. The seats were of pine, without +backs, and the wind whistled through the +chinks between the logs. Moreover, the +place was dirty. Lenten service had been +out of the question. The living had neither +time nor strength to come to worship; and +the dead were not given the honor of a +burial from church in these times of terror. +The priest looked about him in dismay, the +place was so utterly forsaken; yet to let +Easter go by without recognition was not +to his liking. He had been the night before +to every house in the settlement, bidding +the people to come to devotions on Sunday +morning. He knew that not one of them +would refuse his invitation. There was no +hero larger in the eyes of these unfortunates +than the simple priest who walked among +them with his unpretentious piety. The +promises were given with whispered bless- +ings, and there were voices that broke in +making them, and hands that shook with +honest gratitude. The priest, remembering +these things, and all the awful suffering of +the winter, determined to make the ser- +vice symbolic, indeed, of the resurrection +and the life, -- the annual resurrection and +life that comes each year, a palpable miracle, +to teach the dullest that God reigns. + +"How are you going to trim the altar?" +cried a voice behind him. + +He turned, startled, and in the doorway +stood Mademoiselle Ninon, her short skirt +belted with a red silk scarf, -- the token of +some trapper, -- her ankles protected with +fringed leggins, her head covered with a be- +ribboned hat of felt, such as the voyageurs +wore. + +"Our devotions will be the only decora- +tions we can hang on it. But gratitude is +better than blossoms, and humanity more +beautiful than green wreaths," said the +father, gently. + +It was a curious thing, and one that he +had often noticed himself; he gave this +woman -- unworthy as she was -- the best +of his simple thoughts. + +Ninon tiptoed toward the priest with one +finger coquettishly raised to insure secrecy. + +"You will never believe it," she whis- +pered, "no one would believe it! But the +fact is, father, I have two lilies." + +"Lilies," cried the priest, incredulously, +"two lilies?" + +"That's what I say, father -- two marvel- +lously fair lilies with little sceptres of gold in +them, and leaves as white as snow. The bulbs +were brought me last autumn by --; that +is to say, they were brought from St. Louis. +Only now have they blossomed. Heavens, +how I have watched the buds! I have said +to myself every morning for a fortnight: +'Will they open in time for the good +father's Easter morning service?' Then I +said: 'They will open too soon. Buds,' I +have cried to them, 'do not dare to open yet, +or you will be horribly passée by Easter. +Have the kindness, will you, to save your- +selves for a great event.' And they did it; +yes, father, you may not believe, but no +later than this morning these sensible +flowers opened up their leaves boldly, quite +conscious that they were doing the right +thing, and to-morrow, if you please, they +will be here. And they will perfume the +whole place; yes." + +She stopped suddenly, and relaxed her +vivacious expression for one of pain. + +"You are certainly ill," cried the priest. +"Rest yourself." He tried to push her on +to one of the seats; but a sort of convulsive +rigidity came over her, very alarming to +look at. + +"You are worn out," her companion said +gravely. "And you are chilled." + +"Yes, I'm cold," confessed Ninon. "But +I had to come to tell you about the lilies. +But, do you see, I never could bring myself +to put them in this room as it is now. It +would be too absurd to place them among +this dirt. We must clean the place." + +"The place will be cleaned. I will see to +it. But as for you, go home and care for +yourself." Ninon started toward the door +with an uncertain step. Suddenly she came +back. + +"It is too funny," she said, " that red +calico there on the Virgin. Father, I have +some laces which were my mother's, who +was a good woman, and which have never +been worn by me. They are all I have to +remember France by and the days when I +was -- different. If I might be permitted --" +she hesitated and looked timidly at the priest. + +"'She hath done what she could,'" mur- +mured Father de Smet, softly. "Bring your +laces, Ninon." He would have added: +"Thy sins be forgiven thee." But un- +fortunately, at this moment, Pierre came +lounging down the street, through the mud, +fresh from Fort Laramie. His rifle was +slung across his back, and a full game-bag +revealed the fact that he had amused him- +self on his way. His curly and wind-bleached +hair blew out in time-torn banners from the +edge of his wide hat. His piercing, black +eyes were those of a man who drinks deep, +fights hard, and lives always in the open air. +Wild animals have such eyes, only there is +this difference: the viciousness of an +animal is natural; at least one-half of the +viciousness of man is artificial and devised. + +When Ninon saw the frost-reddened face +of this gallant of the plains, she gave a little +cry of delight, and the color rushed back +into her face. The trapper saw her, and +gave a rude shout of welcome. The next +moment, he had swung her clear of the +chapel steps; and then the two went down +the street together, Pierre pausing only long +enough to doff his hat to the priest. + +"The Virgin will wear no fresh laces," +said the priest, with some bitterness; but he +was mistaken. An hour later, Ninon was +back, not only with a box of laces, but also +with a collection of cosmetics, with which +she proceeded to make startling the scratched +and faded face of the wooden Virgin, who +wore, after the completion of Ninon's labors, +a decidedly piquant and saucy expression. +The very manner in which the laces were +draped had a suggestion of Ninon's still +unforgotten art as a maker of millinery, and +was really a very good presentment of Paris +fashions four years past. Pierre, meantime, +amused himself by filling up the chinks in +the logs with fresh mud, -- a commodity of +which there was no lack, -- and others of +the neighbors, incited by these extraordinary +efforts, washed the dirt from seats, floor, and +windows, and brought furs with which to make +presentable the floor about the pulpit. + +Father de Smet worked harder than any +of them. In his happy enthusiasm he chose +to think this energy on the part of the others +was prompted by piety, though well he +knew it was only a refuge from the insuffer- +able ennui that pervaded the place. Ninon +suddenly came up to him with a white face. + +"I am not well," she said. Her teeth +were chattering, and her eyes had a little +blue glaze over them. "I am going home. +In the morning I will send the lilies." + +The priest caught her by the hand. + +"Ninon," he whispered, "it is on my soul +not to let you go to-night. Something tells +me that the hour of your salvation is come. +Women worse than you, Ninon, have come +to lead holy lives. Pray, Ninon, pray to +the Mother of Sorrows, who knows the suf- +ferings and sins of the heart." He pointed +to the befrilled and highly fashionable Virgin +with her rouge-stained cheeks. + +Ninon shrank from him, and the same +convulsive rigidity he had noticed before, +held her immovable. A moment later, she +was on the street again, and the priest, +watching her down the street, saw her enter +her cabin with Pierre. + +....... + + +It was past midnight when the priest was +awakened from his sleep by a knock on the +door. He wrapped his great buffalo-coat +about him, and answered the summons. +Without in the damp darkness stood Pierre. + +"Father," he cried, "Ninon has sent for +you. Since she left you, she has been very +ill. I have done what I could; but now she +hardly speaks, but I make out that she +wants you." Ten minutes later, they were +in Ninon's cabin. When Father de Smet +looked at her he knew she was dying. He +had seen the Indians like that many times +during the winter. It was the plague, but +driven in to prey upon the system by the +exposure. The Parisienne's teeth were set, +but she managed to smile upon her visitor +as he threw off his coat and bent over her. +He poured some whiskey for her; but she +could not get the liquid over her throat. + +"Do not," she said fiercely between those +set white teeth, "do not forget the lilies." She +sank back and fixed her glazing eyes on the +antlers, and kept them there watching those +dangling silken scarves, while the priest, in +haste, spoke the words for the departing soul. + +The next morning she lay dead among +those half barbaric relics of her coquetry, +and two white lilies with hearts of gold +shed perfume from an altar in a wilderness. + + + +Up the Gulch + +"GO West?" sighed Kate. "Why, + yes! I'd like to go West." + +She looked at the babies, who were play- +ing on the floor with their father, and +sighed again. + +"You've got to go somewhere, you know, +Kate. It might as well be west as in any +other direction. And this is such a chance! +We can't have mamma lying around on +sofas without any roses in her cheeks, can +we?" He put this last to the children, +who, being yet at the age when they talked +in "Early English," as their father called +it, made a clamorous but inarticulate reply. + +Major Shelly, the grandfather of these +very young persons, stroked his mustache +and looked indulgent. + +"Show almost human intelligence, don't +they?" said their father, as he lay flat on +his back and permitted the babies to climb +over him. + +"Ya-as," drawled the major. "They do. +Don't see how you account for it, Jack." + +Jack roared, and the lips of the babies +trembled with fear. + +Their mother said nothing. She was on +the sofa, her hands lying inert, her eyes +fixed on her rosy babies with an expression +which her father-in-law and her husband +tried hard not to notice. + +It was not easy to tell why Kate was +ailing. Of course, the babies were young, +but there were other reasons. + +"I believe you're too happy," Jack some- +times said to her. "Try not to be quite so +happy, Kate. At least, try not to take +your happiness so seriously. Please don't +adore me so; I'm only a commonplace +fellow. And the babies -- they're not +going to blow away." + +But Kate continued to look with intense +eyes at her little world, and to draw into +it with loving and generous hands all who +were willing to come. + +"Kate is just like a kite," Jack explained +to his father, the major; "she can't keep +afloat without just so many bobs." + +Kate's "bobs" were the unfortunates she +collected around her. These absorbed her +strength. She felt their misery with sym- +pathies that were abnormal. The very +laborer in the streets felt his toil less +keenly than she, as she watched the drops +gather on his brow. + +"Is life worth keeping at the cost of a +lot like that?" she would ask. She felt +ashamed of her own ease. She apologized +for her own serene and perfect happiness. +She even felt sorry for those mothers who +had not children as radiantly beautiful as +her own. + +"Kate must have a change," the major +had given out. He was going West on +business and insisted on taking her with +him. Jack looked doubtful. He wasn't +sure how he would get along without Kate +to look after everything. Secretly, he had +an idea that servants were a kind of wild +animal that had to be fed by an experienced +keeper. But when the time came, he kissed +her good-by in as jocular a manner as he +could summon, and refused to see the tears +that gathered in her eyes. + +Until Chicago was reached, there was +nothing very different from that which +Kate had been in the habit of seeing. +After that, she set herself to watch for +Western characteristics. She felt that she +would know them as soon as she saw them. + +"I expected to be stirred up and shocked," +she explained to the major. But somehow, +the Western type did not appear. Common- +place women with worn faces -- browned +and seamed, though not aged -- were at +the stations, waiting for something or some +one. Men with a hurried, nervous air +were everywhere. Kate looked in vain for +the gayety and heartiness which she had +always associated with the West. + +After they got beyond the timber country +and rode hour after hour on a tract smooth +as a becalmed ocean, she gave herself up to +the feeling of immeasurable vastness which +took possession of her. The sun rolled out +of the sky into oblivion with a frantic, head- +long haste. Nothing softened the aspect +of its wrath. Near, red, familiar, it seemed +to visibly bowl along the heavens. In the +morning it rose as baldly as it had set. +And back and forth over the awful plain +blew the winds, -- blew from east to west +and back again, strong as if fresh from the +chambers of their birth, full of elemental +scents and of mighty murmurings. + +"This is the West!" Kate cried, again +and again. + +The major listened to her unsmilingly. +It always seemed to him a waste of muscu- +lar energy to smile. He did not talk much. +Conversation had never appealed to him in +the light of an art. He spoke when there +was a direction or a command to be given, +or an inquiry to be made. The major, if +the truth must be known, was material. +Things that he could taste, touch, see, +appealed to him. He had been a volunteer +in the civil war, -- a volunteer with a good +record, -- which he never mentioned; and, +having acquitted himself decently, let the +matter go without asking reprisal or pay- +ment for what he had freely given. He +went into business and sold cereal foods. + +"I believe in useful things," the major +expressed himself. "Oatmeal, wheat, -- +men have to have them. God intended +they should. There's Jack -- my son -- +Jack Shelly -- lawyer. What's the use of +litigation? God didn't design litigation. +It doesn't do anybody any good. It isn't +justice you get. It's something entirely +different, -- a verdict according to law. +They say Jack's clever. But I'm mighty +glad I sell wheat." + +He didn't sell it as a speculator, how- +ever. That wasn't his way. + +"I earn what I make," he often said; and +he had grown rich in the selling of his +wholesome foods. + +. . . . . . . + +Helena lies among round, brown hills. +Above it is a sky of deep and illimitable +blue. In the streets are crumbs of gold, +but it no longer pays to mine for these; +because, as real estate, the property is more +valuable. It is a place of fictitious values. +There is excitement in the air. Men have +the faces of speculators. Every laborer is +patient at his task because he cherishes a +hope that some day he will be a million- +naire. There is hospitality, and cordiality +and good fellowship, and an undeniable +democracy. There is wealth and luxurious +living. There is even culture, -- but it is +obtruded as a sort of novelty; it is not +accepted as a matter of course. + +Kate and the major were driven over two +or three miles of dusty, hard road to a dis- +tant hotel, which stands in the midst of +greenness, -- in an oasis. Immediately +above the green sward that surrounds it the +brown hills rise, the grass scorched by the +sun. + +Kate yielded herself to the almost absurd +luxury of the place with ease and compla- +cency. She took kindly to the great veran- +das. She adapted herself to the elaborate +and ill-assorted meals. She bathed in the +marvellous pool, warm with the heat of +eternal fires in mid-earth. This pool was +covered with a picturesque Moorish struct- +ure, and at one end a cascade tumbled, over +which the sun, coming through colored win- +dows, made a mimic prism in the white +spray. The life was not unendurable. The +major was seldom with her, being obliged +to go about his business; and Kate amused +herself by driving over the hills, by watch- +ing the inhabitants, by wondering about the +lives in the great, pretentious, unhomelike +houses with their treeless yards and their +closed shutters. The sunlight, white as +the glare on Arabian sands, penetrated +everywhere. It seemed to fairly scorch the +eye-balls. + +"Oh, we're West, now," Kate said, exult- +antly. "I've seen a thousand types. But +yet -- not quite THE type -- not the imper- +sonation of simplicity and daring that I was +looking for." + +The major didn't know quite what she +was talking about. But he acquiesced. +All he cared about was to see her grow +stronger; and that she was doing every day. +She was growing amazingly lovely, too, -- +at least the major thought so. Every one +looked at her; but that was, perhaps, be- +cause she was such a sylph of a woman. +Beside the stalwart major, she looked like a +fairy princess. + +One day she suddenly realized the fact +that she had had a companion on the +veranda for several mornings. Of course, +there were a great many persons -- invalids, +largely -- sitting about, but one of them +had been obtruding himself persistently +into her consciousness. It was not that he +was rude; it was only that he was thinking +about her. A person with a temperament +like Kate's could not long be oblivious to a +thing like that; and she furtively observed +the offender with that genius for psycho- +logical perception which was at once her +greatest danger and her charm. + +The man was dressed with a childish +attempt at display. His shirt-front was +decorated with a diamond, and his cuff- +buttons were of onyx with diamond settings. +His clothes were expensive and perceptibly +new, and he often changed his costumes, +but with a noticeable disregard for pro- +priety. He was very conscious of his silk +hat, and frequently wiped it with a handker- +chief on which his monogram was worked +in blue. + +When the 'busses brought up their loads, +he was always on hand to watch the new- +comers. He took a long time at his din- +ners, and appeared to order a great deal and +eat very little. There were card-rooms and +a billiard-hall, not to mention a bowling- +alley and a tennis-court, where the other +guests of the hotel spent much time. But +this man never visited them. He sat often +with one of the late reviews in his hand, +looking as if he intended giving his atten- +tion to it at any moment. But after he had +scrupulously cut the leaves with a little +carved ivory paper-cutter, he sat staring +straight before him with the book open, but +unread, in his hand. + +Kate took more interest in this melan- +choly, middle-aged man than she would +have done if she had not been on the out- +look for her Western type, -- the man who +was to combine all the qualities of chivalry, +daring, bombast, and generosity, seasoned +with piquant grammar, which she firmly +believed to be the real thing. But notwith- +standing this kindly and somewhat curious +interest, she might never have made his +acquaintance if it had not been for a rather +unpleasant adventure. + +The major was "closing up a deal" and +had hurried away after breakfast, and Kate, +in the luxury of convalescence, half-reclined +in a great chair on the veranda and watched +the dusky blue mist twining itself around +the brown hills. She was not thinking +of the babies; she was not worrying about +home; she was not longing for anything, or +even indulging in a dream. That vacuous +content which engrosses the body after long +indisposition, held her imperatively. Sud- +denly she was aroused from this happy con- +dition of nothingness by the spectacle of +an enormous bull-dog approaching her with +threatening teeth. She had noticed the +monster often in his kennel near the sta- +bles, and it was well understood that he was +never to be permitted his freedom. Now he +walked toward her with a solid step and an +alarming deliberateness. Kate sat still and +tried to assure herself that he meant no mis- +chief, but by the time the great body had +made itself felt on the skirt of her gown she +could restrain her fear no longer, and gave +a nervous cry of alarm. The brute answered +with a growl. If he had lacked provocation +before, he considered that he had it now. +He showed his teeth and flung his detestable +body upon her; and Kate felt herself grow- +ing dizzy with fear. But just then an arm +was interposed and the dog was flung back. +There was a momentary struggle. Some +gentlemen came hurrying out of the office; +and as they beat the dog back to its retreat, +Kate summoned words from her parched +throat to thank her benefactor. + +It was the melancholy man with the new +clothes. This morning he was dressed in +a suit of the lightest gray, with a white +marseilles waistcoat, over which his glitter- +ing chain shone ostentatiously. White +tennis-shoes, a white rose in his button- +hole, and a white straw hat in his hand com- +pleted a toilet over which much time had +evidently been spent. Kate noted these +details as she held out her hand. + +"I may have been alarmed without cause," +she said; "but I was horribly frightened. +Thank you so much for coming to my res- +cue. And I think, if you would add to your +kindness by getting me a glass of water --" + +When he came back, his hand was trem- +bling a little; and as Kate looked up to +learn the cause, she saw that his face was +flushed. He was embarrassed. She decided +that he was not accustomed to the society +of ladies. "Brutes like that dog ain't no +place in th' world -- that's my opinion. +There are some bad things we can't help +havin' aroun'; but a bull-dog ain't one +of 'em." + +"I quite agree with you," Kate acqui- +esced, as she drank the water. "But as +this is the first unpleasant experience of +any kind that I have had since I came +here, I don't feel that I have any right to +complain." + +"You're here fur yur health?" + +"Yes. And I am getting it. You're +not an invalid, I imagine?" + +"No -- no-op. I'm here be -- well, I've +thought fur a long time I'd like t' stay at +this here hotel." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes. I've been up th' gulch these fif- +teen years. Bin livin' on a shelf of black rock. +Th' sun got 'round 'bout ten. Couldn't +make a thing grow." The man was look- +ing off toward the hills, with an expression +of deep sadness in his eyes. "Didn't +never live in a place where nothin' 'd +grow, did you? I took geraniums up thar +time an' time agin. Red ones. Made me +think of mother; she's in Germany. Watered +'em mornin' an' night. Th' damned things +died." + +The oath slipped out with an artless un- +consciousness, and there was a little moist- +ure in his eyes. Kate felt she ought to +bring the conversation to a close. She +wondered what Jack would say if he saw +her talking with a perfect stranger who used +oaths! She would have gone into the house +but for something that caught her eye. It +was the hand of the man; that hand was +a bludgeon. All grace and flexibility had +gone out of it, and it had become a mere +instrument of toil. It was seamed and +misshapen; yet it had been carefully mani- +cured, and the pointed nails looked fantastic +and animal-like. A great seal-ring bore an +elaborate monogram, while the little finger +displayed a collection of diamonds and +emeralds truly dazzling to behold. An +impulse of humanity and a sort of artistic +curiosity, much stronger than her discretion, +urged Kate to continue her conversation. + +"What were you doing up the gulch?" +she said. + +The man leaned back in his chair and +regarded her a moment before answering. +He realized the significance of her question. +He took it as a sign that she was willing +to be friendly. A look of gratitude, almost +tender, sprang into his eyes, -- dull gray +eyes, they were, with a kindliness for their +only recommendation. + +"Makin' my pile," he replied. "I've +been in these parts twenty years. When I +come here, I thought I was goin' to make a +fortune right off. I had all th' money that +mother could give me, and I lost everything I +had in three months. I went up th' gulch." +He paused, and wiped his forehead with his +handkerchief. + +There was something in his remark and the +intonation which made Kate say softly: + +"I suppose you've had a hard time of it." + +"Thar you were!" he cried. "Thar was +th' rock -- risin', risin', black! At th' +bottom wus th' creek, howlin' day an' +night! Lonesome! Gee! No one t' talk +to. Of course, th' men. Had some with +me always. They didn't talk. It's too -- +too quiet t' talk much. They played cards. +Curious, but I never played cards. Don't +think I'd find it amusin'. No, I worked. +Came down here once in six months or +three months. Had t' come -- grub-staked +th' men, you know. Did you ever eat salt +pork?" He turned to Kate suddenly with +this question. + +"Why, yes; a few times. Did you have +it?" + +"Nothin' else, much. I used t' think of +th' things mother cooked. Mother under- +stood cookin', if ever a woman did. I'll +never forget th' dinner she gave me th' day +I came away. A woman ought t' cook. I +hear American women don't go in much +for cookin'." + +"Oh, I think that's a mistake," Kate +hastened to interrupt. "All that I know un- +derstand how to serve excellent dinners. Of +course, they may not cook them themselves, +but I think they could if it were necessary." + +"Hum!" He picked up a long glove that +had fallen from Kate's lap and fingered it +before returning it. + +"I s'pose you cook?" + +"I make a specialty of salads and sor- +bets," smiled Kate. "I guess I could roast +meat and make bread; but circumstances +have not yet compelled me to do it. But +I've a theory that an American woman can +do anything she puts her mind to." + +The man laughed out loud, -- a laugh +quite out of proportion to the mild good +humor of the remark; but it was evident +that he could no longer conceal his delight +at this companionship. + +"How about raisin' flowers?" he asked. +"Are you strong on that?" + +"I've only to look at a plant to make +it grow," Kate cried, with enthusiasm. +"When my friends are in despair over a +plant, they bring it to me, and I just pet it +a little, and it brightens up. I've the most +wonderful fernery you ever saw. It's green, +summer and winter. Hundreds of people +stop and look up at it, it is so green and +enticing, there above the city streets." + +"What city?" + +"Philadelphia." + +"Mother's jest that way. She has a gar- +den of roses. And the mignonette --" + +But he broke off suddenly, and sat once +more staring before him. + +"But not a damned thing," he added, with +poetic pensiveness, "would grow in that +gulch." + +"Why did you stay there so long?" asked +Kate, after a little pause in which she man- +aged to regain her waning courage. + +"Bad luck. You never see a place with +so many false leads. To-day you'd get a +streak that looked big. To-morrow you'd +find it a pocket. One night I'd go t' bed +with my heart goin' like a race-horse. +Next night it would be ploddin' along like +a winded burro. Don't know what made +me stick t' it. It was hot there, too! And +cold! Always roastin' ur freezin'. It'd +been different if I'd had any one t' help me +stand it. But th' men were always findin' +fault. They blamed me fur everythin'. I +used t' lie awake at night an' hear 'em +talkin' me over. It made me lonesome, I +tell you! Thar wasn't no one! Mother +used t' write. But I never told her th' +truth. She ain't a suspicion of what I've +been a-goin' through." + +Kate sat and looked at him in silence. +His face was seamed, though far from old. +His body was awkward, but impressed her +with a sense of magnificent strength. + +"I couldn't ask no woman t' share my +hard times," he resumed after a time. "I +always said when I got a woman, it was +goin' t' be t' make her happy. It wer'n't +t' be t' ask her t' drudge." + +There was another silence. This man +out of the solitude seemed to be elated past +expression at his new companionship. He +looked with appreciation at the little pointed +toes of Kate's slippers, as they glanced from +below the skirt of her dainty organdie. He +noted the band of pearls on her finger. His +eyes rested long on the daisies at her waist. +The wind tossed up little curls of her warm +brown hair. Her eyes suffused with inter- +est, her tender mouth seemed ready to lend +itself to any emotion, and withal she was +so small, so compact, so exquisite. The +man wiped his forehead again, in mere +exuberance. + +"Here's my card," he said, very solemnly, +as he drew an engraved bit of pasteboard +from its leather case. Kate bowed and +took it. + +"Mr. Peter Roeder," she read. +"I've no card," she said. "My name is +Shelly. I'm here for my health, as I told +you." She rose at this point, and held out +her hand. "I must thank you once more +for your kindness," she said. + +His eyes fastened on hers with an appeal +for a less formal word. There was something +almost terrible in their silent eloquence. + +"I hope we may meet again," she said. + +Mr. Peter Roeder made a very low and +awkward bow, and opened the door into the +corridor for her. + +That evening the major announced that he +was obliged to go to Seattle. The journey +was not an inviting one; Kate was well +placed where she was, and he decided to +leave her. + +She was well enough now to take longer +drives; and she found strange, lonely can- +yons, wild and beautiful, where yellow +waters burst through rocky barriers with roar +and fury, -- tortuous, terrible places, such +as she had never dreamed of. Coming back +from one of these drives, two days after +her conversation on the piazza with Peter +Roeder, she met him riding a massive roan. +He sat the animal with that air of perfect +unconsciousness which is the attribute of +the Western man, and his attire, even to +his English stock, was faultless, -- faultily +faultless. + +"I hope you won't object to havin' me +ride beside you," he said, wheeling his +horse. To tell the truth, Kate did not +object. She was a little dull, and had been +conscious all the morning of that peculiar +physical depression which marks the begin- +ning of a fit of homesickness. + +"The wind gits a fine sweep," said +Roeder, after having obtained the permis- +sion he desired. "Now in the gulch we +either had a dead stagnation, or else the +wind was tearin' up and down like a wild +beast." + +Kate did not reply, and they went on +together, facing the riotous wind. + +"You can't guess how queer it seems t' +be here," he said, confidentially. "It seems +t' me as if I had come from some other +planet. Thar don't rightly seem t' be no +place fur me. I tell you what it's like. +It's as if I'd come down t' enlist in th' +ranks, an' found 'em full, -- every man +marchin' along in his place, an' no place +left fur me." + +Kate could not find a reply. + +"I ain't a friend, -- not a friend! I ain't +complainin'. It ain't th' fault of any one +-- but myself. You don' know what a +durned fool I've bin. Someway, up thar in +th' gulch I got t' seemin' so sort of impor- +tant t' myself, and my makin' my stake +seemed such a big thing, that I thought I +had only t' come down here t' Helena t' +have folks want t' know me. I didn't +particular want th' money because it wus +money. But out here you work fur it, jest +as you work fur other things in other places, +-- jest because every one is workin' fur it, +and it's the man who gets th' most that +beats. It ain't that they are any more +greedy than men anywhere else. My pile's +a pretty good-sized one. An' it's likely to +be bigger; but no one else seems t' care. +Th' paper printed some pieces about it. +Some of th' men came round t' see me; +but I saw their game. I said I guessed +I'd look further fur my acquaintances. I +ain't spoken to a lady, -- not a real lady, +you know, -- t' talk with, friendly like, but +you, fur -- years." + +His face flushed in that sudden way again. +They were passing some of those preten- +tious houses which rise in the midst of +Helena's ragged streets with such an extra- +neous air, and Kate leaned forward to look +at them. The driver, seeing her interest, +drew up the horses for a moment. + +"Fine, fine!" ejaculated Roeder. "But +they ain't got no garden. A house don't +seem anythin' t' me without a garden. +Do you know what I think would be th' +most beautiful thing in th' world? A +baby in a rose-garden! Do you know, I +ain't had a baby in my hands, excep' Ned +Ramsey's little kid, once, for ten year!" + +Kate's face shone with sympathy. + +"How dreadful!" she cried. "I couldn't +live without a baby about." + +"Like babies, do you? Well, well. +Boys? Like boys?" + +"Not a bit better than girls," said Kate, +stoutly. + +"I like boys," responded Roeder, with +conviction. "My mother liked boys. She +had three girls, but she liked me a damned +sight the best." + +Kate laughed outright. + +"Why do you swear?" she said. "I +never heard a man swear before, -- at least, +not one with whom I was talking. That's +one of your gulch habits. You must get +over it." + +Roeder's blond face turned scarlet. + +"You must excuse me," he pleaded. +"I'll cure myself of it! Jest give me a +chance." + +This was a little more personal than Kate +approved of, and she raised her parasol to +conceal her annoyance. It was a brilliant +little fluff of a thing which looked as if it +were made of butterflies' wings. Roeder +touched it with awe. + +"You have sech beautiful things," he +said. "I didn't know women wore sech +nice things. Now that dress -- it's like +-- I don't know what it's like." It was a +simple little taffeta, with warp and woof of +azure and of cream, and gay knots of ribbon +about it. + +"We have the advantage of men," she +said. "I often think one of the greatest +drawbacks to being a man would be the +sombre clothes. I like to wear the prettiest +things that can be found." + +"Lace?" queried Roeder. "Do you like +lace?" + +"I should say so! Did you ever see a +woman who didn't?" + +"Hu -- um! These women I've known +don't know lace, -- these wives of th' men +out here. They're th' only kind I've seen +this long time." + +"Oh, of course, but I mean --" + +"I know what you mean. My mother has +a chest full of linen an' lace. She showed +it t' me th' day I left. 'Peter,' she said, +'some day you bring a wife home with you, +an' I'll give you that lace an' that linen.' +An' I'm goin' t' do it, too," he said quietly. + +"I hope so," said Kate, with her eyes +moist. "I hope you will, and that your +mother will be very happy." + +. . . . . . . + +There was a hop at the hotel that night, +and it was almost a matter of courtesy for +Kate to go. Ladies were in demand, for +there were not very many of them at the +hotel. Every one was expected to do his +best to make it a success; and Kate, not at +all averse to a waltz or two, dressed herself +for the occasion with her habitual striving +after artistic effect. She was one of those +women who make a picture of themselves as +naturally as a bird sings. She had an opal +necklace which Jack had given her because, +he said, she had as many moods as an opal +had colors; and she wore this with a crépe +gown, the tint of the green lights in her +necklace. A box of flowers came for her as +she was dressing; they were Puritan roses, +and Peter Roeder's card was in the midst +of them. She was used to having flowers +given her. It would have seemed remark- +able if some one had not sent her a bouquet +when she was going to a ball. + +"I shall dance but twice," she said to +those who sought her for a partner. +"Neither more nor less." + +"Ain't you goin' t' dance with me at +all?" Roeder managed to say to her in the +midst of her laughing altercation with the +gentlemen. + +"Dance with you!" cried Kate. "How +do men learn to dance when they are up a +gulch?" + +"I ken dance," he said stubbornly. He +was mortified at her chaffing. + +"Then you may have the second waltz, " +she said, in quick contrition. "Now you +other gentlemen have been dancing any +number of times these last fifteen years. +But Mr. Roeder is just back from a hard +campaign, -- a campaign against fate. My +second waltz is his. And I shall dance my +best." + +It happened to be just the right sort of +speech. The women tried good-naturedly +to make Roeder's evening a pleasant one. +They were filled with compassion for a man +who had not enjoyed the society of their sex +for fifteen years. They found much amuse- +ment in leading him through the square +dances, the forms of which were utterly +unknown to him. But he waltzed with a +sort of serious alertness that was not so bad +as it might have been. + +Kate danced well. Her slight body +seemed as full of the spirit of the waltz as +a thrush's body is of song. Peter Roeder +moved along with her in a maze, only half- +answering her questions, his gray eyes full +of mystery. + +Once they stopped for a moment, and he +looked down at her, as with flushed face she +stood smiling and waving her gossamer fan, +each motion stirring the frail leaves of the +roses he had sent her. + +"It's cur'ous," he said softly, "but I keep +thinkin' about that black gulch." + +"Forget it," she said. "Why do you +think of a gulch when --" She stopped +with a sudden recollection that he was not +used to persiflage. But he anticipated what +she was about to say. + +"Why think of the gulch when you are +here?" he said. "Why, because it is only +th' gulch that seems real. All this, -- these +pleasant, polite people, this beautiful room, +th' flowers everywhere, and you, and me as +I am, seem as if I was dreamin'. Thar +ain't anything in it all that is like what I +thought it would be." + +"Not as you thought it would be?" + +"No. Different. I thought it would be +-- well, I thought th' people would not be +quite so high-toned. I hope you don't mind +that word." + +"Not in the least," she said. " It's a mu- +sical term. It applies very well to people." + +They took up the dance again and waltzed +breathlessly till the close. Kate was tired; +the exertion had been a little more than she +had bargained for. She sat very still on the +veranda under the white glare of an electric +ball, and let Roeder do the talking. Her +thoughts, in spite of the entertainment she +was deriving from her present experiences, +would go back to the babies. She saw them +tucked well in bed, each in a little iron crib, +with the muslin curtains shielding their rosy +faces from the light. She wondered if Jack +were reading alone in the library or was at +the club, or perhaps at the summer con- +cert, with the swell of the violins in his +ears. Jack did so love music. As she +thought how delicate his perceptions were, +how he responded to everything most subtle +in nature and in art, of how life itself was +a fine art with him, and joy a thing to be +cultivated, she turned with a sense of deep +compassion to the simple man by her side. +His rough face looked a little more unat- +tractive than usual. His evening clothes +were almost grotesque. His face wore a +look of solitude, of hunger. + +"What were you saying?" she said, +dreamily. "I beg your pardon." + +"I was sayin' how I used t' dream of +sittin' on the steps of a hotel like this, and +not havin' a thing t' do. When I used t' +come down here out of the gulch, and see +men who had had good dinners, an' good +baths, sittin' around smokin', with money +t' go over there t' th' bookstan' an' get any- +thin' they'd want, it used t' seem t' me +about all a single man could wish fur." + +"Well, you've got it all now." + +"But I didn't any of th' time suppose +that would satisfy a man long. Only I was +so darned tired I couldn't help wantin' t' +rest. But I'm not so selfish ur s' narrow +as to be satisfied with THAT. No, I'm not +goin' t' spend m' pile that way -- quite!" + +He laughed out loud, and then sat in +silence watching Kate as she lay back +wearily in her chair. + +"I've got t' have that there garden," he +said, laughingly. "Got t' get them roses. +An' I'll have a big bath-house, -- plenty of +springs in this country. You ken have a +bath here that won't freeze summer NOR +winter. An' a baby! I've got t' have a +baby. He'll go with th' roses an' th' +bath." He laughed again heartily. + +"It's a queer joke, isn't it?" Roeder +asked. "Talkin' about my baby, an' I +haven't even a wife." His face flushed and +he turned his eyes away. + +"Have I shown you the pictures of my +babies?" Kate inquired. "You'd like my +boy, I know. And my girl is just like me, +-- in miniature." + +There was a silence. She looked up +after a moment. Roeder appeared to be +examining the monogram on his ring as if +he had never seen it before. + +"I didn't understand that you were mar- +ried," he said gently. + +"Didn't you? I don't think you ever +called me by any name at all, or I should +have noticed your mistake and set you right. +Yes, I'm married. I came out here to get +strong for the babies." + +"Got a boy an' a girl, eh?" + +"Yes." + +"How old's th' boy?" + +"Five." + +"An' th' girl?" + +"She'll soon be four." + +"An' yer husband -- he's livin'?" + +"I should say so! I'm a very happy +woman, Mr. Roeder. If only I were +stronger!" + +"Yer lookin' much better," he said, +gravely, "than when you come. You'll be +all right." + +The moon began to come up scarlet +beyond the eastern hills. The two watched +it in silence. Kate had a feeling of guilt, +as if she had been hurting some helpless +thing. + +"I was in hopes," he said, suddenly, in a +voice that seemed abrupt and shrill, "thet +you'd see fit t' stay here." + +"Here in Helena? Oh, no!" + +"I was thinkin' I'd offer you that two +hundred thousand dollars, if you'd stay." + +"Mr. Roeder! You don't mean -- +surely --" + +"Why, yes. Why not?" He spoke +rather doggedly. "I'll never see no other +woman like you. You're different from +others. How good you've been t' me!" + +"Good! I'm afraid I've been very bad +-- at least, very stupid." + +"I say, now -- your husband's good t' +you, ain't he?" + +"He is the kindest man that ever lived." + +"Oh, well, I didn't know." + +A rather awkward pause followed which +was broken by Roeder. + +"I don't see jest what I'm goin' t' do +with that thar two hundred thousand dol- +lars," he said, mournfully. + +"Do with it? Why, live with it! Send +some to your mother." + +"Oh, I've done that. Five thousand +dollars. It don't seem much here; but it'll +seem a lot t' her. I'd send her more, only +it would've bothered her." + +"Then there is your house, -- the house +with the bath-room. But I suppose you'll +have other rooms?" + +Peter laughed a little in spite of himself. + +"I guess I won't have a house," he said. +"An' I couldn't make a garden alone." + +"Hire a man to help you." Kate was +trembling, but she kept talking gayly. She +was praying that nothing very serious would +happen. There was an undercurrent of som- +breness in the man's manner that frightened +her. + +"I guess I'll jest have t' keep on +dreamin' of that boy playin' with th' roses." + +"No, no," cried Kate; "he will come +true some day! I know he'll come true." + +Peter got up and stood by her chair. + +"You don't know nothin' about it," he +said. "You don't know, an' you can't know +what it's bin t' me t' talk with you. Here +I come out of a place where there ain't no +sound but the water and the pines. Years +come an' go. Still no sound. Only +thinkin', thinkin', thinkin'! Missin' all +th' things men care fur! Dreamin' of a +time when I sh'd strike th' pile. Then I +seed home, wife, a boy, flowers, everythin'. +You're so beautiful, an' you're so good. +You've a way of pickin' a man's heart right +out of him. First time I set my eyes on +you I thought you were th' nicest thing I +ever see! And how little you are! That +hand of yours, -- look at it, -- it's like a +leaf! An' how easy you smile. Up th' +gulch we didn't smile; we laughed, but +gen'ly because some one got in a fix. Then +your voice! Ah, I've thought fur years +that some day I might hear a voice like +that! Don't you go! Sit still! I'm not +blamin' you fur anythin'; but I may +never, 's long's I live, find any one who +will understand things th' way you under- +stand 'em. Here! I tell you about that +gulch an' you see that gulch. You know +how th' rain sounded thar, an' how th' +shack looked, an' th' life I led, an' all th' +thoughts I had, an' th' long nights, an' +th' times when -- but never mind. I know +you know it all. I saw it in yer eyes. I +tell you of mother, an' you see 'er. You +know 'er old German face, an' 'er proud +ways, an' her pride in me, an' how she +would think I wuz awfully rich. An' you +see how she would give out them linens, all +marked fur my wife, an' how I would sit +an' watch her doin' it, an' -- you see every- +thing. I know you do. I could feel you +doin' it. Then I say to myself: 'Here is +th' one woman in th' world made fur me. +Whatever I have, she shall have. I'll +spend my life waitin' on her. She'll tell +me all th' things I ought t' know, an' hev +missed knowin'; she'll read t' me; she'll +be patient when she finds how dull I've +grown. And thar'll be th' boy --'" + +He seized her hand and wrung it, and was +gone. Kate saw him no more that night. + +The next morning the major returned. +Kate threw her arms around his neck and +wept. + +"I want the babies," she explained when +the major showed his consternation. "Don't +mind my crying. You ought to be used to +seeing me cry by this time. I must get +home, that's all. I must see Jack." + +So that night they started. + +At the door of the carriage stood Peter +Roeder, waiting. + +"I'm going t' ride down with you," he +said. The major looked nonplussed. + +Kate got in and the major followed. + +"Come," she said to Roeder. He sat +opposite and looked at her as if he would +fasten her image on his mind. + +"You remember," he said after a time, +"that I told you I used t' dream of sittin' on +the veranda of th' hotel and havin' nothin' +t' do?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I don't think I care fur it. I've +had a month of it. I'm goin' back up +th' gulch." + +"No!" cried Kate, instinctively reaching +out her hands toward him. + +"Why not? I guess you don't know me. +I knew that somewhere I'd find a friend. I +found that friend; an' now I'm alone +again. It's pretty quiet up thar in the +gulch; but I'll try it." + +"No, no. Go to Europe; go to see your +mother." + +"I thought about that a good deal, a +while ago. But I don't seem t' have no +heart fur it now. I feel as if I'd be safer +in th' gulch." + +"Safer?" + +"The world looks pretty big. It's safe +and close in th' gulch." + +At the station the major went to look +after the trunks, and Roeder put Kate in +her seat. + +"I wanted t' give you something " he +said, seating himself beside her, "but I +didn't dare." + +"Oh, my dear friend," she cried, laying +her little gloved hand on his red and knotted +one, "don't go back into the shadow. Do +not return to that terrible silence. Wait. +Have patience. Fate has brought you +wealth. It will bring you love." + +"I've somethin' to ask," he said, paying +no attention to her appeal. "You must +answer it. If we 'a' met long ago, an' you +hadn't a husband or -- anythin' -- do you +think you'd've loved me then?" + +She felt herself turning white. + +"No," she said softly. "I could never +have loved you, my dear friend. We are +not the same. Believe me, there is a +woman somewhere who will love you; but +I am not that woman -- nor could I have +ever been." + +The train was starting. The major came +bustling in. + +"Well, good-by," said Roeder, holding +out his hand to Kate. + +"Good-by," she cried. "Don't go back +up the gulch." + +"Oh," he said, reassuringly, "don't you +worry about me, my -- don't worry. The +gulch is a nice, quiet place. An' you know +what I told you about th' ranks all bein' +full. Good-by." The train was well under +way. He sprang off, and stood on the +platform waving his handkerchief. + +"Well, Kate," said the major, seating +himself down comfortably and adjusting his +travelling cap, "did you find the Western +type?" + +"I don't quite know," said she, slowly. +"But I have made the discovery that a +human soul is much the same wherever you +meet it." + +"Dear me! You haven't been meeting +a soul, have you?" the major said, face- +tiously, unbuckling his travelling-bag. "I'll +tell Jack." + +"No, I'll tell Jack. And he'll feel +quite as badly as I do to think that I could +do nothing for its proper adjustment." + +The major's face took on a look of com- +prehension. + +"Was that the soul," he asked, "that just +came down in the carriage with us?" + +"That was it," assented Kate. "It was +born; it has had its mortal day; and it +has gone back up the gulch." + + + + +A Michigan Man + +A PINE forest is nature's expression of +solemnity and solitude. Sunlight, +rivers, cascades, people, music, laughter, or +dancing could not make it gay. With its +unceasing reverberations and its eternal +shadows, it is as awful and as holy as a +cathedral. + +Thirty good fellows working together by +day and drinking together by night can keep +up but a moody imitation of jollity. Spend +twenty-five of your forty years, as Luther +Dallas did, in this perennial gloom, and +your soul -- that which enjoys, aspires, +competes -- will be drugged as deep as if +you had quaffed the cup of oblivion. +Luther Dallas was counted one of the most +experienced axe-men in the northern camps. +He could fell a tree with the swift surety of +an executioner, and in revenge for his many +arboral murders the woodland had taken +captive his mind, captured and chained it +as Prospero did Ariel. The resounding +footsteps of Progress driven on so merci- +lessly in this mad age could not reach his +fastness. It did not concern him that men +were thinking, investigating, inventing. +His senses responded only to the sonorous +music of the woods; a steadfast wind ring- +ing metallic melody from the pine-tops con- +tented him as the sound of the sea does the +sailor; and dear as the odors of the ocean to +the mariner were the resinous scents of the +forest to him. Like a sailor, too, he had +his superstitions. He had a presentiment +that he was to die by one of these trees, -- +that some day, in chopping, the tree would +fall upon and crush him as it did his father +the day they brought him back to the camp +on a litter of pine boughs. + +One day the gang-boss noticed a tree that +Dallas had left standing in a most unwood- +manlike manner in the section which was +allotted to him. + +"What in thunder is that standing there +for?" he asked. + +Dallas raised his eyes to the pine, tower- +ing in stern dignity a hundred feet above +them. + +"Well," he said feebly, "I noticed it, but +kind-a left it t' the last." + +"Cut it down to-morrow," was the +response. + +The wind was rising, and the tree mut- +tered savagely. Luther thought it sounded +like a menace, and turned pale. No trou- +ble has yet been found that will keep a man +awake in the keen air of the pineries after +he has been swinging his axe all day, but +the sleep of the chopper was so broken with +disturbing dreams that night that the beads +gathered on his brow, and twice he cried +aloud. He ate his coarse flap-jacks in the +morning and escaped from the smoky shanty +as soon as he could. + +"It'll bring bad luck, I'm afraid," he +muttered as he went to get his axe from the +rack. He was as fond of his axe as a soldier +of his musket, but to-day he shouldered it +with reluctance. He felt like a man with +his destiny before him. The tree stood +like a sentinel. He raised his axe, once, +twice, a dozen times, but could not bring +himself to make a cut in the bark. He +walked backwards a few steps and looked up. +The funereal green seemed to grow darker +and darker till it became black. It was the +embodiment of sorrow. Was it not shaking +giant arms at him? Did it not cry out in +angry challenge? Luther did not try to +laugh at his fears; he had never seen any +humor in life. A gust of wind had some- +way crept through the dense barricade of +foliage that flanked the clearing, and struck +him with an icy chill. He looked at the +sky; the day was advancing rapidly. He +went at his work with an energy as deter- +mined as despair. The axe in his practised +hand made clean straight cuts in the trunk, +now on this side, now on that. His task +was not an easy one, but he finished it with +wonderful expedition. After the chopping +was finished, the tree stood firm a moment; +then, as the tensely-strained fibres began a +weird moaning, he sprang aside, and stood +waiting. In the distance he saw two men +hewing a log. The axe-man sent them a +shout and threw up his arms for them to +look. The tree stood out clear and beauti- +ful against the gray sky; the men ceased +their work and watched it. The vibrations +became more violent, and the sounds they +produced grew louder and louder till they +reached a shrill wild cry. There came a +pause, then a deep shuddering groan. The +topmost branches began to move slowly, the +whole stately bulk swayed, and then shot +towards the ground. The gigantic trunk +bounded from the stump, recoiled like a +cannon, crashed down, and lay conquered, +with a roar as of an earthquake, in a cloud +of flying twigs and chips. + +When the dust had cleared away, the men +at the log on the outside of the clearing +could not see Luther. They ran to the +spot, and found him lying on the ground +with his chest crushed in. His fearful eyes +had not rightly calculated the distance from +the stump to the top of the pine, nor rightly +weighed the power of the massed branches, +and so, standing spell-bound, watching the +descending trunk as one might watch his +Nemesis, the rebound came and left him +lying worse than dead. + +Three months later, when the logs, +lopped of their branches, drifted down the +streams, the woodman, a human log lopped +of his strength, drifted to a great city. A +change, the doctor said, might prolong his +life. The lumbermen made up a purse, and +he started out, not very definitely knowing +his destination. He had a sister, much +younger than himself, who at the age of six- +teen had married and gone, he believed, to +Chicago. That was years ago, but he had +an idea that he might find her. He was +not troubled by his lack of resources; he +did not believe that any man would want +for a meal unless he were "shiftless." +He had always been able to turn his hand +to something. + +He felt too ill from the jostling of the +cars to notice much of anything on the jour- +ney. The dizzy scenes whirling past made +him faint, and he was glad to lie with +closed eyes. He imagined that his little +sister in her pink calico frock and bare feet +(as he remembered her) would be at the sta- +tion to meet him. "Oh, Lu!" she would +call from some hiding-place, and he would +go and find her. + +The conductor stopped by Luther's seat +and said that they were in the city at last; +but it seemed to the sick man as if they +went miles after that, with a multitude of +twinkling lights on one side and a blank +darkness, that they told him was the lake, +on the other. The conductor again stopped +by his seat. + +"Well, my man," said he, "how are you +feeling?" + +Luther, the possessor of the toughest +muscles in. the gang, felt a sick man's irri- +tation at the tone of pity. + +"Oh, I'm all right!" he said, gruffly, and +shook off the assistance the conductor tried +to offer with his overcoat. "I'm going to +my sister's," he explained, in answer to the +inquiry as to where he was going. The +man, somewhat piqued at the spirit in +which his overtures were met, left him, and +Luther stepped on to the platform. There +was a long vista of semi-light, down which +crowds of people walked and baggage-men +rushed. The building, if it deserved the +name, seemed a ruin, and through the arched +doors Luther could see men -- hackmen -- +dancing and howling like dervishes. Trains +were coming and going, and the whistles +and bells kept up a ceaseless clangor. +Luther, with his small satchel and uncouth +dress, slouched by the crowd unnoticed, and +reached the street. He walked amid such +an illumination as he had never dreamed +of, and paused half blinded in the glare of +a broad sheet of electric light that filled a +pillared entrance into which many people +passed. He looked about him. Above on +every side rose great, many-windowed build- +ings; on the street the cars and carriages +thronged, and jostling crowds dashed head- +long among the vehicles. After a time he +turned down a street that seemed to him a +pandemonium filled with madmen. It went +to his head like wine, and hardly left him +the presence of mind to sustain a quiet +exterior. The wind was laden with a pene- +trating moisture that chilled him as the dry +icy breezes from Huron never had done, and +the pain in his lungs made him faint and +dizzy. He wondered if his red-cheeked +little sister could live in one of those vast, +impregnable buildings. He thought of +stopping some of those serious-looking men +and asking them if they knew her; but he +could not muster up the courage. The +distressing experience that comes to almost +every one some time in life, of losing all +identity in the universal humanity, was +becoming his. The tears began to roll +down his wasted face from loneliness and +exhaustion. He grew hungry with longing +for the dirty but familiar cabins of the +camp, and staggered along with eyes half +closed, conjuring visions of the warm inte- +riors, the leaping fires, the groups of +laughing men seen dimly through clouds of +tobacco-smoke. + +A delicious scent of coffee met his hun- +gry sense and made him really think he was +taking the savory black draught from his +familiar tin cup; but the muddy streets, +the blinding lights, the cruel, rushing peo- +ple, were still there. The buildings, how- +ever, now became different. They were +lower and meaner, with dirty windows. +Women laughing loudly crowded about the +doors, and the establishments seemed to +be equally divided between saloon-keepers, +pawnbrokers, and dealers in second-hand +clothes. Luther wondered where they all +drew their support from. Upon one sign- +board he read, "Lodgings 10 cents to 50 +cents. A Square Meal for 15 cents," and, +thankful for some haven, entered. Here he +spent his first night and other nights, while +his purse dwindled and his strength waned. +At last he got a man in a drug-store to +search the directory for his sister's resi- +dence. They found a name he took to be +his brother-in-law's. It was two days later +when he found the address, -- a great, many- +storied mansion on one of the southern +boulevards, -- and found also that his search +had been in vain. Sore and faint, he stag- +gered back to his miserable shelter, only to +arise feverish and ill in the morning. He +frequented the great shop doors, thronged +with brilliantly-dressed ladies, and watched +to see if his little sister might not dash up +in one of those satin-lined coaches and take +him where he would be warm and safe and +would sleep undisturbed by drunken, ribald +songs and loathsome surroundings. There +were days when he almost forgot his name, +and, striving to remember, would lose his +senses for a moment and drift back to the +harmonious solitudes of the North and +breathe the resin-scented frosty atmosphere. +He grew terrified at the blood he coughed +from his lacerated lungs, and wondered bit- +terly why the boys did not come to take +him home. + +One day, as he painfully dragged himself +down a residence street, he tried to collect +his thoughts and form some plan for the +future. He had no trade, understood no +handiwork; he could fell trees. He looked +at the gaunt, scrawny, transplanted speci- +mens that met his eye, and gave himself up +to the homesickness that filled his soul. +He slept that night in the shelter of a sta- +ble, and spent his last money in the morn- +ing for a biscuit. + +He travelled many miles that afternoon +looking for something to which he might +turn his hand. Once he got permission to +carry a hod for half an hour. At the end of +that time he fainted. When he recovered, +the foreman paid him twenty-five cents. +"For God's sake, man, go home," he said. +Luther stared at him with a white face and +went on. + +There came days when he so forgot his +native dignity as to beg. He seldom +received anything; he was referred to vari- +ous charitable institutions the existence of +which he had never heard. + +One morning, when a pall of smoke enve- +loped the city and the odors of coal-gas +refused to lift their nauseating poison +through the heavy air, Luther, chilled with +dew and famished, awoke to a happier life. +The loneliness at his heart was gone. The +feeling of hopeless imprisonment that the +miles and miles of streets had terrified him +with gave place to one of freedom and exal- +tation. Above him he heard the rasping of +pine boughs; his feet trod on a rebounding +mat of decay; the sky was as coldly blue as +the bosom of Huron. He walked as if on +ether, singing a senseless jargon the wood- +men had aroused the echoes with, -- + + +"Hi yi halloo! +The owl sees you! +Look what you do! +Hi yi halloo!" + + +Swung over his shoulder was a stick he +had used to assist his limping gait, but now +transformed into the beloved axe. He +would reach the clearing soon, he thought, +and strode on like a giant, while people hur- +ried from his path. Suddenly a smooth +trunk, stripped of its bark and bleached by +weather, arose before him. + +"Hi yi halloo!" High went the wasted +arm -- crash! -- a broken staff, a jingle of +wires, a maddened, shouting man the centre +of a group of amused spectators! A few +moments later, four broad-shouldered men +in blue had him in their grasp, pinioned and +guarded, clattering over the noisy streets +behind two spirited horses. They drew +after them a troop of noisy, jeering boys, +who danced about the wagon like a swirl +of autumn leaves. Then came a halt, and +Luther was dragged up the steps of a square +brick building with a belfry on the top. +They entered a large bare room with +benches ranged about the walls, and brought +him before a man at a desk. + +"What is your name?" asked the man at +the desk. + +"Hi yi halloo!" said Luther. + +"He's drunk, sergeant," said one of the +men in blue, and the axe-man was led into +the basement. He was conscious of an +involuntary resistance, a short struggle, and +a final shock of pain, -- then oblivion. + +The chopper awoke to the realization of +three stone walls and an iron grating in +front. Through this he looked out upon +a stone flooring across which was a row of +similar apartments. He neither knew nor +cared where he was. The feeling of im- +prisonment was no greater than he had felt +on the endless, cheerless streets. He laid +himself on the bench that ran along a side +wall, and, closing his eyes, listened to the +babble of the clear stream and the thunder +of the "drive" on its journey. How the +logs hurried and jostled! crushing, whirling, +ducking, with the merry lads leaping about +them with shouts and laughter. Suddenly +he was recalled by a voice. Some one +handed a narrow tin cup full of coffee and +a thick slice of bread through the grating. +Across the way he dimly saw a man eating +a similar slice of bread. Men in other com- +partments were swearing and singing. He +knew these now for the voices he had heard +in his dreams. He tried to force some of +the bread down his parched and swollen +throat, but failed; the coffee strangled him, +and he threw himself upon the bench. + +The forest again, the night-wind, the +whistle of the axe through the air. Once +when he opened his eyes he found it dark. +It would soon be time to go to work. He +fancied there would be hoar-frost on the +trees in the morning. How close the cabin +seemed! Ha! -- here came his little sister. +Her voice sounded like the wind on a +spring morning. How loud it swelled now! +"Lu! Lu!" she cried. + +The next morning the lock-up keeper +opened the cell door. Luther lay with his +head in a pool of blood. His soul had +escaped from the thrall of the forest. + +"Well, well!" said the little fat police- +justice, when he was told of it. "We ought +to have a doctor around to look after such +cases." + + + + +A Lady of Yesterday + +"A LIGHT wind blew from the gates +of the sun," the morning she first +walked down the street of the little Iowa +town. Not a cloud flecked the blue; there +was a humming of happy insects; a smell of +rich and moist loam perfumed the air, and +in the dusk of beeches and of oaks stood the +quiet homes. She paused now and then, +looking in the gardens, or at a group of +children, then passed on, smiling in content. + +Her accent was so strange, that the agent +for real estate, whom she visited, asked her, +twice and once again, what it was she said. + +"I want," she had repeated smilingly, +"an upland meadow, where clover will +grow, and mignonette." + +At the tea-tables that night, there was a +mighty chattering. The brisk village made +a mystery of this lady with the slow step, +the foreign trick of speech, the long black +gown, and the gentle voice. The men, +concealing their curiosity in presence of the +women, gratified it secretly, by sauntering +to the tavern in the evening. There the +keeper and his wife stood ready to convey +any neighborly intelligence. + +"Elizabeth Astrado" was written in the +register, -- a name conveying little, unaccom- +panied by title or by place of residence. + +"She eats alone," the tavern-keeper's +wife confided to their eager ears, "and asks +for no service. Oh, she's a curiosity! +She's got her story, -- you'll see!" + +In a town where every man knew every +other man, and whether or not he paid his +taxes on time, and what his standing was in +church, and all the skeletons of his home, a +stranger alien to their ways disturbed their +peace of mind. + +"An upland meadow where clover and +mignonette will grow," she had said, and +such an one she found, and planted thick +with fine white clover and with mignonette. +Then, while the carpenters raised her cabin +at the border of the meadow, near the street, +she passed among the villagers, mingling +with them gently, winning their good-will, +in spite of themselves. + +The cabin was of unbarked maple logs, +with four rooms and a rustic portico. Then +all the villagers stared in very truth. They, +living in their trim and ugly little homes, +accounted houses of logs as the misfortune +of their pioneer parents. A shed for wood, +a barn for the Jersey cow, a rustic fence, +tall, with a high swinging gate, completed +the domain. In the front room of the cabin +was a fireplace of rude brick. In the bed- +rooms, cots as bare and hard as a nun's, and +in the kitchen the domestic necessaries; +that was all. The poorest house-holder in +the town would not have confessed to such +scant furnishing. Yet the richest man +might well have hesitated before he sent to +France for hives and hives of bees, as she +did, setting them up along the southern +border of her meadow. + +Later there came strong boxes, marked +with many marks of foreign transportation +lines, and the neighbor-gossips, seeing +them, imagined wealth of curious furniture; +but the man who carted them told his wife, +who told her friend, who told her friend, +that every box to the last one was placed in +the dry cemented cellar, and left there in +the dark. + +"An' a mighty ridic'lous expense a cellar +like that is, t' put under a house of that +char'cter," said the man to his wife -- who +repeated it to her friend. + +"But that ain't all," the carpenter's wife +had said when she heard about it all, +"Hank says there is one little room, not fit +for buttery nor yet fur closit, with a window +high up -- well, you ken see yourself -- +an' a strong door. Jus' in passin' th' other +day, when he was there, hangin' some +shelves, he tried it, an' it was locked!" + +"Well!" said the women who listened. + +However, they were not unfriendly, these +brisk gossips. Two of them, plucking up +tardy courage, did call one afternoon. Their +hostess was out among her bees, crooning to +them, as it seemed, while they lighted all +about her, lit on the flower in her dark hair, +buzzed vivaciously about her snow-white +linen gown, lighted on her long, dark hands. +She came in brightly when she saw her +guests, and placed chairs for them, courte- +ously, steeped them a cup of pale and fra- +grant tea, and served them with little cakes. +Though her manner was so quiet and so +kind, the women were shy before her. She, +turning to one and then the other, asked +questions in her quaint way. + +"You have children, have you not?" + +Both of them had. + +"Ah," she cried, clasping those slender +hands, "but you are very fortunate! Your +little ones, -- what are their ages?" + +They told her, she listening smilingly. + +"And you nurse your little babes -- you +nurse them at the breast?" + +The modest women blushed. They were +not used to speaking with such freedom. +But they confessed they did, not liking arti- +ficial means. + +"No," said the lady, looking at them +with a soft light in her eyes, "as you say, +there is nothing like the good mother +Nature. The little ones God sends should +lie at the breast. 'Tis not the milk alone +that they imbibe; it is the breath of life, -- +it is the human magnetism, the power, -- +how shall I say? Happy the mother who +has a little babe to hold!" + +They wanted to ask a question, but they +dared not -- wanted to ask a hundred ques- +tions. But back of the gentleness was a +hauteur, and they were still. + +"Tell me," she said, breaking her +reverie, "of what your husbands do. Are +they carpenters? Do they build houses for +men, like the blessed Jesus? Or are they +tillers of the soil? Do they bring fruits out +of this bountiful valley?" + +They answered, with a reservation of ap- +proval. "The blessed Jesus!" It sounded +like popery. + +She had gone from these brief personal +matters to other things. + +"How very strong you people seem," she +had remarked. "Both your men and your +women are large and strong. You should +be, being appointed to subdue a continent. +Men think they choose their destinies, but +indeed, good neighbors, I think not so. +Men are driven by the winds of God's will. +They are as much bidden to build up this +valley, this storehouse for the nations, as +coral insects are bidden to make the reefs +with their own little bodies, dying as they +build. Is it not so?" + +"We are the creatures of God's will, I +suppose," said one of her visitors, piously. + +She had given them little confidences in +return. + +"I make my bread," she said, with child- +ish pride, "pray see if you do not think it +excellent!" And she cut a flaky loaf to dis- +play its whiteness. One guest summoned +the bravado to inquire, -- + +"Then you are not used to doing house- +work?" + +"I?" she said, with a slow smile, "I have +never got used to anything, -- not even liv- +ing." And so she baffled them all, yet won +them. + +The weeks went by. Elizabeth Astrado +attended to her bees, milked her cow, fed +her fowls, baked, washed, and cleaned, like +the simple women about her, saving that as +she did it a look of ineffable content lighted +up her face, and she sang for happiness. +Sometimes, amid the ballads that she +hummed, a strain slipped in of some great +melody, which she, singing unaware, as it +were, corrected, shaking her finger in self- +reproval, and returning again to the ballads +and the hymns. Nor was she remiss in +neighborly offices; but if any were ailing, +or had a festivity, she was at hand to assist, +condole, or congratulate, carrying always +some simple gift in her hand, appropriate to +the occasion. + +She had her wider charities too, for all +she kept close to her home. When, one +day, a story came to her of a laborer struck +down with heat in putting in a culvert on +the railroad, and gossip said he could not +speak English, she hastened to him, caught +dying words from his lips, whispered a +reply, and then what seemed to be a prayer, +while he held fast her hand, and sank to +coma with wistful eyes upon her face. +Moreover 'twas she who buried him, rais- +ing a cross above his grave, and she who +planted rose-bushes about the mound. + +"He spoke like an Italian," said the phy- +sician to her warily. + +"And so he was," she had replied. + +"A fellow-countryman of yours, no +doubt?" + +"Are not all men our countrymen, my +friend?" she said, gently. "What are little +lines drawn in the imagination of men, +dividing territory, that they should divide +our sympathies? The world is my country +-- and yours, I hope. Is it not so?" + +Then there had also been a hapless pair of +lovers, shamed before their community, who, +desperate, impoverished, and bewildered at +the war between nature and society, had +been helped by her into a new part of the +world. There had been a widow with many +children, who had found baskets of cooked +food and bundles of well-made clothing on +her step. And as the days passed, with +these pleasant offices, the face of the strange +woman glowed with an ever-increasing con- +tent, and her dark, delicate beauty grew. + +John Hartington spent his vacation at +Des Moines, having a laudable desire to +see something of the world before returning +to his native town, with his college honors +fresh upon him. Swiftest of the college +runners was John Hartington, famed for his +leaping too, and measuring widest at the +chest and waist of all the hearty fellows at +the university. His blond curls clustered +above a brow almost as innocent as a +child's; his frank and brave blue eyes, his +free step, his mellow laugh, bespoke the +perfect animal, unharmed by civilization, +unperplexed by the closing century's falla- +cies and passions. The wholesome oak +that spreads its roots deep in the generous +soil, could not be more a part of nature +than he. Conscientious, unimaginative, +direct, sincere, industrious, he was the +ideal man of his kind, and his return to +town caused a flutter among the maidens +which they did not even attempt to conceal. +They told him all the chat, of course, and, +among other things, mentioned the great +sensation of the year, -- the coming of the +woman with her mystery, the purchase of +the sunny upland, the planting it with +clover and with mignonette, the building +of the house of logs, the keeping of the +bees, the barren rooms, the busy, silent +life, the charities, the never-ending wonder +of it all. And then the woman -- kind, yet +different from the rest, with the foreign +trick of tongue, the slow, proud walk, the +delicate, slight hands, the beautiful, beau- +tiful smile, the air as of a creature from +another world. + +Hartington, strolling beyond the village +streets, up where the sunset died in daffodil +above the upland, saw the little cot of logs, +and out before it, among blood-red poppies, +the woman of whom he had heard. Her +gown of white gleamed in that eerie radi- +ance, glorified, her sad great eyes bent on +him in magnetic scrutiny. A peace and +plenitude of power came radiating from +her, and reached him where he stood, sud- +denly, and for the first time in his careless +life, struck dumb and awed. She, too, +seemed suddenly abashed at this great bulk +of youthful manhood, innocent and strong. +She gazed on him, and he on her, both +chained with some mysterious enchant- +ment. Yet neither spoke, and he, turning +in bewilderment at last, went back to town, +while she placed one hand on her lips to +keep from calling him. And neither slept +that night, and in the morning when she +went with milking pail and stool out to the +grassy field, there he stood at the bars, +waiting. Again they gazed, like creatures +held in thrall by some magician, till she +held out her hand and said, -- + +"We must be friends, although we have +not met. Perhaps we ARE old friends. +They say there have been worlds before this +one. I have not seen you in these habili- +ments of flesh and blood, and yet -- we +may be friends?" + +John Hartington, used to the thin jests +of the village girls, and all their simple +talk, rose, nevertheless, enlightened as +he was with some strange sympathy with +her, to understand and answer what she +said. + +"I think perhaps it may be so. May I +come in beside you in the field? Give me +the pail. I'll milk the cow for you." + +She threw her head back and laughed +like a girl from school, and he laughed too, +and they shook hands. Then she sat near +him while he milked, both keeping silence, +save for the p-rring noise he made with his +lips to the patient beast. Being through, +she served him with a cupful of the fra- +grant milk; but he bade her drink first, +then drank himself, and then they laughed +again, as if they both had found something +new and good in life. + +Then she, -- + +"Come see how well my bees are doing." +And they went. She served him with the +lucent syrup of the bees, perfumed with the +mignonette, -- such honey as there never +was before. He sat on the broad doorstep, +near the scarlet poppies, she on the grass, +and then they talked -- was it one golden +hour -- or two? Ah, well, 'twas long +enough for her to learn all of his simple +life, long enough for her to know that he +was victor at the races at the school, that +he could play the pipe, like any shepherd +of the ancient days, and when he went he +asked her if he might return. + +"Well," laughed she, "sometimes I am +lonely. Come see me -- in a week." + +Yet he was there that day at twilight, +and he brought his silver pipe, and piped +to her under the stars, and she sung ballads +to him, -- songs of Strephon and times +when the hills were young, and flocks were +fairer than they ever be these days. + +"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-mor- +row," and still the intercourse, still her +dark loveliness waxing, still the weaving +of the mystic spell, still happiness as primi- +tive and as sweet as ever Eden knew. + +Then came a twilight when the sweet +rain fell, and on the heavy air the perfumes +of the fields floated. The woman stood by +the window of the cot, looking out. Tall, +graceful, full of that subtle power which +drew his soul; clothed in white linen, fra- +grant from her fields, with breath freighted +with fresh milk, with eyes of flame, she +was there to be adored. And he, being +man of manliest type, forgot all that might +have checked the words, and poured his +soul out at her feet. She drew herself up +like a queen, but only that she might +look queenlier for his sake, and, bending, +kissed his brow, and whispered back his +vows. + +And they were married. + +The villagers pitied Hartington. + +"She's more than a match for him in +years -- an' in some other ways, as like as +not," they said. "Besides, she ain't much +inclined to mention anything about her +past. 'Twon't bear the tellin' probably." + +As for the lovers, they laughed as they +went about their honest tasks, or sat +together arms encircling each at evening, +now under the stars, and now before their +fire of wood. They talked together of their +farm, added a field for winter wheat, +bought other cattle, and some horses, which +they rode out over the rolling prairies side +by side. He never stopped to chat about +the town; she never ventured on the street +without him by her side. Truth to tell, +their neighbors envied them, marvelling +how one could extract a heaven out of +earth, and what such perfect joy could +mean. + +Yet, for all their prosperity, not one ad- +dition did they make to that most simple +home. It stood there, with its bare neces- +sities, made beautiful only with their love. +But when the winter was most gone, he +made a little cradle of hard wood, in which +she placed pillows of down, and over which +she hung linen curtains embroidered by her +hand. + +In the long evenings, by the flicker of +the fire, they sat together, cheek to cheek, +and looked at this little bed, singing low +songs together. + +"This happiness is terrible, my John," +she said to him one night, -- a wondrous +night, when the eastern wind had flung the +tassels out on all the budding trees of +spring, and the air was throbbing with +awakening life, and balmy puffs of breeze, +and odors of the earth. "And we are grow- +ing young. Do you not think that we are +very young and strong?" + +He kissed her on the lips. "I know that +you are beautiful," he said. + +"Oh, we have lived at Nature's heart, +you see, my love. The cattle and the +fowls, the honey and the wheat, the cot -- +the cradle, John, and you and me! These +things make happiness. They are nature. +But then, you cannot understand. You +have never known the artificial --" + +"And you, Elizabeth?" + +"John, if you wish, you shall hear all I +have to tell. 'Tis a long, long, weary tale. +Will you hear it now? Believe me, it will +make us sad." + +She grasped his arm till he shrank with +pain. + +"Tell what you will and when you will, +Elizabeth. Perhaps, some day -- when --" +he pointed to the little crib. + +"As you say." And so it dropped. + +There came a day when Hartington, sit- +ting upon the portico, where perfumes of +the budding clover came to him, hated the +humming of the happy bees, hated the rust- +ling of the trees, hated the sight of earth. + +"The child is dead," the nurse had said, +"as for your wife, perhaps --" but that was +all. Finally he heard the nurse's step +upon the floor. + +"Come, "she said, motioning him. And +he had gone, laid cheek against that dying +cheek, whispered his love once more, saw +it returned even then, in those deep eyes, +and laid her back upon her pillow, dead. + +He buried her among the mignonette, +levelled the earth, sowed thick the seed +again. + +"'Tis as she wished," he said. + +With his strong hands he wrenched the +little crib, laid it piece by piece upon their +hearth, and scattered then the sacred ashes +on the wind. Then, with hard-coming +breath, broke open the locked door of that +room which he had never entered, thinking +to find there, perhaps, some sign of that +unguessable life of hers, but found there +only an altar, with votive lamps before the +Blessed Virgin, and lilies faded and fallen +from their stems. + +Then down into the cellar went he, to +those boxes, with the foreign marks. And +then, indeed, he found a hint of that dead +life. Gowns of velvet and of silk, such as +princesses might wear, wonders of lace, +yellowed with time, great cloaks of snowy +fur, lustrous robes, jewels of worth, -- a vast +array of brilliant trumpery. Then there +were books in many tongues, with rich old +bindings and illuminated page, and in +them written the dead woman's name, -- a +name of many parts, with titles of impress, +and in the midst of all the name, "Eliza- +beth Astrado," as she said. + +And that was all, or if there were more +he might have learned, following trails +that fell within his way, he never learned +it, being content, and thankful that he +had held her for a time within his arms, +and looked in her great soul, which, weary- +ing of life's sad complexities, had sim- +plified itself, and made his love its best +adornment. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of A Mountain Woman, by Elia W. Peattie + |