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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/39598-8.txt b/39598-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b981f60 --- /dev/null +++ b/39598-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3935 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Asa Holmes, by Annie Fellows Johnston + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Asa Holmes + or At the Cross-Roads + +Author: Annie Fellows Johnston + +Illustrator: Ernest Fosbery + +Release Date: May 2, 2012 [EBook #39598] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASA HOLMES *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + + + +ASA HOLMES + +ANNIE·FELLOWS·JOHNSTON + + +[Illustration] + + + + +Asa Holmes + +or + +At the Cross-roads + + + + +Works of + +Annie Fellows Johnston + + +The Little Colonel Series + +(_Trade Mark, Reg. U. S. Pat. Of._) + +Each one vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated + + The Little Colonel Stories $1.50 + + (Containing in one volume the three stories, "The + Little Colonel," "The Giant Scissors," and "Two Little + Knights of Kentucky.") + + The Little Colonel's House Party 1.50 + The Little Colonel's Holidays 1.50 + The Little Colonel's Hero 1.50 + The Little Colonel at Boarding-School 1.50 + The Little Colonel in Arizona 1.50 + The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation 1.50 + The Little Colonel: Maid of Honor 1.50 + + The above 8 vols., _boxed_ 12.00 + + +Illustrated Holiday Editions + +Each one vol., small quarto, cloth, illustrated, and printed in color + + The Little Colonel $1.25 + The Giant Scissors 1.25 + Two Little Knights of Kentucky 1.25 + + The above 3 vols., _boxed_ 3.75 + + +Cosy Corner Series + +Each one vol., thin 12mo, cloth, illustrated + + The Little Colonel $.50 + The Giant Scissors .50 + Two Little Knights of Kentucky .50 + Big Brother .50 + Ole Mammy's Torment .50 + The Story of Dago .50 + Cicely .50 + Aunt 'Liza's Hero .50 + The Quilt that Jack Built .50 + Flip's "Islands of Providence" .50 + Mildred's Inheritance .50 + + +Other Books + + Joel; A Boy of Galilee $1.50 + In the Desert of Waiting .50 + The Three Weavers .50 + Keeping Tryst .50 + Asa Holmes 1.00 + Songs Ysame (Poems, with Albion Fellows Bacon) 1.00 + + L. C. PAGE & COMPANY + 200 Summer Street Boston, Mass. + +[Illustration] + + + + +Asa Holmes + +or + +At the Cross=Roads + +By + +Annie Fellows Johnston + +Author of + + "The Little Colonel," "Two Little Knights + of Kentucky," etc. + + With a Frontispiece by + Ernest Fosbery + +[Illustration] + + Boston + L.C. Page & Company + Publishers + + + + + _Copyright, 1900, 1901_ + BY E. S. BARNETT + + _Copyright, 1902_ + BY L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY + + (INCORPORATED) + + _All rights reserved_ + + _Seventh Impression_ + + Colonial Press + + Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. + Boston, Mass., U. S. A. + + + + + TO + + A Dear Old Philosopher + + WHOSE CHEERFUL OPTIMISM AND SUNNY FAITH HAVE + SWEETENED LIFE FOR ALL WHO KNOW HIM + + + + +Asa Holmes + +or + +At the Cross-roads + + + + +Chapter I + + +THERE is no place where men learn each other's little peculiarities more +thoroughly than in the group usually to be found around the stove in a +country store. Such acquaintance may be of slow growth, like the oak's, +but it is just as sure. Each year is bound to add another ring to one's +knowledge of his neighbours if he lounges with them, as man and boy, +through the Saturday afternoons of a score of winters. + +A boy learns more there than he can be taught in schools. It may be he +is only a tow-headed, freckle-faced little fellow of eight when he rides +over to the cross-roads store for the first time by himself. Too timid +to push into the circle around the fire, he stands shivering on the +outskirts, looking about him with the alertness of a scared rabbit, +until the storekeeper fills his kerosene can and thrusts the weekly mail +into his red mittens. Then some man covers him with confusion by +informing the crowd that "that little chap is Perkins's oldest," and he +scurries away out of the embarrassing focus of the public eye. + +But the next time he is sent on the family errands he stays longer and +carries away more. Perched on the counter, with his heels dangling over +a nail keg, while he waits for the belated mail train, he hears for the +first time how the government ought to be run, why it is that the +country is going to the dogs, and what will make hens lay in cold +weather. Added to this general information, he slowly gathers the belief +that these men know everything in the world worth knowing, and that +their decisions on any subject settle the matter for all time. + +He may have cause to change his opinion later on, when his sapling +acquaintance has gained larger girth; when he has loafed with them, +smoked with them, swapped lies and spun yarns, argued through a decade +of stormy election times, and talked threadbare every subject under the +sun. But now, in his callow judgment, he is listening to the wit and +wisdom of the nation. Now, as he looks around the overflowing room, +where butter firkins crowd the calicoes and crockery, and where hams and +saddles swing sociably from the same rafter, as far as his knowledge +goes, this is the only store in the universe. + +Some wonder rises in his childish brain as he counts the boxes of +axle-grease and the rows of shining new pitchforks, as to where all the +people live who are to use so many things. He has yet to learn that this +one little store that is such a marvel to him is only a drop in the +bucket, and that he may travel the width of the continent, meeting at +nearly every mile-post that familiar mixture of odours--coal oil, +mackerel, roasted coffee, and pickle brine. And a familiar group of men, +discussing the same old subjects in the same old way, will greet him at +every such booth he passes on his pilgrimage through Vanity Fair. + +Probably in after years Perkins's oldest will never realise how much of +his early education has been acquired at that Saturday afternoon +loafing-place, but he will often find himself looking at things with the +same squint with which he learned to view them through 'Squire Dobbs's +short-sighted spectacles. Many a time he will find that he has been +unconsciously warped by the prejudices he heard expressed there, and +that his opinions of life in general and men in particular are the +outgrowth of those early conversations which gave him the creed of his +boyhood. + +"Them blamed Yankees!" exclaims one of these neighbourhood orators, +tilting his chair back against the counter, and taking a vicious bite at +his plug of tobacco. "They don't know no better than to eat cold bread +the year 'round!" And the boy, accepting the statement unquestioningly, +stores away in his memory not only the remark, but all the weighty +emphasis of disgust which accompanied the remark in the spitting of a +mouthful of tobacco juice. Henceforth his idea of the menu north of the +Mason and Dixon line is that it resembles the bill of fare of a +penitentiary, and he feels that there is something coldblooded and +peculiar about a people not brought up on a piping hot diet of hoe-cake +and beaten biscuit. + +In the same way the lad whose opinions are being moulded in some little +corner grocery of a New England village, or out where the roads cross on +the Western prairie, receives his prejudices. It may be years before he +finds out for himself that the land of Boone is not fenced with whiskey +jugs and feuds, and that the cap-sheaf on every shock of wheat in its +domain is not a Winchester rifle. + +But these prejudices, popular at local cross-roads, are only the side +lines of which every section carries its own specialty. When it comes to +staple articles, dear to the American heart and essential to its liberty +and progress, their standard of value is the same the country over. + +One useful lesson the youthful lounger may learn here, if he can learn +it anywhere, and that is to be a shrewd reader of men and motives. Since +staple characteristics in human nature are repeated everywhere, like +staple dry goods and groceries, a thorough knowledge of the group around +the stove will be a useful guide to Perkins's oldest in forming +acquaintances later in life. + +Long after he has left the little hamlet and grown gray with the +experiences of the metropolis, he will run across some queer Dick whose +familiar personality puzzles him. As he muses over his evening pipe, +suddenly out of the smoke wreaths will spring the face of some old +codger who aired his wisdom in the village store, and he will recognise +the likeness between the two as quickly as he would between two cans of +leaf lard bearing the same brand. + +But Perkins's oldest is only in the primer of his cross-roads +curriculum now, and these are some of the lessons he is learning as he +edges up to the group around the fire. On the day before Thanksgiving, +for instance, he was curled up on a box of soap behind the chair of old +Asa Holmes--Miller Holmes everybody calls him, because for nearly half a +century his water-mill ground out the grist of all that section of +country. He is retired now; gave up his business to his grandsons. They +carry it on in another place with steam and modern machinery, and he is +laid on the shelf. But he isn't a back number, even if his old deserted +mill is. It is his boast that now he has nothing else to do, he not only +keeps up with the times, but ahead of them. + +Everybody goes to him for advice; everybody looks up to him as they do +to a hardy old forest tree that's lived through all sorts of hurricanes, +but has stood to the last, sturdy of limb, and sound to the core. He is +as sweet and mellow as a winter apple, ripened in the sun, and that's +why everybody likes to have him around. You don't see many old men like +that. Their troubles sour them. + +Well, this day before Thanksgiving the old miller was in his usual +place at the store, and as usual it was he who was giving the cheerful +turn to the conversation. Some of the men were feeling sore over the +recent election; some had not prospered as they had hoped with their +crops, and were experiencing the pinch of hard times and sickness in +their homes. Still there was a holiday feeling in the atmosphere. +Frequent calls for nutmeg, and sage, and cinnamon, left the air spicy +with prophecies of the morrow's dinner. + +The farmers had settled down for a friendly talk, with the comfortable +sense that the crops were harvested, the wood piled away for the winter, +and a snug, warm shelter provided for the cattle. It was good to see the +hard lines relax in the weather-beaten faces, in the warmth of that +genial comradeship. Even the gruffest were beginning to thaw a little, +when the door opened, and Bud Hines slouched in. The spirits of the +crowd went down ten degrees. + +Not that he said anything; only gave a gloomy nod by way of greeting as +he dropped into a chair. But his whole appearance said it for him; spoke +in the droop of his shoulders, and the droop of his hat brim, and the +droop of his mouth at the corners. He looked as if he might have sat for +the picture of the man in the "Biglow Papers," when he said: + + "Sometimes my innard vane pints east for weeks together, + My natur' gits all goose-flesh, an' my sins + Come drizzlin' on my conscience sharp ez pins." + +The miller greeted him with the twinkle in his eye that eighty years +and more have never been able to dim; and Perkins's oldest had his first +meeting with the man who always finds a screw loose in everything. +Nothing was right with Bud Hines. One of his horses had gone lame, and +his best heifer had foundered, and there was rust in his wheat. He +didn't have any heart to keep Thanksgiving, and he didn't see how +anybody else could, with the bottom dropped clean out of the markets and +the new road tax so high. For his part he thought that everything was on +its last legs, and it wouldn't be long till all the Powers were at war, +and prices would go up till a poor man simply couldn't live. + +It was impossible not to be affected more or less by his gloomy +forebodings, and the old miller, looking around on the listening faces, +saw them settling back in their old discouraged lines. Clasping his +hands more firmly over the top of his cane, he exclaimed: "Now look +here, Bud Hines, I'm going to give you a proverb that was made on +purpose for such a poor, weak-kneed Mr. Ready-to-halt as you are: 'Never +be discouraged, and never be a discourager!' If you can't live up to the +first part, you certainly can to the second. No matter how hard things +go with you, you've no right to run around throwing cold water on other +people. What if your horse has gone lame? You've got a span of mules +that can outpull my yoke of oxen any day. One heifer oughtn't to send a +man into mourning the rest of his days, and it would be more fitting to +be thankful over your good tobacco crop than to groan over the failure +of your wheat. More fitting to the season. As for the rest of the things +you're worrying over, why, man, they haven't happened yet, and maybe +never will. My old grandad used to say to me when I was a lad, 'Never +cross your bridge till you come to it, Asa,' and I've proved the wisdom +of that saying many a time. Suppose'n you put that in your pipe and +smoke it." + +If Perkins's oldest learns no other lesson this year than to put those +two proverbs into practice, he will have had a valuable education. How +many Thanksgivings they will help to make for him! How many problems and +perplexities they will solve! + +"Never be discouraged; never be a discourager! Don't cross your bridge +until you come to it!" It is a philosophy that will do away with half +the ills which flesh imagines it is heir to. + +Thanksgiving Day! How much more it means to the old miller than to the +little fellow beside him on the soap box! To the child it is only a +feast day; to the old man it is a festival that links him to a lifetime +of sacred memories. + +"Five and eighty years," he says, musingly, resting his chin on the +wrinkled hands that clasp the head of his cane. A silence falls on the +group around the stove, and through the cracked door the red firelight +shines out on thoughtful faces. + +"It's a long time; five and eighty years," he repeats, "and every one of +them crowned with a Thanksgiving. Boys," lifting his head and looking +around him, "you've got a good bit of pike to travel over yet before you +get as far as I've gone, and some of you are already half fagged out and +beginning to wonder if it's all worth while--Bud, here, for instance. +I'd like to give you all a word of encouragement. + +"Looking back, I can see that I've had as many ups and downs as any of +you, and more than your share of work and trouble, for I've lived +longer, and nearly all the years are marked with graves. Seems to me +that lately I've had to leave a new grave behind me at every mile-stone, +till now I'm jogging on all alone. Family gone, old neighbours gone, old +friends--I'm the last of the old set. But, still, when all is said and +done, I haven't lost heart, for 'I've lived, seen God's hand through a +lifetime, and all was for best.' + +"When I was milling down there on Bear Creek you'd 'a' thought I was a +fool if I hadn't taken my rightful toll out of every bushel of grist +that ran through my hopper, and sometimes I think that the Almighty must +feel that way about us when we go on grinding and grinding, and never +stopping to count up our share of the profit and pleasure and be +thankful over it. I believe that no matter what life pours into our +hopper, we are to grind some toll of good out of it for ourselves, and +as long as a man does his part toward producing something for the +world's good, some kind of bread for its various needs, he will never go +hungry himself. + +"And I believe more than that. You've heard people compare old age to a +harvest field, and talk about the autumn of life with its ripened corn +waiting for the reaper Death, and all that, and speak about the 'harvest +home,' as if it were the glorious end of everything. But it never did +strike me that way, boys. The best comes after the harvesting, when the +wheat is turned into flour and the flour into bread, and the full, +wholesome loaves go to make up blood and muscle and brain. That's giving +it a sort of immortality, you might say, raising it into a higher order +of life. And it's the same with a man. His old age is just a ripening +for something better a little further on. All that we go through with +here isn't for nothing, and at eighty-five, when it looks as if a man +had come to the stepping-off place, I've come to believe that 'the best +is yet to be.'" + +There is a stir around the door, and the old miller looks around +inquiringly. The mail has come in, and he rises slowly to get his weekly +paper. Perkins's oldest, waiting his turn in front of the little case of +pigeonholes, eyes the old man with wondering side glances. He has not +understood more than half of what he has heard, but he is vaguely +conscious that something is speaking to him now, as he looks into the +tranquil old face. It is the miller's past that is calling to him; all +those honest, hard-working years that show themselves in the bent form +and wrinkled hands; the serene peacefulness that bespeaks a clear +conscience; the big, sunny nature that looks out of those aged eyes; and +above all the great hopefulness that makes his days a perpetual +Thanksgiving. + +The mute eloquence of an unspoken invitation thrills the child's heart, +he knows not why: + + "Grow old along with me; + The best is yet to be!" + +It is the greatest lesson that Perkins's oldest can ever learn. + + + + +Chapter II + + +ONE would have known that it was the day before Christmas at the +Cross-Roads store, even if the big life insurance calendar over the desk +had not proclaimed the fact in bold red figures. An unwonted bustle +pervaded the place. Rows of plump, dressed turkeys hung outside the +door, and on the end of the counter where the pyramid of canned tomatoes +was usually stacked, a little evergreen tree stood in a brave array of +tinsel and tiny Christmas tapers. + +It was only an advertisement. No one might hope to be the proud +possessor of the Noah's ark lodged in its branches, or of the cheap toys +and candy rings dangling from every limb, unless he had the necessary +pennies. Still, every child who passed it eyed it with such wistful +glances that the little rubber Santa Claus at the base must have felt +his elastic heart stretch almost to bursting. + +Above the familiar odour of coal-oil and mackerel, new leather, roasted +coffee and pickle brine, rose the holiday fragrance of cedar and +oranges. + +"Makes me think of when I was a kid," said a drummer who had been +joking with the men around the stove, trying to kill time while he +waited for the train that was to take him home for Christmas. "There's +nothing like that smell of cedar and oranges to resurrect the boy in a +man. It puts me straight back into knickerbockers again, among a whole +grove of early Christmas trees. I'll never forget the way I felt when I +picked my first pair of skates off one of them. A house and lot wouldn't +give me such a thrill now." + +"Aw, I don't believe Christmas is at all what it's cracked up to be," +said a voice from behind the stove, in such a gloomy tone that a knowing +smile passed around the circle. + +"Bet on you, Bud Hines, for findin' trouble, every time," laughed the +storekeeper. "Why, Bud, there ain't no screw loose in Christmas, is +there?" + +"Well, there just is!" snapped the man, resenting the laugh. "It comes +too often for one thing. I just wish it had happened on leap-year, the +twenty-ninth of February. It would be a heap less expensive having it +just once in four years. Seems to me we're always treading on its heels. +My old woman hardly gets done knitting tidies for one Christmas till +she's hard at it for another. + +"Anyhow, Christmas never measures up to what you think it's a-going +to--not by a jug-full. Sure as you get your heart set on a patent +nail-puller or a pair of fur gloves--something that'll do _you_ some +good--your wife gives you a carpet sweeper, or an alarm-clock that +rattles you out an hour too early every morning." + +The drummer led the uproarious laughter that followed. They were ready +to laugh at anything in this season of good cheer, and the drummer's +vociferous merriment was irresistible. He slapped the speaker on the +back, adding jokingly, "That's one thing Job never had to put up, did +he, partner! He nearly lost his reputation for politeness over the +misfit advice he didn't want. But there's no telling what he'd have done +with misfit Christmas gifts. It would take a star actor to play the +grateful for some of the things people find in their stockings. For +instance, to have a fond female relative give you a shaving outfit, when +you wear a full beard." + +"You bet your life," answered the storekeeper feelingly. "Now, if Santa +Claus wasn't a fake--" + +"Hist!" said the drummer, with a significant glance toward a small boy, +perched on a soap-box in their midst, listening open-mouthed to every +word. "I've children myself, and I'd punch anybody's head who would +shake their faith in Santy. It's one of the rosy backgrounds of +childhood, in my opinion, and I've got a heap of happiness out of it +since I was a kid, too, looking back and recollecting." + +It was very little happiness that the boy on the soap-box was getting +out of anything, that gray December afternoon. He was weighed down with +a feeling of age and responsibility that bore heavily on his +eight-year-old shoulders. He had long felt the strain of his position, +as pattern to the house of Perkins, being the oldest of five. Now there +was another one, and to be counted as the oldest of six pushed him +almost to the verge of gray hairs. + +There was another reason for his tear-stained face. He had been +disillusioned. Only that noon, his own mother had done that for which +the drummer would have punched any one's head, had it been done to his +children. "We're too poor, Sammy. There can't be any Christmas at our +house this year," she had said, fretfully, as she stopped the noisy +driving of nails into the chimney, on which he contemplated hanging the +fraternal stockings. To his astonished "Why?" she had replied with a few +blunt truths that sent him out from her presence, shorn of all his +childish hopefulness as completely as Samson was shorn of his strength. + +There had been a sorry half-hour in the hay-mow, where he snuffled over +his shattered faith alone, and from whence he went out, a hardened +little skeptic, to readjust himself to a cold and Santa Clausless world. +The only glimmer of comfort he had had since was when the drummer, with +a friendly wink, slipped a nickel into his hand. But even that added to +his weight of responsibility. He dropped it back and forth from one +little red mitten to another, with two impulses strong upon him. The +first was to spend it for six striped sticks of peppermint candy, one +for each stocking, and thus compel Christmas to come to the house of +Perkins. The other was to buy one orange and go off in a corner and suck +it all by himself. He felt that fate owed him that much of a reparation +for his disappointment. He was in the midst of this inward debate when a +new voice joined the discussion around the stove. It came from Cy Akers. + +"Well, _I_ think it's downright sinful to stuff a child with such +notions. You may call 'em fairy-tales all you like, but it's nothing +more or less than a pack of lies. The idea of a Christian payrent +sitting up and telling his immortal child that a big fat man in furs +will drive through the air to-night in a reindeer sleigh right over the +roofs and squeeze himself down a lot of sooty chimneys, with a bag of +gimcracks on his back--it's all fol-de-rol! I never could see how any +intelligent young one could believe it. I never did. But that's one +thing about me, as the poet says, 'If I've one pecooliar feature it's a +nose that won't be led.' I never could be made to take stock in any such +nonsense, even as a boy. I'll leave it to Mr. Asa Holmes, here, if it +isn't wrong to be putting such ideas into the youth of our land." + +The old miller ran his fingers through his short white hair and looked +around. His smile was wholesome as it was genial. He was used to being +called in judgment on these neighbourhood discussions, and he spoke with +the air of one who felt that his words carried weight: + +"You're putting it pretty strong, Cy," he said, with a laugh, and then a +tender, reminiscent light gleamed in his old eyes. + +"You see it's this way with me, boys. We never heard any of these +things when I was a lad. It's plain facts in a pioneer cabin, you know. +Father taught us about Christmas in the plain words that he found set +down in the Gospels, and I told it the same way to my boys. When my +first little grandson came back to the old house to spend Christmas, I +thought it was almost heathenish for his mother to have him send letters +up the chimney and talk as if Santa Claus was some real person. I told +her so one day, and asked what was going to happen when the little +fellow outgrew such beliefs. + +"'Why, Father Holmes,' said she,--I can hear her now, words and tones, +for it set me to thinking,--'don't you see that he is all the time +growing into a broader belief? It's this way.' She picked up a big apple +from the table. 'Once this apple was only a tiny seed-pod in the heart +of a pink blossom. The beauty of the blossom was all that the world saw, +at first, but gradually, as the fruit swelled and developed, the pink +petals fell off, naturally and easily, and the growing fruit was left. +My little son's idea of Christmas is in the blossom time now. This rosy +glamour of old customs and traditions that makes it so beautiful to him +is taking the part of the pink petals. They will fall away by and by, of +their own accord, for underneath a beautiful truth is beginning to swell +to fruitage. Santa Claus is the Spirit of Christmas love and giving, +personified. It is because I want to make it real and vital, something +that my baby's mind can grasp and enjoy, that I incarnate it in the form +of the good old Saint Nicholas, but I never let him lose sight of the +Star. It was the Spirit of Christmas that started the wise men on their +search, and they followed the Star and they found the Child, and laid +gifts at his feet. And when the Child was grown, he, too, went out in +the world and followed the Star and scattered his gifts of love and +healing for all the children of men. And so it has gone on ever since, +that Spirit of Christmas, impelling us to follow and to find and to +give, wherever there is a need for our gold and frankincense and myrrh. +That is the larger belief my boy is growing into, from the smaller.' + +"And she is right," said the old man, after an impressive pause. "She +raised that boy to be an own brother to Santa Claus, as far as good-will +to men goes. It's Christmas all the year round wherever _he_ is. And now +when he brings his boys back to the old home and hangs their stockings +up by the fire, I never say a word. Sometimes when the little chaps are +hunting for the marks of the reindeer hoofs in the ashes, I kneel down +on the old hearthstone and hunt, too. + + * * * * * + +"A brother to Santa Claus!" The phrase still echoed in the heart of +Perkins's oldest when the group around the stove dispersed. It was that +which decided the fate of the nickel, and filled the little red mittens +with sticks of striped delight for six, instead of the lone orange for +one. Out of a conversation but dimly understood he had gathered a vague +comfort. It made less difference that his patron saint was a myth, since +he had learned there might be brothers in the Claus family for him to +fall back upon. Then his fingers closed over the paper bag of +peppermints, and, suddenly, with a little thrill, he felt that in some +queer way he belonged to that same brotherhood. + +As he fumbled at the latch, the old miller, who always saw his own +boyhood rise before him in that small tow-headed figure, and who somehow +had divined the cause of the tear-streaks on the dirty little face, +called him. "Here, sonny!" It was a pair of shining new skates that +dangled from the miller's hands into his. + +One look of rapturous delight, and two little feet were flying homeward +down the frozen pike, beating time to a joy that only the overflowing +heart of a child can know, when its troubles are all healed, and faith +in mankind restored. And the old man, going home in the frosty twilight +of the Christmas eve, saw before him all the way the light of a shining +star. + + + + +Chapter III + + +IT was an hour past the usual time for closing the Cross-Roads store, +but no one made a move to go. Listening in the comfortable glow of the +red-hot stove, to the wind whistling down the long pipe, was far +pleasanter than facing its icy blasts on the way home. Besides, it was +the last night of the old year, and hints of forthcoming cider had been +dropped by Jim Bowser, the storekeeper. Also an odour of frying +doughnuts came in from the kitchen, whenever Mrs. Bowser opened the door +into the entry. + +Added to the usual group of loungers was the drummer who had spent +Christmas eve with them. He had come in on an accommodation train, and +was waiting for the midnight express. He had had the floor for some time +with his stories, when suddenly in the midst of the laughter which +followed one of his jokes, Bud Hines made himself heard. + +"I say, Jim," he exclaimed, turning to the storekeeper, "why don't you +tear off the last leaf of that calendar? We've come to the end of +everything now; end of the day, end of the year, end of the century! +Something none of _us_ will ever experience again. It's always a mighty +solemn thought to me that I'm doing a thing for the la-ast time!" + +Jim laughed cheerfully, tilting his chair back against the counter, and +thrusting his thumbs into the armholes of his vest. + +"I don't know as I feel any call to mourn over takin' down an old +calendar when I have a prettier one to put in its place, and it's the +same way with the century. There'll be a better one to begin on in the +morning." + +"That's so," asserted Cy Akers. "But some people come bang up against a +New Year as if it was a stone wall, and down they set and count up their +sins, and turn over new leaves, and load 'emselves down with so many +good resolutions that they stick in the mud by the end of the first +week. Now I hold that if it wasn't for the almanacs, steppin' from one +year to another, or from one century to another, wouldn't jar you no +more than steppin' over the equator. They're only imaginary lines, and +nobody would ever know where he was at, either in months or meridians, +if he didn't have almanacs and the like to keep him posted. Fourth of +July is just as good a time to take stock and turn over a new leaf as +the first of January." + +"Maybe you take stock like a man I used to sell to down in Henderson +County," said the drummer. "He never kept any books, so he never knew +exactly where he was 'at,' as you say. Once a year he'd walk around the +store with his hands in his pockets, and size up things in a general +sort of way. 'Bill,' he'd say to his clerk, cocking his eyes up at the +shelves, 'we've got a right smart chance of canned goods left over. I +reckon there's a half shelf full more than we had left last year. I know +there's more bottles of ketchup.' Then he'd take another turn around the +room. 'Bill, I disremember how many pitchforks we had in this rack. +There's only two left now. Nearly all the calico is sold, and (thumping +the molasses barrel), this here bar'l sounds like it's purty nigh empty. +Take it all around, Bill, we've done first-rate this year, so I don't +know as it's worth while botherin' about weighin' and measurin' what's +left over, so long as we're satisfied.' And maybe that's why Cy makes so +little of New Year," added the drummer, with a sly wink at the others. +"He thinks it's not worth while to weigh and measure his shortcomings +when he can take stock of himself in a general sort of a way, and always +be perfectly satisfied with himself." + +There was a laugh at Cy's expense, and Bud Hines began again. + +"What worries me is, what's been prophesied about the new century. One +would think we've had enough famines and plagues and wars and rumours of +wars in this here old one to do for awhile, but from what folks say, it +ain't goin' to hold a candle to the trouble we'll see in the next one." + +"Troubles is seasonin'. ''Simmons ain't good till they are frostbit,'" +quoted Cy. + +"Then accordin' to Bud's tell, he ought to be the best seasoned +persimmon on the bough," chuckled the storekeeper. + +"No, that fellow that was here this afternoon goes ahead of Bud," +insisted Cy, turning to the drummer. "I wish you could have heard him, +pardner. He came in to get a postal order for some money he wanted to +send in a letter, and he nearly wiped up the earth with poor old Bowser, +because there was a two-cent war tax to pay on it. + +"'Whose war?' says he. ''Tain't none of _my_ makin',' says he, 'and +I'll be switched if I'll pay taxes on a thing I've been dead set against +from the start. It's highway robbery,' says he, 'to load the country +down with a war debt in times like these. It's kill yourself to keep +yourself these days, and as my Uncle Josh used to say after the Mexican +war, "it's tough luck when people are savin' and scrimpin' at the spigot +for the government to be drawin' off at the bung."' + +"Bowser here just looked him over as if he'd been a freak at a +side-show, and said Bowser, in a dry sort of way, he guessed, 'when it +came to the pinch, the spigot wouldn't feel that a two-cent stamp was a +killin' big leakage.' + +"The fellow at that threw the coppers down on the counter, mad as a +hornet. 'It's the principle of the thing,' says he. 'Uncle Sam had no +business to bite off more'n he could chew and then call on me to help. +What's the war done for this country, anyhow?' + +"He was swinging his arms like a stump speaker at a barbecue, by this +time. 'What's it done?' says he. 'Why it's sent the soldiers back from +Cuba with an itch as bad as the smallpox, and as ketchin' to them +citizens that wanted peace, as to them that clamoured for war. I know +what I'm talkin' about, for my hired man like to 'uv died with it, and +he hadn't favoured the war any more than a spring lamb. And what's it +doin' for us, now?' says he. 'Sendin' the poor fellows back from the +Philippines by the ship-load, crazy as June-bugs. I know what I'm +talkin' about. That happened to one of my wife's cousins. What was it +ever begun for,' says he, 'tell me that!' + +"Peck here, behind the stove, sung out like a fog-horn, '_Remember the +Maine!_' Peck knew what a blow the fellow had made at an indignation +meeting when the news first came. No tellin' what would have happened +then if a little darky hadn't put his head in at the door and yelled, +'Say, mistah, yo' mules is done backed yo' wagon in de ditch!' He tore +out to tend to them, or we might have had another Spanish war right here +among Bowser's goods and chattels." + +"No danger," said Peck, dryly, "he isn't the kind of a fellow to fight +for principle. It's only when his pocketbook is touched he wants to lick +somebody. He's the stingiest man I ever knew, and I've known some mighty +mean men in my time." + +"What's the matter with you all to-night?" said the drummer. "You're +the most pessimistic crowd I've struck in an age. This is the tune +you've been giving me from the minute I lifted the latch." And beating +time with foot and hands in old plantation style, the drummer began +forthwith to sing in a deep bass voice that wakened the little Bowsers +above: + + "Ole Satan is loose an' a-bummin'! + De wheels er distruckshin is a-hummin.' + Oh, come 'long, sinner, ef you comin'!" + +The door into the entry opened a crack and Mrs. Bowser's forefinger +beckoned. + +"Here's good-bye to the old and good luck to the new," cried Jim, +jumping up to take the big pitcher of cider that she passed through the +opening. + +"And here's to Mrs. Bowser," cried the drummer, taking the new tin cup +filled for him with the sparkling cider, and helping himself to a hot +doughnut from the huge panful which she brought in. "It's a pretty good +sort of world, after all, that gives you cakes as crisp and sugary as +these. 'Speak well of the bridge that carries you over' is my motto, so +don't let another fellow cheep to-night, unless he can say something +good of the poor old century or the men who've lived in it!" + +"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Asa Holmes!" cried several voices. + +The old miller, who had been silent all evening, straightened himself up +in his chair and drew his hand over his eyes. + +"I feel as if I were parting with an old comrade, to-night," he said. +"The century had only fifteen years the start of me, and it's a long way +we've travelled together. I've been sitting here, thinking how much +we've lived through. Listen, boys." + +It was a brief series of pictures he drew for them, against the +background of his early pioneer days. They saw him, a little lad, +trudging more than a mile on a winter morning to borrow a kettle of hot +coals, because the fire had gone out on his own hearthstone, and it was +before the days of matches. They saw him huddled with the other little +ones around his mother's knee when the wolves howled in the night +outside the door, and only the light of a tallow-dip flickered through +the darkness of the little cabin. They saw the struggle of a strong life +against the limitations of the wilderness, and realised what the battle +must have been oftentimes, against sudden disease and accident and +death, with the nearest doctor a three days' journey distant, and no +smoke from any neighbour's chimney rising anywhere on all the wide +horizon. + +While he talked, a heavy freight train rumbled by outside; the wind +whistled through the telegraph wires. The jingle of a telephone bell +interrupted his reminiscences. The old man looked up with a smile. "See +what we have come to," he said, "from such a past to a time when I can +say 'hello,' across a continent. Cables and cross-ties and telegraph +poles have annihilated distance. The century and I came in on an +ox-cart; we are going out on a streak of lightning. + +"But that's not the greatest thing," he said, pausing, while the +listening faces grew still more thoughtful. "Think of the hospitals! The +homes! The universities! The social settlements! The free libraries! The +humane efforts everywhere to give humanity an uplift! When I think of +all this century has accomplished, of the heroic lives it has produced, +I haven't a word to say about its mistakes and failures. After all, how +do we know that the things we cry out against _are_ mistakes? + +"This war may be a Samson's riddle that we are not wise enough to read. +Those who shall come after us may be able to say '_Out of the eater came +forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness!_'" + +Somewhere in an upper room a clock struck twelve, and deep silence +fell on the little company as they waited for the solemn passing of the +century. It was no going out as of some decrepit Lear tottering from his +throne. Perhaps no man there could have put it in words, but each one +felt that its majestic leave-taking was like the hoary old apostle's: "I +have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the +faith." + + + + +Chapter IV + + +FOR some occult reason, the successful merchant in small towns and +villages is the confidant, if not father-confessor, of a large number of +his patronesses. It may be that his flattering air of personal interest, +assumed for purely business purposes, loosens not only the purse-strings +but the spring that works the panorama of private affairs. Or it may be +an idiosyncrasy of some classes of the mind feminine, to make no +distinction between a bargain counter and a confessional. Whatever the +cause, many an honest merchant can testify that it is no uncommon thing +for a woman to air her domestic troubles while she buys a skirt braid, +or to drag out her family skeleton with the sample of sewing silk she +wishes to match. + +The Cross-Roads had had its share of confidences, although as a rule the +women who disposed of their butter and eggs in trade to Bowser were of +the patient sort, grown silent under the repressing influence of +secluded farm life. Still, Bowser, quick to see and keen to judge, had +gained a remarkable insight into neighbourhood affairs in fifteen years' +dealings with his public. "All things come to him who waits" if he wears +an air of habitual interest and has a sympathetic way of saying "Ah! +indeed!" + +It was with almost the certainty of foreknowledge that Bowser counted +his probable patrons as he spread out his valentines on the morning of +the fourteenth of February. He had selected his comic ones with a view +to the feud that existed between the Hillock and Bond families, well +knowing that a heavy cross-fire of ugly caricatures and insulting rhymes +would be kept up all day by the younger members of those warring +households. It was with professional satisfaction he smiled over the +picture of a fat man with a donkey's head, which he was as sure would be +sent by Pete Hillock to old man Bond, as if he had heard Pete's penny +dropping into the cash-drawer. + +"Nothing like supplying the demand," he chuckled. + +It was with more than professional interest that he arranged the +lace-paper valentines in the show-case, for the little embossed Cupids +had a strong ally in this rustic haberdasher, whose match-making +propensities had helped many a little romance to a happy issue. Drawing +on his fund of private information, acquired in his rôle of confidant to +the neighbourhood gossips, he set out his stock of plump red hearts, +forget-me-nots, and doves; and with each addition to the festal array he +nodded his head knowingly over the particular courtship it was designed +to speed, or the lovers' quarrel that he hoped might be ended thereby. + + * * * * * + +There had been two weeks of "February thaw." Melting snow had made the +mud hub-deep in places. There was a velvety balminess in the touch of +the warm wind, and faint, elusive odours, prophetic of spring, rose from +the moist earth and sap-quickened trees. + +The door of the Cross-Road store stood open, and behind it, at the +post-office desk, sat Marion Holmes, the old miller's granddaughter. +Just out of college and just into society, she had come to spend Lent in +the old place that had welcomed her every summer during her childhood. +The group around the stove stared covertly at the pretty girl in the +tailor-made gown, failing to recognise in the tall, stylish figure any +trace of the miller's "little Polly," who used to dangle her feet from +the counter and munch peppermint drops, while she lisped nursery rhymes +for their edification. + +She had come for the letters herself, she told Bowser, because she was +expecting a whole bag full, and her grandfather's rheumatism kept him at +home. Installed in the post-office chair, behind the railing that +enclosed the sanctum of pigeon-holes, she amused herself by watching the +customers while she waited for the mail-train. + +"It's like looking into a kaleidoscope," she told Bowser in one of the +pauses of trade. "Every one who comes in gives me a different point of +view and combination of opinions. Now, those valentines! I was thinking +what old-fashioned things those little lace-paper affairs are, and +wondering how anybody could possibly get up any thrills over them, when +in walked Miss Anastasia Dill. Prim and gentle as ever, isn't she? Still +getting her styles from _Godey's Lady's Books_ of the early sixties; she +must draw on their antiquated love stories for her sentiment, too, for +she seemed lost in admiration of those hearts and darts. What _do_ you +suppose is Miss Anastasia's idea of a lover?" + +Marion rattled on with all of a débutante's reckless enthusiasm for any +subject under discussion. "Wouldn't he be as odd and old-fashioned as +the lace valentines themselves? She'd call him a _suitor_, wouldn't she? +I wonder if she ever had one." + +Then Bowser, piecing together the fragmentary gossip of fifteen years, +told Marion all he knew of Miss Anastasia's gentle romance; and Marion, +idly clasping and unclasping the little Yale pin on her jacket, gained +another peep into the kaleidoscope of human experiences. + +"I have read of such devotion to a memory," she said when the story was +done, "but I never met it in the flesh. What a pity he died while he was +on such a high pedestal in her imagination. If he had lived she would +have discovered that there are no such paragons, and all the other sons +of Adam needn't have suffered by comparison. So she's an old maid simply +because she put her ideal of a lover so high in the clouds nobody could +live up to it! Dear old Miss Anastasia!" + +Bowser pulled his beard. "Such couples make me think of these here lamps +with double wicks," he said. "They hardly ever burn along together +evenly. One wick is sure to flare up higher than the other; you either +have to keep turning it down and get along with a half light or let it +smoke the chimney--maybe crack it--and make things generally +uncomfortable. But here comes somebody, Miss Marion, who's burned along +pretty steady, and that through three administrations. It's her brag +that she's had three husbands and treated them just alike, even to the +matter of tombstones. 'Not a pound difference in the weight nor a dollar +in the price,' she always says." + +The newcomer was a fat, wheezy woman, spattered with mud from the hem +of her skirt to the crown of her big crape bonnet, which had tipped on +one side with the jolting of the wagon. + +"Well, Jim Bowser!" she exclaimed, catching sight of the valentines. "Ef +you ain't got out them silly, sentimental fol-de-rols again! My nephew, +Jason Potter,--that's my second husband's sister's son, you know,--spent +seventy-five cents last year to buy one of them silly things to send to +his girl; and I says to him, 'Jason,' says I, 'ef _I'd_ been Lib +Meadows, that would 'uv cooked your goose with _me_! Any man simple +enough to waste his substance so, wouldn't make a good provider.' I +ought to know--I've been a wife three times." + +This, like all other of Mrs. Power's conversational roads, led back to +the three tombstones, and started a flow of good-natured badinage on the +subject of matrimony, which continued long after she had taken her noisy +departure. "Well!" exclaimed Bud Hines, as the big crape bonnet went +jolting down the road, "I guess there's three good men gone that could +tell why heaven is heaven." + +"Why?" asked Cy Akers. + +"Because there's no marryin' or givin' in marriage there." + +"Bud speaks feelingly!" said Cy, winking at the others. "He'd better get +a job on a newspaper to write Side Talks with Henpecked Husbands." + +"Shouldn't think _you'd_ want to hear any extrys or supplements," +retorted Bud. "You get enough in your own daily editions." + + * * * * * + +"St. Valentine has been generous with my little Polly," said the old +miller, looking up fondly at the tall, graceful girl, coming into his +room, her face aglow and her arms full of packages. + +"But what's the good of it all, grandfather?" answered Marion. "I've +been looking into Cupid's kaleidoscope through other people's eyes this +afternoon, and nothing is rose-coloured as I thought. Everything is +horrid. 'Marriage is a failure,' and sentiment is a silly thing that +people make flippant jokes about, or else break their hearts with, like +Mr. Bowser's double-wick lamps, that flare up and crack their chimneys. +I've come to the conclusion that St. Valentine has outlived his +generation." + +She broke the string which bound one of the boxes that she had dropped +on the table, and took out a great dewy bunch of sweet violets. As their +fragrance filled the room, the old man looked around as if half +expecting to see some familiar presence; then dropped his white head +with a sigh, and gazed into the embers on the hearth, lost in a tender +reverie. + +Presently he said, "I wish you would hand me that box on my wardrobe +shelf, little girl." As Marion opened the wardrobe door, something +hanging there made her give a little start of surprise. It was an old +familiar gray dress, with the creases still in the bent sleeves just as +they had been left when the tired arms last slipped out of them. That +was ten years ago; and Marion, standing there with a mist gathering in +her eyes, recalled the day her grandfather had refused to let any one +fold it away. It had hung there all those years, the tangible reminder +of the strong, sweet presence that had left its imprint on every part of +the household. + +"It is like my life since she slipped out of it," the old man had +whispered, smoothing the empty sleeve with his stiff old fingers. "Like +my heart--set to her ways at every turn, and left just as she rounded it +out--but now--so empty!" + +He lifted an old dog-eared school-book from the box that Marion brought +him, a queer little "Geography and Atlas of the Heavens," in use over +fifty years ago. Inside was a tiny slip of paper, time-yellowed and +worn. The ink was faded, until the words written in an unformed girlish +hand were barely legible: + + "True as grapes grow on a vine, + I will be your Valentine." + +"I had put a letter into her Murray's grammar," he explained, holding +up another little book. "Here is the page, just at the conjugation of +the verb 'to love.' You see I was a big, shy, overgrown boy that lost my +tongue whenever I looked at her, although she wasn't fifteen then, and +only reached my shoulder. This valentine was the answer that she slipped +into my atlas of the heavens. I thought the sky itself had never held +such a star. We walked home across the woodland together that day, never +saying a word. It was the last of the February thaw, and the birds were +twittering as if it were really spring. Just such a day as this. All of +a sudden, right at my feet, I saw something smiling up at me, blue as +the blue of my Polly's eyes. I stooped and brushed away the leaves, and +there were two little violets. + +"As I gave them to her I wanted to say, 'There will always be violets +in my heart for you, my Polly,' but I couldn't speak a word. I know she +understood, for long years after--when she was dead--I found them here. +She had pinned them on the page where my letter had lain, here on the +conjugation that says, 'we love,' and she had added the word '_for +ever_.'" + +A tear dropped on the dead violets as the old man reverently closed the +book, and sat gazing again into the dying embers. There was a tremulous +smile on his face. Was it backward over the hills of their youth he was +wandering, or ahead to those heights of Hope, where love shall "put on +immortality?" + +Marion laid her warm cheek against her violets, still fragrant with the +sweetness of their fresh, unfaded youth. Then taking a cluster from the +great dewy bunch, she fastened it at her throat with the little Yale +pin. + + + + +Chapter V + + +TRADE was dull at the Cross-Roads. Jim Bowser, his hands thrust into his +pockets and his lips puckered to a whistle, stood looking through the +dingy glass of his front door. March was coming in with a snow-storm, +and all he could see in any direction was a blinding fall of white +flakes. There were only three men behind the stove that afternoon, and +one of them was absorbed in a newspaper. Conversation flagged, and from +time to time Bud Hines yawned audibly. + +"This is getting to be mighty monotonous," remarked the storekeeper, +glancing from the falling snow to the silent group by the stove. + +"March always is," answered Bud Hines. "The other months have some +holiday in 'em; something to brighten 'em up, if it's no more than a +family birthday. But to me, March is as dull and uninteresting as a mud +road." + +"There's the inauguration this year," suggested Cy Akers, looking up +from his newspaper. "That's a big event. This paper is full of it." + +"Well, now you've hit it!" exclaimed Bud, with withering scorn, as he +bit off another chew of tobacco. "That is exciting! Just about as +interesting as watching a man take his second helping of pie. I wouldn't +go across the road to see it. Now in a monarchy, where death makes the +changes, it can't get to be a cut and dried affair that takes place +every four years. They make a grand occasion of it, too, with their pomp +and ceremony. Look at what England's just seen. It's the sight of a +lifetime to bury a queen and crown a king. But what do we see when we +change Presidents? One man sliding into a chair and another sliding out, +same as when the barber calls 'Next!' Humph!" + +Cy Akers rubbed his chin. "Fuss and feathers! That's all it amounts +to," he exclaimed. "I'm down on monopolies, and in my opinion it's the +worst kind of monopoly to let one family crowd out everybody else in the +king business. I like a country where every man in it has a show. Not +that I'd _be_ President, if they offered me double the salary, but it is +worth a whole lot to me to feel that in case I did want the office, I've +as good a right to it as any man living. And talk about sights--I say +it's the sight of a lifetime to see a man step out from his place among +the people, anywhere he happens to be when they call his name, take his +turn at ruling as if he'd been born to it, and then step back as if +nothing had happened." + +Bud smiled derisively. "You only see that on paper, my boy. Men don't +step quietly into offices in this country. They run for 'em till they +are red in the face, and it's the best runner that gets there, not the +best man. Monopoly in the king business keeps out the rabble, any how, +and it gives a country a good deal more dignity to be ruled by a dynasty +than by Tom, Dick, and Harry." + +"Well, there's no strings tied to you," said Cy, testily, taking up his +newspaper again. "When people don't like the way things are run on this +side of the water, there's nothing to hinder emigration." + +There was a stamping of snowy feet outside the door, and a big, burly +fellow blustered in, whom they hailed as Henry Bicking. He was not +popular at the Cross-Roads, having the unenviable reputation of being a +"born tease," but any diversion was welcome on such a dull day. + +In the catalogue of queer characters which every neighbourhood +possesses, the Autocrat, Bore, and Crank may take precedence of all +others alphabetically, but the one that heads the list in +disagreeableness is that infliction on society known as the "born +tease." One can forgive the teasing propensity universally found in +boys, as he would condone the playful destructiveness of puppyhood; +something requiring only temporary forbearance. But when that trait +refuses to be put away with childish things it makes of the man it +dominates a sort of human mosquito. He regards every one in reach his +lawful prey, from babies to octogenarians, and while he does not always +sting, the persistency of his annoying attacks becomes exasperating +beyond endurance. + +The same motive that made Henry Bicking pull cats' whiskers out by the +roots when he was a boy, led him to keep his children in a turmoil, and +his sensitive little wife in tears half the time. He had scarcely seated +himself by the stove when he was afforded opportunity for his usual +pastime by the entrance of half a dozen children, who came tumbling in +on their way home from school to warm. + +He began with a series of those inane questions by which grown people +have made themselves largely responsible for the pertness of the younger +generation. If children of this day have departed from that delectable +state wherein they were seen and not heard, the fault is due far more to +their elders than to them. Often they have been made self-conscious, and +forced into saucy self-assertion by the teasing questions that are asked +merely to provoke amusing replies. + +Henry Bicking's quizzing had an element of cruelty in it. His was the +kind that pinches his victims' ears, that tickles to the verge of agony, +that threatens all sorts of disagreeable things, for the sake of seeing +little faces blanch with fright, or eyes fill with tears of pain. + +"Come here, Woodpecker," he began, reaching for a child whose red hair +was the grief of his existence. But the boy deftly eluded him, and the +little fellow standing next in line, drying his snowball-soaked mittens, +became the victim. He was dragged unwillingly to his tormentor's knee. + +"What are you going to be when you're a man?" was demanded, when the +first questions had elicited the fact that the child's name was Sammy +Perkins, and that he was eight years old. But Perkins's oldest, having +no knowledge of the grammar of life beyond its present tense indicative, +hung his head and held his tongue at mention of its future potential. + +"If you don't tell me you sha'n't have your mittens!" Bicking dangled +them tantalisingly out of reach, until, after an agonising and +unsuccessful scramble, the child was forced into a tearful reply. + +Then he began again: "Which are you for, Democrats or Republicans?" + +"Ain't for neither." + +"Well, you're the littlest mugwump I ever did see. Mugwumps ain't got +any right to wear mittens. I've a notion to pitch 'em in the stove." + +"Oh, _don't_!" begged the child. "_Please_, mister! I'm not a mugwump!" + +The tragic earnestness of the child as he disclaimed all right to the +term of reproach which he could not understand, yet repudiated because +of its obnoxious sound, amused the man hugely. He threw back his head +and laughed. + +"Tell me who you holler for!" he continued, catching him up and holding +him head downward a moment. Then goaded by more teasing questions and a +threatening swing of his red mittens toward the stove door, Perkins's +oldest was at last led to take a bold stand on his party platform, and +publicly declare his political preference. But it was in a shaking voice +and between frightened sobs. + +"M-ma, she's for McKinley, an' p-pap, he's for B-Bryan, so I jus' holler +for Uncle Sam!" + +"Good enough for you, sonny," laughed the storekeeper. "That's true blue +Americanism. Stick to Uncle Sam and never mind the parties. They've had +new blades put on their old handles, and new handles put on those old +blades again, till none of 'em are what we started out with. We keep on +calling them 'genuine Barlows,' but it's precious little of the original +Barlows we're hanging on to nowadays." + + * * * * * + +It was a woman's voice that interrupted the conversation. Mrs. Teddy +Mahone had come in for some tea. + +"Arrah, Misther Bicking! Give the bye his mitts! You're worrse than a +cat with a mouse." + +The loud voice with its rich Irish brogue drew Cy Akers's attention from +his newspaper. "By the way, Bud," he exclaimed, raising his voice so +that Mrs. Mahone could not fail to hear, "you were complaining about +March being so dull and commonplace without any holidays. You've +forgotten St. Patrick's Day." + +"No, I haven't. St. Patrick is nothing to me. There's no reason I should +take any interest in him." + +"And did you hear that, Mrs. Mahone," asked Henry Bicking, anxious to +start a war of words. + +"Oh, Oi heard it, indade Oi did!" she answered with a solemn shake of +the head. "It grieves the hearrt of me to hear such ingratichude. +There's niver a sowl in all Ameriky but has cause to be grateful for +what he's done for this counthry." + +"What's he ever done?" asked Bud, skeptically. There was a twinkle in +Mrs. Mahone's eyes as she answered: + +"It was this way. A gude while back whin it was at the beginnin' iv +things, Ameriky said to herself wan day, 'It's a graand pudding Oi'll be +afther makin' meself, by a new resait Oi've just thought iv.' So she +dips into this counthry for wan set iv immygrants, an' into another +counthry for another batch, and after a bit a foine mess she had iv 'em. +Dutch an' Frinch an' Eyetalian, Rooshian, Spaniards an' haythen Chinee, +all stirred up in wan an' the same pudding-bag. + +"'Somethin's lackin',' siz she, afther awhile, makin' a wry face. + +"'It's the spice,' siz St. Pathrick, 'ye lift out iv it, an' the +leaven. Ye'll have to make parsinal application to meself for it, for +Oi'm the only wan knowin' the saicret of where it's to be found.' + +"'Then give me some,' siz she, an' St. Pathrick, not loikin' to lave a +leddy in trouble, reached out from the auld sod and handed her a fair +shprinklin' of them as would act as both spice an' leaven. + +"'They'll saison the whole lot,' siz he, 'an' there's light-heartedness +enough among them to raise the entoire heavy mass in your whole united +pudding-bag.' + +"'Thanks,' siz she, stirrin' us in. 'It's the makin' of the dish, sorr, +and Oi'm etarnally obliged to ye, sorr. Oi'll be afther puttin' the name +of St. Pathrick in me own family calendar, and ivery year on that day, +it's the pick iv the land that'll take pride in addin' to me own shtars +an' shtripes the wearin' o' the green.' + +"Ye see, Misther Hines, ye may think ye're under no parsinal obligation +to him, but down-hearted as ye are by nature, what wud ye have been had +ye niver coom in conthact with the leaven of St. Pathrick at all, sorr? +Oi ask ye that." + + * * * * * + +Late that night Bowser pushed his ledger aside with a yawn, and got +down from his high stool to close the store. As he counted the meagre +contents of the cash drawer, he reviewed the day, whose minutes had been +as monotonous in passing as the falling of the snowflakes outside. It +had left nothing behind it to distinguish it from a hundred other days. +The same old faces! The same kind of jokes! The same round of +commonplace duties! A spirit of unrest seized him, that made him chafe +against such dreary monotony. + +When he went to the door to put up the shutters, the beauty of the night +held him a moment, and he stood looking across the wide fields, lying +white in moonlight and snow. Far down the road a lamp gleamed from the +window of an upper room in the old miller's house, where anxious vigil +had been kept beside him for hours. The crisis was passed now. Only a +little while before, the doctor had stopped by to say that their old +friend would live. Down the track a gleaming switch-light marked the +place where a wreck had been narrowly averted that morning. + +"And no telling how many other misfortunes we've escaped to-day," +mused Bowser. "Maybe if a light could be swung out for each one, folks +would see that the dull gray days when nothing happens are the ones to +be most thankful for, after all." + + + + +Chapter VI + + +APRIL sunshine of mid-afternoon poured in through the open door of the +Cross-Roads. The usual group of loungers had gathered around the rusty +stove. There was no fire in it; the day was too warm for that, but force +of habit made them draw their chairs about it in a circle, as if this +common centre were the hub, from which radiated the spokes of all +neighbourly intercourse. + +The little schoolmistress was under discussion. Her short reign in +District No. 3 had furnished a topic of conversation as inexhaustible as +the weather, for her régime was attended by startling changes. Luckily +for her, the young ideas enjoyed being taught to shoot at wide variance +from the targets set up by parental practice and tradition, else the +tales told out of school might have aroused more adverse criticism than +they did. + +"You can't take much stock in her new-fangled notions," was the +unanimous opinion at the Cross-Roads. She had "put the cart before the +horse" when she laid the time-honoured alphabet on the shelf, and gave +the primer class a whole word at a mouthful, before it had cut a single +orthographic tooth on such primeval syllables as a-b ab. + +"Look at my Willie," exclaimed one of the district fathers. "Beating +around the bush with talk about a picture cow, and a real cow, and a +word cow, and not knowing whether B comes after W or X. At his age I +could say the alphabet forwards or backwards as fast as tongue could go +without a slip." + +"She's done _one_ sensible thing," admitted Cy Akers. "They tell me +she's put her foot down on the scholars playing April fool tricks this +year." + +"I don't see why," said Henry Bicking. "It has been one of the customs +in this district since the schoolhouse was built. What's the harm if the +children do take one day in the year for a little foolishness? Let them +have their fun, I say." + +"But they've carried it too far," was the answer. "It's scandalous they +should be allowed to abuse people's rights and feelings and property as +they have done the last few years. First of April doesn't justify such +cutting up any more than the first of August." + +"She's got Scripture on her side," said Squire Dobbs. "You know Solomon +says, 'As a mad man who casteth firebrands, arrows, and death, so is the +man that deceiveth his neighbour and saith, am I not in sport?'" + +"She can't stamp out such a deep-rooted custom in one day," protested +Bicking. + +"You can bet on the little school-ma'am every time," laughed Bowser. "My +daughter Milly says they didn't have regular lessons yesterday +afternoon. She had them put their books in their desks. + +"Said they'd been studying about wise men all their lives, now they'd +study about fools awhile; the fools of Proverbs and the fools of +history. + +"She read some stories, too, about a cruel disappointment and the +troubles brought about by some thoughtless jokes on the first of April. +Mighty interesting stories, Milly said. You could have heard a pin drop, +and some of the girls cried. Then she drew a picture on the blackboard +of a court jester, in cap and bells, and asked if they wouldn't like a +change this year. Instead of everybody acting the fool and doing silly +things they'd all be ashamed of if they'd only stop to think, wouldn't +they rather she'd appoint just one scholar to play the fool for all of +them, as the old kings used to do. + +"They agreed to that, quick enough, thinking what fun they'd have +teasing the one chosen to be it. Then she said she'd appoint the first +one this morning who showed himself most deserving of the office. Milly +says from the way she smiled when she said it, they're all sure she +means to choose the first one who plays an April Fool joke. She'd put it +so strong to 'em how silly it was, that there ain't a child in school +you could hire to run the risk of being appointed fool for the day. So I +think she's coming out ahead as usual." + +"After all," said Bud Hines, "there's some lessons to be got out of +those old tricks we used to play. For instance, the pocketbook tied to a +string. Seems to me that everything in life worth having has a string +tied to it, and just as I am about to pick it up, Fate snatches it out +of my hands." + +"Don't you believe it, Buddy," said Bowser, cheerfully; "you take notice +those pocketbooks on strings are always empty ones, and they don't +belong to us, so we have no business grabbing for them or feeling +disappointed because we can't get something for nothing." + +But Bud waved aside the interruption mechanically. + +"Then there's the _gifts_ with strings tied to 'em," he continued. "My +wife has a rich aunt who is always sending her presents, and writing, +'Understand this is for _you_, Louisy. You're too generous, and I don't +want anybody but your own deserving self to wear this.' Now out in the +country here, my wife doesn't have occasion to wear handsome clothes +like them once a year, while they'd be the very thing for Clara May, off +at Normal School. But not a feather or a ribbon can the child touch +because her great-aunt bought them expressly for her ma. Goodness knows +she'd have a thousand times more pleasure in seeing Clara May enjoy +them, than knowing they were lying away in bureau drawers doing nobody +any good. When she takes 'em out at house-cleaning times I say, 'Ma,' +says I, 'deliver me from gifts with strings tied to 'em. I'd rather have +a ten-cent bandanna, all mine, to have and to hold or to give away as +pleased me most, than the finest things your Aunt Honigford's money +could buy, if I had to account to her every time I turned around in +them.' + +"When I give anything I _give_ it, and don't expect to come back, spying +around ten years afterward to see if it's worn out, or cracked, or +faded, or broken. That's my doctrine." + + * * * * * + +Marion Holmes, driving along the country road in the old miller's +antiquated chaise, drew rein in front of a low picket gate, overhung by +mammoth snowball bushes. Down the path, between the rows of budding +lilacs and japonicas, came an old gentleman in a quaintly cut, +long-tailed coat. He was stepping along nimbly, although he leaned hard +on his gold-headed cane. + +"'A man he was to all the country dear,'" quoted Marion softly to +herself as the minister's benign face smiled a greeting through his big +square-bowed spectacles. "I know he must have been Goldsmith's friend, +and I wish I dared ask him how long he lived in the Deserted Village." +But all she called out to him as he stopped with a courtly bow, under +the snowball bushes, was a cheery good morning and an invitation to take +a seat beside her if he wanted to drive to the Cross-Roads store. + +"Thank you, Miss Polly," he answered, "that is my destination. I am on +my way there for a text." + +"For a what?" exclaimed Marion in surprise, turning the wheel for him to +step in beside her. + +"For a text for my Easter sermon," he explained as they drove on in the +warm April sunshine. "Ah, I see, Miss Polly, you have not discovered the +school of philosophers that centres around the Cross-Roads store. Well, +it's not to be wondered at; few people do. I spent a winter in Rome, +when I was younger, and one of my favourite walks was up on the Pincian +Hill. The band plays in the afternoons, you know, and tourists flock to +see the queen drive by. There is a charming view from the summit--the +dome of St. Peters against the blue Italian sky, the old yellow Tiber +crawling along under its bridges from ruin to ruin, and the immortal +city itself, climbing up its historic hills. And on the Pincio one meets +everybody,--soldiers and courtiers, flower girls and friars, monks in +robes of every order, and pilgrims from all parts of the world. + +"The first time I was on the hill, as I wandered among the shrubbery +and flowers, I noticed a row of moss-grown pedestals set along each side +of the drive for quite a distance. Each pedestal bore the weather-beaten +bust of some old sage or philosopher or hero. + +"They made no more impression on my mind then, than so many +fence-posts, but later I found a workman repairing the statuary one day. +He had put a new nose on the mutilated face of an old philosopher, and +that fresh white nasal appendage, standing out jauntily in the middle of +the ancient gray visage, was so ludicrous I could not help smiling +whenever I passed it. I began to feel acquainted with the old fellow, as +day after day that nose forced my attention. Sometimes, coming upon him +suddenly, the only familiar face in a city full of strangers, I felt +that he was an old friend to whom I should take off my hat. Then it +became so that I rarely passed him without recalling some of his wise +sayings that I had read at college. Many a time he and his row of +stony-eyed companions were an inspiration to me in that way. + +"It was so that I met these men at the Cross-Roads. They scarcely +claimed my attention at first. Then one day I heard one of them give +utterance to a time-worn truth in such an original way that I stopped to +talk to him. + +"Trite as it was, he had hewn it himself out of the actual experiences +of his own life. It was the result of his own keen observation of human +nature. Set as it was in his homely, uncouth dialect, it impressed me +with startling force. Then I listened to his companions, and found that +they, too, were sometimes worthy of pedestals. Unconsciously to +themselves they have often given me suggestions for my sermons. Ah, it's +a pity that the backwoods has no Pincio on which to give its +philosophers to posterity!" + + * * * * * + +Half an hour later as they drove homeward, Marion glanced at her +companion. "No text this time," she laughed, breaking the reverie into +which the old minister had fallen. "Your sages said nothing but 'good +morning, sir,' and there wasn't a single suggestion of Easter in the +whole store, except the packages of egg dyes, and some impossible little +chocolate rabbits. Oh, yes,--those two little boys playing on the +doorstep. Tommy Bowser had evidently taken time by the forelock and +sampled his father's dyes, for he had a whole hatful of coloured eggs, +and was teaching that little Perkins boy how to play 'bust.' He was an +apt scholar, for while I watched he won five of Tommy's eggs and never +cracked his own. You should have seen them." + +"Oh, I saw them," said the minister, with a smile. "It was those same +little lads who suggested the text for my Easter sermon." + +Marion gave a gasp of astonishment. "Would you mind telling me _how_?" +she exclaimed. + +"It came about very naturally. There they stood with their hands full +of the Easter eggs, with never a thought of what they symbolised--the +breaking shell--the rising of this little embryo earth-existence to the +free full-winged life of the Resurrection. They were too intent on their +little game, on their small winnings and losings, to have a thought for +higher things. As I watched them it occurred to me how typical it was of +all the children of men, and instantly that text from Luke flashed into +my mind: '_Their eyes were holden._' Do you remember? It was when the +two disciples went down to Emmaus. I often picture it," mused the old +man after a little pause. "The green of the olive groves, the red and +white of the blossoming almond-trees, the late afternoon sunshine, and +those two discouraged fishermen trudging along the dusty road. They were +turning away from a lost cause and a buried hope, too absorbed in their +overwhelming grief to see that it was the risen Lord Himself who walked +beside them. Not till the end of their journey did they know why it was +that their hearts had burned within them as He talked with them by the +way. Their eyes were holden. + +"How typical that is, too, Miss Polly. Sometimes we go on to the end of +life, missing the comfort and help that we might have had at every step, +because we look up at our Lord only through eyes of clay, and hold +communion with him as with a stranger. Yes, I shall certainly make that +the subject of my Easter sermon, Miss Polly. Thank you for helping me +discover it." + +That next Sunday as Marion sat in church beside the old miller, her +gaze wandered from the lilies in the chancel to the faces of the waiting +congregation. Bud Hines was there and Bowser, Cy Akers, and even +Perkins's oldest, whose game of "bust" had suggested the helpful sermon +of the morning. Marion studied the serious, weather-beaten faces with +new interest. "It is not in spiritual things alone that our eyes are +holden," she said to herself. "I have been looking at only the +commonplace exterior of these people. It takes a man like the old +minister to recognise unpedestalled virtues and to set them on the +Pincio they deserve." + + + + +Chapter VII + + +THE old saying that "there are always two sides to a story" has worn a +deep rut into the popular mind. It has been handed down to us so often +with an air of virtuous rebuke, that we have come to regard the +individual who insists on his two-sided theory as the acme of all that +is broad-minded and tolerant. But in point of fact, if two sides is all +he sees, he is only one remove from the bigot whose mental myopia limits +him to a single narrow facet. + +Even such a thing as a May-day picnic is polyhedral. The little +schoolmistress, who was the chief promoter of the one at the +Cross-Roads, would have called it a parallelopiped, if she had been +there that morning, to have seen the different expressions portrayed on +the faces of six people who were interested in it. + +The business side of the picnic appealed to Bowser. As he bustled +around, dusting off cases of tinned goods that he had long doubted his +ability to dispose of, and climbed to the top shelves for last summer's +shop-worn cans of sardines and salmon, as he sliced cheese, and counted +out the little leathery lemons that time had shrivelled, his smile was +as bland as the May morning itself. One could plainly see that he +regarded this picnic as a special dispensation of Providence, to help +him work off his old stock. + +There were no loungers in the store. Field and garden claimed even the +idlest, and only the old miller, who had long ago earned his holiday, +sat in the sun on the porch outside, with his chair tipped back against +the wall. At intervals a warm breath from the apple orchard, in bloom +across the road, touched his white hair in passing, and stirred his +memory until he sat oblivious of his surroundings. He was wholly +unmindful of the gala stir about him, save when Polly recalled his +wandering thoughts. She, keenly alive to every sensation of the present, +stood beside him with her hand on his shoulder, while she waited for her +picnic basket to be filled. + +"Isn't it an ideal May-day, grandfather?" she exclaimed. "It gives me a +real Englishy feeling of skylarks and cuckoos and cowslips, of primroses +and village greens. I think it is dear of the little school-ma'am to +resurrect the old May-pole dance, and give the children some idea of +'Merrie old England' other than the dates and dust of its ancient +history." Unconsciously beating time with light fingertips on the old +man's shoulder, she began to hum half under her breath: + + "'And then my heart with rapture thrills, + And dances with the daffodills-o-dills-- + And dances with the daffodils!'" + +Suddenly she broke off with a girlish giggle of enjoyment. "Listen, +grandfather. There's little Cora Bowser up-stairs, rehearsing her speech +while she dresses. Isn't it delicious to be behind the scenes!" + +Through an open bedroom window, a high-pitched, affected little voice +came shrilly down to them: "'If you're _wa_-king, call me _early_! Call +me _early_, mother dear!'" + +"Now, Cora," interrupted the maternal critic, "you went and forgot to +make your bow; and how many times have I told you about turning your +toes out? You'll have to begin all over again." Then followed several +beginnings, each brought to a stop by other impatient criticisms. There +were so many pauses in the rehearsal and reminders to pay attention to +manners, commas, and refractory ribbons, that when Cora was finally +allowed to proceed, it was in a tearful voice punctuated with sobs, that +she declared, "'To-morrow will be the ha-happiest day of all the g-glad +new year.'" + +"'Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,'" quoted the old miller +with a smile, as Mrs. Bowser's parting injunction reached their ears. + +"Now, Cora, for goodness' sake, don't you forget for one minute this +whole enduring day, that them daisies on your crown came off your +teacher's best hat, and have to be put back on. If you move around much +to the picnic you might lose some of 'em. Best keep pretty quiet anyway, +or your sash will come unpinned, and the crimp will all get out of your +hair. Wish I'd thought to iron them plaits before I unbraided 'em. +They'd have been lots frizzier." + +It was a very stiffly starched, precise little Queen o' the May who +came down the steep back stairs into the store. She stepped like a +careful peacock, fearing to ruffle a feather of her unrivalled +splendour. Her straight flaxen hair, usually as limp as a string, stood +out in much crimped profusion from under her gilt paper crown. Polly +could not decide whether the pucker on the little forehead came from +anxiety concerning the borrowed daisies which starred her crown, or the +fact that it was too tightly skewered to the royal head by a relentless +hat-pin. + +One of the picnic wagons was waiting at the door, and as Bowser lifted +her in among her envious and admiring schoolmates, Polly saw with +sympathetic insight which of its many sides the picnic parallelopiped +was presenting to the child in that proud moment. The feeling of supreme +importance that it bestowed is a joy not permitted to all, and rarely +does it come to any mortal more than once in a lifetime. + +But for every Haman, no matter how resplendent, sits an unmoved +Mordecai in the king's gate. So to this little Sheba of the Cross-Roads +there was one who bowed not down. Perkins's oldest, on the front seat +beside the driver, had no eyes for her. He scarcely looked in her +direction. His glances were all centred on the baskets which Bowser was +packing in around his feet. He smelled pickles and pies and ham +sandwiches. He knew of sundry tarts and dressed eggs in his own basket, +and wild rumours had reached his ears that Miss Polly intended to stand +treat to the extent of Bowser's entire stock of bananas and candy. Aside +from hopes of a surreptitious swim in the creek and a wild day in the +woods, his ideas of a picnic were purely prandial. + +Across the road, Miss Anastasia Dill, peeping through the blinds, +watched the wagon rattle off with its merry load. Long after the +laughing voices had passed beyond her hearing, she still stood there, +one slender hand holding back the curtain, and the other shading her +faded blue eyes, as she gazed absently after them. It was the sunshine +of another May-day she was looking into. Presently with a little start +she realised that she was not out in the cool green woods with a +May-basket in her hands, brimming over with anemones. She was all alone +in her stuffy little parlour, with its hair-cloth furniture and +depressing crayon portraits. And the canary was chirping loudly for +water, and the breakfast cups were still unwashed. But for once, +heedless of her duties, even unmindful of the fact that she had left the +shutters open, and the hot sun was streaming across her cherished store +carpet, she drew a chair up to the marble-topped centre table, and +deliberately sat down. There was a pile of old-fashioned daguerreotypes +in front of her. She opened them one by one, and then took up another +that lay by itself on a blue beaded mat. So the face it dimly pictured +held a sacred place, apart, in her memory. When her eyes had grown misty +with long gazing, she lifted a book from its place beside the family +Bible. It was bound in red leather, and it had a quaint wreath of +embossed roses around the gilt letters of its title, "The Album of the +Heart." It was an autograph album, and as she slowly turned the pages +she remembered that every hand that had traced a sentiment or a +signature therein had once upon a time gathered anemones with her in +some one of those other May-days. + +Then she turned through the pages again. Of all that circle of early +friends not one was left to give her a hand-clasp. She had friends in +plenty, but the old ones--the early ones--the roots of whose growth had +twined with hers in the intimacy known only to childhood, were all gone. +The May-day picnic brought only a throb of pain to gentle Miss +Anastasia, for to her it was but the lonely echo of a "voice that was +still." + +Bud Hines watched the wagon drive away with far different emotions. He +had happened to come into the store for a new hoe, as the gay party +started. "It's all foolishness," he grumbled to the miller, "to lose a +whole day's schooling while they go gallivanting around the country for +nothing. They'll ride ten miles to find a place to eat their dinner in, +and pass by twenty on the way nicer than the one they finally pick out. +They'd better be doing sums in school, or grubbing weeds out of the +garden, instead of playing 'frog in the meadow' around a fool British +May-pole." + +He looked around inquiringly as if he expected his practical listener +to agree with him. But all the sympathy he got from the old miller was +one of the innumerable proverbs he seemed to keep continually on tap. +"'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,' Bud. Life is apt to be +little but sums and grubbing for the youngsters by and by, so let them +make the most of their May-days now." + + * * * * * + +The sequels of picnics are also polyhedral. Miss Anastasia, lingering +at her front gate in the early twilight, that she might enjoy to the +last moment the orchard odours that filled all the balcony outdoors, +heard the rattle of returning wheels. She had had a pleasant day, +despite the tearful retrospection of the morning, for she had attended +the great social function of the neighbourhood, the monthly missionary +tea. It had brought immeasurable cheer, and now she was returning with a +comfortable conviction that she was to be envied far above any of her +neighbours. The consciousness of having on her best gown, of being the +mistress of the trim little home to which she was going, of freedom from +a hundred harassing cares that she had heard discussed that afternoon, +all combined to make her supremely contented with her lot. + +"Poor children," she sighed, as the tired, dirty little picnickers were +lifted from the wagon across the road. "They look as if the game hadn't +been worth the candle. I'm glad that I've outgrown such things." + +Perkins's oldest, having soaked long in the cold creek, and sampled +every dinner-basket with reckless abandon till he could sample no more, +sat doubled up in the straw of the wagon-bed. He was white about the +mouth, and had he been called upon to debate the time-worn question, +"Resolved, that there is more pleasure in pursuit than in possession," +the tarts and sandwiches of that day's picnic would have furnished +several dozen indisputable arguments for the affirmative. + +The dishevelled little queen sat beside him, tired out by her day's wild +frolic, with starch and frizzes all gone. + +As she was lifted over the wheel, and put down on the doorstep, a limp +little bunch of woe, Miss Anastasia heard her bewailing her fate. She +had lost the stars from her crown, the borrowed daisies that must be +reckoned for on the morrow. The amused listener smiled to herself under +cover of the twilight, as she heard Bowser's awkward attempts at +consolation, for all the comfort that he could muster was an old saw +learned from the miller: "Never mind, Cora, pa's mighty sorry for his +little girl. But you know: + + "'When a man buys meat he buys bone, + And when he buys land he buys stone. + You must take the bad with the good.'" + + + + +Chapter VIII + + +THERE is something in the air of June that stirs even insentient things +with a longing to blossom. Staid old universities blaze out with the +gala colours of commencement week, when the month of roses is ushered +in, and on every college campus the social life of the student year +comes to flower in the crowning exercises of class-day. + +One wonders sometimes if the roots, burrowing underground in order to +fill the bush overhead with myriads of roses, have any share in the +thrill of success at having produced such a wealth of sweetness and +beauty. But there need be no surmise about college florescence. +Faculties may beam with complacency on their yearly cluster of +full-blown graduates, the very walls of the gray old universities may +thrill as they echo the applause of admiring audiences, but the greatest +pride is not felt within the college town itself where the student life +centres. It is back in the roots that have made college life possible. +Back in some parental existence that daily sinks itself farther into the +commonplace in order that some son or daughter may blossom into the +culture of arts and belles-lettres. The Jacqueminot that flaunts its +glory over the garden wall may not sweeten life for the fibres that lift +it, but the valedictorian who flaunts his diploma and degree in the +classic halls of some sea-board college may be glorifying the air of +some little backwoods village a thousand miles inland. Even the +Cross-Roads are bound with a network of such far-reaching roots to the +commencements of Harvard and Yale. + +It was Cy Akers's boy who came home this June, a little lifted up, +perhaps, by the honours he had won; thoroughly impressed with the +magnitude of his own knowledge and the meagreness of other peoples', but +honestly glad at first to get back to the old home and neighbours. + +The family pride in him was colossal. Old Cy encouraged his visits to +the Cross-Roads store, inventing excuses for going which he considered +the acme of subtle diplomacy. But his motives were as transparent as a +child's. Illiterate himself, he wanted his neighbours to see what +college had done for his boy in the way of raising him head and +shoulders above them all. And the boy was good-naturedly compliant. He +was as willing to show off mentally as he had been to lend a hand in the +wheat harvest, and demonstrate what football training had done for him +in the way of developing muscle. + +Like Perkins's oldest, his education had begun with the primer of the +Cross-Roads. He could remember the time when he, too, had ignorantly +believed this to be the only store in the universe, and wondered if +there were enough people living to consume all its contents. Now he +smiled to himself when he looked around the stuffy little room and saw +the same old butter firkins crowding the--apparently--same old calico +and crockery, and looked up at the half-dozen hams still swinging +sociably from the low rafters. + +Time had been, too, when he thought the men who gossiped around its +rusty stove on Saturday afternoons knew everything. Like Perkins's +oldest, he had unquestioningly formulated the creed of his boyhood from +their conversations, and he smiled again when he recalled how he had +been warped in those early days by their prejudices and short-sighted +opinions. + +The smile extended outwardly when he walked into their midst to find +them repeating the same old saws about the weather, and the way the +country was going to the dogs. Yet in his salad days these time-honoured +prognostications had seemed to him the wisdom of seers and sages. + +Probably it was the thought that he had travelled far beyond the +narrow confines of the Cross-Roads that gave his conversation a +patronising tone. But the Cross-Roads refused to be patronised. He +learned that on the day of his arrival. It was the first lesson of a +valuable post-graduate course. That a man away from home may be Mister +Robert Harrison Hamilton Akers, with all the A. B.'s and LL. D.'s after +his name that an educational institution can bestow; but as soon as he +sets foot again on his native heath, where he has gone through the +vicissitudes of boyhood, he is shorn of titles and degrees as completely +as Samson was shorn of his locks, and his strength straightway falls +from him. He is nobody but Bobby Akers, and everybody remembers when he +robbed birds' nests, and stole grapes, and played hooky, and was a +little freckle-faced, snub-nosed neighbourhood terror. A man cannot +maintain his importance long in the face of such reminiscences. No +amount of university culture is going to lay the ghost of youthful +indiscretions, and he might as well put his patronising proclivities in +his pocket. They will not be tolerated by those who have patted him on +the head when he wore roundabouts. + + * * * * * + +It was Saturday afternoon, but it was also the and of the wheat-harvest, +and the men were afield who usually gathered on the Cross-Roads porch to +round up the week over their pipes and plugs of chewing tobacco. Only +three chairs were tilted back against the wall, and on these, with their +heels caught over the front rungs, sat Bowser, the old miller, and +Robert Akers. + +The whirr of reaping machines came faintly up from the fields and near +by, where several acres of waving yellow grain still stood uncut, a +bob-white whistled cheerily. No one was talking. "Knee-deep in June" +would have voiced the thoughts of the trio, for they were "Jes' a sort +o' lazein' there," with their hats pulled over their eyes, enjoying to +the utmost the perfect afternoon. Every breeze was redolent with red +clover and wild honeysuckle, and vibrant with soothing country sounds. + +"Who is that coming up the road?" asked the miller, as a team and wagon +appeared over the brow of the hill. + +"They wabble along like Duncan Smith's horses," answered the +storekeeper, squinting his eyes for a better view. "Yes, that's who it +is. That's Dunk on the top of the load. Moving again, bless Pete!" + +As the wagon creaked slowly nearer, a feather bed came into view, +surmounting a motley collection of household goods, and perched upon it, +high above the jangle of her jolting tins and crockery, sat Mrs. Duncan +Smith. A clock and a looking-glass lay in her lap, and, like a wise +virgin, in her hands she carefully bore the family lamp. From frequent +and anxious turnings of her black sunbonnet, it was evident that she was +keeping her weather eye upon the chicken-coop, which was bound to the +tail-board of the wagon by an ancient clothes-line. + +A flop-eared dog trotted along under the wagon. Squeezed in between a +bureau and the feather bed, two shock-headed children sat on a flour +barrel, clutching each other at every lurch of the crowded van to keep +from losing their balance. + +"Howdy, Dunk!" called the storekeeper, as the dusty pilgrims halted in +front of the porch. "Where are you bound now?" + +"Over to the old Neal place," answered the man, handing the reins to +his wife, and climbing stiffly down over the wheel. Going around to the +back of the wagon, he unstrapped a kerosene can which swung from the +pole underneath. + +"Gimme a gallon of coal-ile, Jim," he said. "I don't want to be left in +the dark the first night, anyway. It takes awhile to git your bearings +in a strange place, and it's mighty confusing to butt agin a half-open +door where you've always been used to a plain wall, and it hurts like +fire to bark your shins on a rocking-chair when you're steering straight +for bed, and hain't no idee it's in the road. This time it'll be a +little more so than usual," he added, handing over the can. "The house +backs up agin a graveyard, you know. Sort o' spooky till you git used to +it." + +"What on earth did you move there for?" asked Bowser. "They say the +place is ha'nted." + +"To my mind the dead make better neighbours than the living," came the +tart reply from the depths of the black sunbonnet. "At any rate, they +mind their own business." + +"Oh, come now, Mrs. Smith," began Bowser, good-naturedly. "Maybe you've +been unfortunate in your choice of neighbours." + +"I've had a dozen different kinds," came the emphatic answer. "This'll +make the twelfth move in eight years, so you can't say that I'm speaking +from hearsay." + +"Twelve moves in eight years!" exclaimed Bowser, as the wagon went +lurching and creaking on through the dust. "There's gipsy blood in that +Dunk Smith, sure as you live. Seems like that family can't be satisfied +anywhere; always thinking they can better themselves by changing, and +always getting out of the frying-pan into the fire. There wa'n't no well +in the place where they settled when they was first married, and they +had to carry water from a spring. The muscle put into packing that water +up-hill those six months would have dug a cistern, but they were too +short-sighted to see that. They jest played Jack and Jill as long as +they could stand it, and then moved to a place where there was a cistern +already dug. But there wa'n't any fruit on that place. If they'd have +set out trees right away they'd have been eating from orchards of their +own planting by this time. But they thought it was easier to move to +where one was already set out. + +"Then when they got to a place where they had both fruit and water, it +was low, and needed draining. The water settled around the house, and +they all had typhoid that summer. Oh, they've spent enough energy +packing up and moving on and settling down again in new places to have +fixed the first one up to a queen's taste. They seem to be running a +perpetual Home-seeker's Excursion. Well, such a life might suit some +people, but it would never do for me." + +"But such a life has some things in its favour," put in Rob Akers, +always ready to debate any question that offered, for the mere pleasure +of arguing. "It keeps a man from getting into a rut, and develops his +ability to adapt himself to any circumstance. A man who hangs his hat on +the same peg for fifty or sixty years gets to be so dependent on that +peg that he would be uncomfortable if it were suddenly denied him. Now +Dunk Smith can never become such a slave to habit. Then, too, moving +tends to leave a man more unhampered. He gradually gets rid of +everything in his possessions but the essentials. He hasn't a garret +full of old claptraps, as most people have who never move from under +their ancestral roof-trees. You saw for yourself, one wagon holds all +his household goods and gods. + +"It is the same way with a man mentally. If he stays in the spot where +his forefathers lived, in the same social conditions, he is apt to let +his upper story accumulate a lot of worn-out theories that he has no +earthly use for; all their old dusty dogmas and cob-webbed beliefs. He +will hang on to them as on to the old furniture, because he happened to +inherit them. If he would move once in awhile, keep up with the times, +you know, he'd get rid of a lot of rubbish. It is especially true in +regard to his religion. All those old superstitions, for instance, about +Jonah and the whale, and Noah's ark and the like. + +"He hangs on to them, not because he cares for them himself, but +because they were his father's beliefs, and he doesn't like to throw out +anything the old man had a sentiment for. Now, as I say, if he'd move +once in awhile--do some scientific thinking and investigating on his own +account--he'd throw out over half of what he holds on to now. He'd cut +the most of Genesis out of his Bible, and let Job slide as a myth. One +of the finest bits of literature, to be sure, that can be found +anywhere, but undoubtedly fiction. The sooner a man moves on +untrammelled, I say, by those old heirlooms of opinion, the better +progress he will make." + +"Toward what?" asked the old miller, laconically. "Dunk's moving next +door to the graveyard." There was a twinkle in his eye, and the young +collegian, who flattered himself that his speech was making a profound +impression, paused with the embarrassing consciousness that he was +affording amusement instead. + +"The last time I went East to visit my grandson," said the old man, +meditatively, "his wife showed me a mahogany table in her dining-room +which she said was making all her friends break the tenth commandment. +It was a handsome piece of furniture, worth a small fortune. It was +polished till you could see your face in it, and I thought it was the +newest thing out in tables till she told me she'd rummaged it out of her +great-grandmother's attic, and had it 'done over' as she called it. It +had been hidden away in the dust and cobwebs for a lifetime because it +had been pronounced too time-worn and battered and scratched for longer +use; yet there it stood, just as beautiful and useful for this +generation to spread its feasts on as it was the day it was made. Every +whit as substantial, and aside from any question of sentiment, a +thousand times more valuable than the one that Dunk Smith drove past +with just now. His table is modern, to be sure, but it's of cheap pine, +too rickety to serve even Dunk through his one short lifetime of +movings. + +"I heard several lectures while I was there, too. One was by a man who +has made a name for himself on both sides of the water as a scientist +and a liberal thinker. He took up Genesis, all scratched and battered as +it is by critics, and showed us how it had been misunderstood and +misconstrued. And by the time he'd polished up the meaning here and +there, so that we could see the original grain of the wood, what it was +first intended to be, it seemed like a new book, and fitted in with all +the modern scientific ideas as if it had been made only yesterday. + +"There it stood, like the mahogany table that had been restored after +people thought they had stowed it away in the attic to stay. Just as +firm on its legs, and as substantial for this generation to put its +faith on, as it was in the days of the Judges. + +"Take an old man's word for it, Robert, who has lived a long time and +seen many a restless Dunk Smith fling out his father's old heirlooms, in +his fever to move on to something new. Solid mahogany, with all its dust +and scratches, is better than the modern flimsy stuff, either in faith +or furniture, that he is apt to pick up in its stead." + + + + +Chapter IX + + +THE booming of distant cannon had been sounding at intervals since +midnight, ushering in the Fourth, but Bowser, although disturbed in his +slumbers by each reverberation, did not rouse himself to any personal +demonstration until dawn. Then his patriotism manifested itself in a +noisy tattoo with a hammer, as he made the front of his store gay with +bunting, and nailed the word _Welcome_ over the door, in gigantic +letters of red, white, and blue. + +When he was done, each window wore a bristling eyebrow of stiff little +flags, that gave the store an air of mild surprise. The effect was +wholly unintentional on Bowser's part, and, unconscious of the likeness +to human eyes he had given his windows, he gazed at his work with deep +satisfaction. + +But the expression was an appropriate one, considering all the +astonishing sights the old store was to look upon that day. In the +woodland across the railroad track, just beyond Miss Anastasia Dill's +little cottage, preparations were already begun for a grand barbecue. +Even before Bowser had finished tacking up his flags, the digging of the +trench had begun across the way, and the erection of a platform for the +speakers. In one corner of the woodland a primitive merry-go-round had +already been set in place, and the first passenger train from the city +deposited an enterprising hoky-poky man, a peanut and pop-corn vender, +and a lank black-bearded man with an outfit for taking tin-types. + +By ten o'clock the wood-lot fence was a hitching-place for all varieties +of vehicles, from narrow sulkies to cavernous old carryalls. A haze of +thick yellow dust, extending along the pike as far as one could see, was +a constant accompaniment of fresh arrivals. Each newcomer emerged from +it, his Sunday hat and coat powdered as thickly as the wayside weeds. +Smart side-bar buggies dashed up, their shining new tops completely +covered with it. There was a great shaking of skirts as the girls +alighted, and a great flapping of highly perfumed handkerchiefs, as the +young country beaux made themselves presentable, before joining the +other picnickers. + +Slow-going farm wagons rattled along, the occupants of their jolting +chairs often representing several generations, for the drawing power of +a Fourth of July barbecue reaches from the cradle to the grave. + +The unusual sight of such a crowd, scattered through the grove in gala +attire, was enough of itself to produce a holiday thrill, and added to +this was the smell of gunpowder from occasional outbursts of +firecrackers, the chant of the hoky-poky man, and the hysterical +laughter of the couples patronising the merry-go-round, as they clung +giddily to the necks of the wooden ostriches and camels in the first +delights of its dizzy whirl. + +"Good as a circus, isn't it?" exclaimed Robert Akers, pausing beside +the bench where the old miller and the minister sat watching the gay +scene. "I'm having my fun walking around and taking notes. It is amusing +to see how differently the affair impresses people, and what seems to +make each fellow happiest. Little Tommy Bowser, for instance, is in the +seventh heaven following the hoky-poky man. He gets all that people +leave in their dishes for helping to drum up a crowd of patrons. +Perkins's boy sticks by the merry-go-round. He has spent every cent of +his own money, and had so many treats that he's spun around till he's so +dizzy he's cross-eyed. One old fellow I saw back there is simply sitting +on the fence grinning at everything that goes by. He's getting his +enjoyment in job lots." + +"Sit down," said the minister, sociably moving along the bench to make +room beside him for the young man. "Mr. Holmes and I are finding our +amusement in the same way, only we are not going around in search of it. +We are catching at it as it drifts by." + +"What has happened to Mrs. Teddy Mahone?" exclaimed Rob, as a red-faced +woman with an important self-conscious air hurried by. "She seems +ubiquitous this morning, and as proud as a peacock over something. One +would think she were the mistress of ceremonies from her manner." + +"Or hostess, rather," said the miller. "She met me down by the fence on +my arrival, and held out her hand as graciously as if she were a duchess +in her own drawing-room, and I an invited guest. + +"'Gude marnin' to yez, Mr. Holmes,' she said. 'I hope ye'll be afther +enjyin' yerself the day. If anything intherferes wid yer comfort ye've +but to shpake to Mahone about it. He's been appinted _constable_ for the +occasion, ye understhand. If I do say it as oughtn't, he can carry the +title wid the best av 'im; him six fut two in his stockin's, an' the +shtar shinin' on his wes'cut loike he'd been barn to the job.' + +"Then she turned to greet some strangers from Morristown, and I heard +her introducing herself as Mrs. _Constable_ Mahone, and repeating the +same instructions she had given me, to report to her husband, in case +everything was not to their liking." + +Both listeners laughed at the miller's imitation of her brogue, and the +minister quoted, with an amused smile: + + "'For never title yet so mean could prove, + But there was eke a mind, which did that title love.' + +It is a pity we cannot dress more of them in 'a little brief +authority.' It seems to be a means of grace to a certain class of +Hibernians. It has Americanised the Mahones, for instance. You'll find +no patriots on the ground to-day more enthusiastic than Mr. and Mrs. +Constable Mahone. Fourth of July will be an honoured feast-day +henceforth in their calendar. It is often surprising how quickly a +policeman's buttons and billy will make a good citizen out of the +wildest bog-trotter that ever brandished a shillalah." + + * * * * * + +Later, in subsequent wanderings around the grounds, the young collegian +spied the little schoolmistress helping to keep guard over the +cake-table. He immediately crossed over and joined her. She was looking +unusually pretty, and there was an amused gleam in her eyes as she +watched the crowds, which made him feel that she was viewing the scene +from his standpoint; that he had found a kindred spirit. + +"What incentive to patriotism do you see in all this, Miss Helen?" he +asked, when he had induced her to turn over her guardianship of the +cake-table to some one else, and join him in his tour among the +boisterous picnickers. + +"None at all--yet," she answered. "I suppose that will come by and by +with the songs and speeches. But all this foolishness seems a legitimate +part of the celebration to me. You remember Lowell says, 'If I put on +the cap and bells, and made myself one of the court fools of King Demos, +it was less to make his Majesty laugh than to win a passage to his royal +ears for certain serious things which I had deeply at heart.' It takes a +barbecue and its attendant attractions to draw a crowd like this. See +what a hotch-potch it is of all nationalities. Now that Schneidmacher +family never would have driven ten miles in this heat and dust simply to +hear the band play 'Hail, Columbia,' and Judge Jackson make one of his +spread-eagle speeches on the Duty of the American Citizen. Neither would +the O'Gradys or any of the others who represent the foreign element in +the neighbourhood. Even Young America himself, the type we see here, is +more willing to come and bring his best girl on account of the +diversions offered." + +"Well, that may be so," was the reluctant assent, "but if this is a +sample of the Fourth of July observances all over the country I can't +help feeling sorry for Uncle Sam. Patriotism has sadly degenerated from +the pace that Patrick Henry set for it." + +"The old miller says not," answered the little schoolmistress. "I made +that same complaint last Washington's Birthday, when I was trying to +work my school up to proper enthusiasm for the occasion. He recalled the +drouth of the summer before when nearly every well and creek and pond in +the township went dry. Cattle died of thirst, gardens dried up like +brick-kilns, and people around here were almost justified in thinking +that the universe would soon be entirely devoid of water. The skies were +like brass, and there was no indication of rain for weeks. But one day +there was a terrific earthquake shock. It started all the old springs, +and opened new ones all over this part of the country, and the water +gushed out of the earth where it had been pent up all the time, only +waiting for some such touch to call it forth. 'And you're afraid that +patriotism is going dry in this generation,' he said to me. 'But it only +takes some shock like the sinking of the _Maine_, or some sudden menace +to the public safety, to start a spring that will gush from Plymouth +Rock to the Golden Gate. There is a deep underground vein in the +American heart that no drouth can ever dry. Maybe it does not come to +the surface often, but it can always be depended on in time of need.'" + +The speakers for the day began to arrive, and Rob, seeing the crowds +gravitating toward the grand stand, took the little schoolmistress to +the bench where the miller had stationed himself. + +"Watch that old Scotchman just in front of us," whispered the girl, +"Mr. Sandy McPherson. Last Thanksgiving there was a union service in the +schoolhouse. After the sermon 'America' was sung, and that old heathen +stood up and roared out through it all, at the top of his voice, every +word of 'God Save the Queen!' Wasn't that flaunting the thistle in our +faces with a vengeance? I am sure that he will repeat the performance +to-day. Think of the dogged persistence that refuses to succumb to the +fact that we have thrown off the British yoke! The very day we are +celebrating that event, he'll dare to mix up our national hymn with 'God +Save the King.'" + +It was as she had predicted. As the band started with a great clash of +brazen instruments, and the whole company rose to the notes of +"America," Sandy McPherson's big voice, with its broad Scotch burr, +rolled out like a bass drum: + + "'Thy choicest gifts in store, + On _him_ be pleased to pour. + Long may _he_ reign.'" + +It drowned out every voice around him. "He ought to be choked," +exclaimed Rob, in righteous indignation, as they resumed their seats. +"To-day of all days! The old Tory has been living in this country for +forty-five years, and a good living he's gotten out of it, too, for +himself and family. Nobody cares what he sings on his own premises, but +he might have the decency to keep his mouth shut on occasions of this +kind, if he can't join with us." + +There was a gleam of laughter in the little schoolmistress's eyes as +she replied: "If the truth were known I have no doubt but that this +Fourth of July celebration is very like the pie in Mother Goose's song +of sixpence, when her four and twenty blackbirds were baked in a pie. If +this pie could be opened, and the birds begin to sing according to their +sentiments, there would be a wonderful diversity of tunes. One would be +twittering the 'Marseillaise,' and another 'Die Wacht am Rhein,' and +another echoing old Sandy's tune. America was in too big a hurry to +serve her national pie, I am afraid. Consequently she put it in half +prepared, and turned it out half baked. The blackbirds should have had +their voices tuned to the same key before they were allowed to become +vital ingredients of such an important dish." + +"In other words," laughed Rob, "you'd reconstruct the enfranchisement +laws. Make the term of probationary citizenship so long that the +blackbird would have time to change his vocal chords, or even the +leopard his anarchistic spots, before he would be considered fit to be +incorporated in the national dish. By the way, Miss Helen, have you +heard Mrs. Mahone's allegory of the United Pudding bag? You and she +ought to collaborate. Get the storekeeper to repeat it to you sometime." + +"You needn't laugh," responded the little schoolmistress, a trifle +tartly. "You know yourself that scores of emigrants are given the ballot +before they can distinguish 'Yankee Doodle' from 'Dixie,' and that is +only typical of their ignorance in all matters regarding governmental +affairs. Too many people's idea of good citizenship is like the man's +'who kept his private pan just where 'twould catch most public +drippings.' There is another mistaken idea loose in the land," she +continued, after a moment. "That is, that a great hero must be a man who +has a reputation as a great soldier. I wish I had the rewriting of all +the school histories. They are better now than when I studied them, but +there is still vast room for improvement. I had to learn page after page +of wars. Really, war and history were synonyms then as it was taught in +the schools. Every chapter was gory, and we were required to memorise +the numbers killed, wounded, and captured in every battle, from the +French and Indian massacres, down to the last cannon-shot of the +sixties. That is all right for government records and reference +libraries, but when we give a text-book to the rising generation, the +accounts of battles and the glorifying thereof would be better relegated +to the foot-notes. It is loyal statesmanship that ought to be exalted in +our school histories. We ought to make our heroes out of the legislators +who cannot be bribed and public men who cannot be bought, and the honest +private citizen who _lives_ for his country instead of dying for it." + +The old miller beside her applauded softly, leaning over to say, as the +overture by the band came to a close with a grand clash, "If ever the +blackbirds are tuned to one key, Miss Helen, America will know whom to +thank. Not the legislators, but the patriotic little schoolma'ams all +over their land who are serving their country in a way her greatest +generals cannot do." + + * * * * * + +All day the Cross-Roads store raised its bristling eyebrows of little +flags, till the celebration came to a close. Savoury whiffs of the +barbecued meats floated across to it, vigorous hand-clapping and hearty +cheers rang out to it between the impassioned words of excited orators. +Later there were the fireworks, and more rag-time music by the band, and +renewed callings of the hoky-poky man. But before the moon came up there +was a great backing of teams and scraping of turning wheels, and a +gathering together of picnic-baskets and stray children. + +"Well, it's over for another year," said Bowser, welcoming the old +miller, who had crossed the road and taken a chair on the porch to wait +until the crowds were out of the way. + +"Those were fine speeches we had this afternoon, but seemed to me as if +they were plumb wasted on the majority of that crowd. They applauded +them while they were going off, same as they did the rockets, but they +forget in the next breath." As Bowser spoke, a rocket whizzed up through +the tree tops, and the old miller, looking up to watch the shining trail +fade out, saw that the sky was full of stars. + +"That's the good of those speeches, Bowser," he said. "'_To leave a +wake, men's hearts and faces skyward turning._' I hadn't noticed that +the stars were out till that rocket made me look up. The speeches may be +forgotten, but they will leave a memory in their wake that give men an +uplook anyhow." + + + + +Chapter X + + +"GUESS who's come to board at the Widder Powers's for the month of +August?" It was Bowser who asked the question, and who immediately +answered it himself, as every man on the porch looked up expectantly. + +"Nobody more nor less than a _multimillionaire_! The big boot and shoe +man, William A. Maxwell. Mrs. Powers bought a bill of goods this morning +as long as your arm. It's a windfall for _her_. He offered to pay +regular summer-resort-hotel prices, because she's living on the old farm +where he was born and raised, and he fancied getting back to it for a +spell." + +"Family coming with him?" queried Cy Akers, after a moment's meditation +over the surprising fact that a millionaire with the world before him +should elect such a place as the Cross-Roads in which to spend his +vacation. + +"No, you can bet your bottom dollar they're not. And they're all abroad +this summer or _he'd_ never got here. They'd had him dragged off to some +fashionable watering-place with them. But when the cat's away the +mice'll play, you know. Mrs. Powers says it is his first visit here +since his mother's funeral twenty years ago, and he seems as tickled as +a boy to get back. + +"Yesterday evening he followed the man all around the place while she +was getting supper. She left him setting up in the parlour, but when she +went in to ask him out to the table, he was nowhere to be seen. Pretty +soon he came walking around the corner of the house with a pail of milk +in each hand, sloshing it all over his store clothes. He'd done the +milking himself, and seemed mightily set up over it." + +"Lawzee! Billy Maxwell! Don't I remember him?" exclaimed Bud Hines. +"Seems like 'twas only yesterday we used to sit on the same bench at +school doin' our sums out of the same old book. The year old man Prosser +taught, we got into so much devilment that it got to be a regular thing +for him to say, regular as clock-work, almost, 'I'll whip Bud Hines and +Billy Maxwell after the first arithmetic class this morning.' I don't +s'pose he ever thinks of those old times since he's got to be one of the +Four Hundred. Somehow I can hardly sense it, his bein' so rich. He never +seemed any smarter than the rest of us. That's the way of the world, +though, seesaw, one up and the other down. Of course it's my luck to be +the one that's down. Luck always was against me." + +"There he is now," exclaimed the storekeeper, and every head turned to +see the stranger stepping briskly along the platform in front of the +depot, on his way to the telegraph office. + +He had the alertness of glance and motion that comes from daily contact +with city corners. If there was a slight stoop in his broad shoulders, +and if his closely cut hair and beard were iron gray, that seemed more +the result of bearing heavy responsibilities than the token of advancing +years. His immaculate linen, polished low-cut shoes, and light gray +business suit would have passed unnoticed in the metropolis, but in this +place, where coats and collars were in evidence only on Sunday, they +gave him the appearance of being on dress parade. + +Perkins's oldest eyed him as he would a zebra or a giraffe, or some +equally interesting curiosity escaped from a Zoo. He had heard that his +pockets were lined with gold, and that he had been known to pay as much +as five dollars for a single lunch. Five dollars would board a man two +weeks at the Cross-Roads. + +With his mouth agape, the boy stood watching the stranger, who +presently came over to the group on the porch with smiling face and +cordial outstretched hand. Despite his gray hair there was something +almost boyish in the eagerness with which he recognised old faces and +claimed old friendships. Bowser's store had been built since his +departure from the neighbourhood, so few of the congenial spirits +accustomed to gather there were familiar to him. But Bud Hines and Cy +Akers were old schoolfellows. When he would have gone up to them with +old-time familiarity, he found a certain restraint in their greeting +which checked his advances. + +If he thought he was coming back to them the same freckle-faced, +unconventional country lad they had known as Billy Maxwell, he was +mistaken. He might feel that he was the same at heart; but they looked +on the outward appearance. They saw the successful man of the world who +had outstripped them in the race and passed out of their lives long ago. +They could not conceive of such a change as had metamorphosed the boy +they remembered into the man who stood before them, without feeling that +a corresponding change must have taken place in his attitude toward +them. + +They were not conscious that this feeling was expressed in their +reception of him. They laughed at his jokes, and indulged in some +reminiscences, but he felt, in a dim subconscious way, that there was a +barrier between them, and he could never get back to the old familiar +footing. + +He turned away, vaguely disappointed. Had he dared to dream that he +would find his lost youth just as he had left it? The fields and hills +were unchanged. The very trees were the same, except that they had added +a few more rings to their girth, and threw a larger circling shade. But +the old chums he had counted on finding had not followed the same law of +growth as the trees. The shade of their sympathies had narrowed, not +expanded, with the passing years, and left him outside their contracted +circle. + +Perkins's oldest, awed by reports of his fabulous wealth, could hardly +find his tongue when the distinguished visitor laid a friendly hand on +his embarrassed tow head, and inquired about the old swimming-hole, and +the mill-dam where he used to fish. But the boy's interest grew stronger +every minute as he watched him turning over the limited assortment of +fishing tackle. The men he knew had outlived such frivolous sports. It +was a sight to justify one's gazing open-mouthed,--a grown man +deliberately preparing for a month's idleness. + +If the boy could have seen the jointed rods, the reels, the flies, all +the expensive angler's outfit left behind in the Maxwell mansion; if he +could have known of the tarpon this man had caught in Florida bays, and +the fishing he had enjoyed in northern waters, he would have wondered +still more; wondered how a man could be considered in his right mind who +deliberately renounced such privileges to come and drop a common hook, +on a pole of his own cutting, into the shallow pools of the Cross-Roads +creek. + +After his purchases no one saw him at the store for several days, but +the boy, dodging across lots, encountered him often,--a solitary figure +wandering by the mill stream, or crashing through the woods with long +eager strides; lying on the orchard grass sometimes with his hat pulled +over his eyes; leaning over the pasture bars in the twilight, and +following with wistful glance the little foot-path stretching white +across the meadows. A pathetic sight to eyes wise enough to see the +pathos,--a world-weary, middle-aged man in vain quest of his lost +boyhood. + +On Sunday, Polly, looking across the church from her place in the +miller's pew, recognised the stranger in their midst, and straightway +lost the thread of the sermon in wondering at his presence. She had gone +to school with his daughter, Maud Maxwell. She had danced many a german +with his son Claude. They lived on the same avenue, and passed each +other daily; but this was the first time she had seen him away from the +shadow of the family presence, that seemed to blot out his +individuality. + +She had thought of him only as Maud's father, a simple, good-natured +nonentity in his own household. A good business man, but one who could +talk nothing but leather, and whose only part in the family affairs was +to furnish the funds for his wife and children to shine socially. + +"Oh, your father's opinion doesn't count," she had heard Mrs. Maxwell +say on more than one occasion, and the children had grown up, +unconsciously copying her patronising attitude toward him. As Polly +studied his face now in the light of other surroundings, she saw that it +was a strong, kindly one; that it was not weakness which made him yield +habitually, until he had become a mere figurehead in his own +establishment. It was only that his peace-loving nature hated domestic +scenes, and his generosity amounted to complete self-effacement when the +happiness of his family was concerned. + +His eyes were fixed on the chancel with a wistful reminiscent gaze, and +Polly read something in the careworn face that touched her sympathy. +"Grandfather," she said, at the close of the service, "let's be +neighbourly and ask Mr. Maxwell home to dinner with us. He looks +lonesome." + +She was glad afterward that she had suggested it, when she recalled his +evident pleasure in the old man's company. There were chairs out under +the great oak-trees in the yard, and the two sat talking all afternoon +of old times, until the evening shadows began to grow long across the +grass. Then Polly joined them again, and sat with them till the tinkle +of home-going cowbells broke on the restful stillness of the country +Sabbath. + +"All the orchestras in all the operas in the world can't make music +that sounds as sweet to me as that does," said Mr. Maxwell, raising his +head from the big armchair to listen. Then he dropped it again with a +sigh. + +"It rests me so after the racket of the city. If Julia would only +consent, I'd sell out and come back to-morrow. But she's lost all +interest in the old place. I'm country to the core, but she never was. +She took to city ways like a duck to water, just as soon as she got away +from the farm, and she laughs at me for preferring katydids to the whirr +of electric cars." + +A vision rose before the old miller of a little country girl in a pink +cotton gown, who long ago used to wait, bright-eyed and blushing, at the +pasture bars, for Billy to drive home the cows. Many a time he had +passed them at their trysting-place. Then he recalled the superficial, +ambitious woman he had met years afterward when he visited his son. He +shook his head when he thought of her renouncing her social position for +the simple pastoral life her husband longed to find the way back to. +Presently he broke the silence of their several reveries by turning to +Polly. + +"What's that piece you recited to me the other night, little girl, about +old times? Say it for Mr. Maxwell." And Polly, clasping her hands in her +lap, and looking away across the August meadows, purple with the royal +pennons of the ironweed, began the musical old poem: + + "'Ko-ling, ko-lang, ko-linglelingle, + Way down the darkening dingle + The cows come slowly home. + (And old-time friends and twilight plays + And starry nights and sunny days + Come trooping up the misty ways, + When the cows come home.) + + "'And over there on Merlin Hill + Hear the plaintive cry of the whippoorwill. + And the dewdrops lie on the tangled vines, + And over the poplars Venus shines, + And over the silent mill. + + "'Ko-ling, ko-lang, ko-linglelingle, + With ting-aling and jingle + The cows come slowly home. + (Let down the bars, let in the train + Of long-gone songs and flowers and rain, + For dear old times come back again, + When the cows come home.)'" + +Once as Polly went on, she saw the tears spring to his eyes at the line +"and mother-songs of long-gone years," and she knew that the + + "same sweet sound of wordless psalm, + The same sweet smell of buds and balm," + +that had been his delight in the past, were his again as he listened. +But, much to her surprise, as she finished, he rose abruptly, and began +a hurried leave-taking. She understood his manner, however, when his +mood was revealed to her a little later. + +At her grandfather's suggestion she walked down to the gate with him, to +point out a short cut across the fields to Mrs. Powers's. Outside the +gate he paused, hat in hand. + +"Miss Polly," he began, as if unconsciously taking her into his +confidence, "old times never come back again. Seems as if the bottom had +dropped out of everything. I've done my best to resurrect them, but I +can't do it. I thought if I could once get back to the old place I could +rest as I've not been able to rest for twenty years--that I'd have a +month of perfect enjoyment. But something's the matter. + +"Many a time when I've been off at some fashionable resort I've thought +I'd give a fortune to be able to drop my hook in your grandfather's +mill-stream, and feel the old thrill that I used to feel when I was a +boy. I tried it the day I came--caught a little speckled trout, the kind +that used to make me tingle to my finger ends, but somehow it didn't +bring back the old sensation. I just looked at it a minute and put it +back in the water, and threw my pole away. + +"Even the swimming-hole down by the mill didn't measure up to the way I +had remembered it. I've fairly ached for a dip into it sometimes, in the +years I've been gone. Seemed as if I could just get into it once, I +could wash myself clear of all the cares and worries of business that +pester a man so. That was a disappointment, too. The change is in me, I +guess, but nothing seems the same." + +Polly knew the reason. He had tried so long to mould his habits to fit +his wife's exacting tastes, that he had succeeded better than he +realised. He could not analyse his feelings enough to know that it was +the absence of long accustomed comforts that made him vaguely +dissatisfied with his surroundings; his luxuriously appointed bathroom, +for instance; the perfect service of his carefully trained footmen. Mrs. +Powers's noisy table, where with great clatter she urged every one "to +fall to and help himself," jarred on him, although he was unconscious of +what caused the irritation. As for the rank tobacco Bowser furnished him +when he had exhausted his own special brand of cigars with which he had +stocked his satchel, it was more than flesh and blood could endure. That +is, flesh and blood that had acquired the pampered taste of a +millionaire whose wife is fastidious, and only allows first-class aromas +in the way of the weed. + +But Polly knew another reason that his vacation had been a failure. She +divined it as the little Yale pin, stuck jauntily into the front of her +white dress, met the touch of her caressing fingers. The girl in the +pink cotton gown was long dead, and the woman who had grown up in her +stead had no part in the old scenes that he still fondly clung to, with +a sentiment she ridiculed because she could not understand. _There must +always be two when you turn back searching for your lost Eldorado, and +even the two cannot find it, unless they go hand in hand._ + + * * * * * + +Next day Bowser had another piece of news to impart. "Mr. Maxwell went +home this morning. He told Mrs. Powers it was like taking a vacation in +a graveyard, and he'd had enough. He'd have to get back to work again. +So he paid her for the full month, and took the first train back to the +city." + +"Well, I'll be switched!" was Bud Hines's comment. "If I had as much +money as he's got, I'd never bother my head about work. I'd sit down and +take it easy all the rest of my born days." + +"I don't know," answered Bowser, meditatively. "I reckon a man who's +worked the way Mr. Maxwell has, gets such a big momentum on to himself +that he can't stop, no matter how bad he wants a vacation." + +"He's a fool for coming back here for it," said Bud Hines, looking out +across the fields that stretched away on every side in unbroken +monotony. + +But miles away, in his city office, the busy millionaire was still +haunted by an unsatisfied longing for those same level meadows. Glimpses +of the old mill-stream and the willows still rose before him in +tantalising freshness, and whenever he closed his tired eyes, down +twilight paths, where tinkling cowbells called, there came again the +glimmer of a little pink gown, to wait for him as it had waited through +all the years, beside the pasture bars. + + + + +Chapter XII + + +THE seat was an empty starch-box on the Cross-Roads porch, its occupant +a barefoot boy with a torn straw hat pulled far down over his eyes. To +the casual observer one of the most ordinary of sights, but to one +possessed of sympathetic powers of penetration into a boy's inner +consciousness there was a suggestion of the tragic. Perkins's oldest had +that afternoon in school been told to write a composition on September. +It was to be handed in next morning. It was the hopelessness of +accomplishing the fact even in ćons, not to mention the limited time of +a dozen short hours, that had bound him, a little Prometheus, to the +starch-box, with the vulture of absolute despair tearing at his vitals. + +Two other boys had been assigned the same subject, and the three had +kicked the dust up wrathfully all the way from the schoolhouse, echoing +an old cry that had gone up ages before from the sons of Jacob, under +the lash of the Egyptian, "How can we make bricks without straw?" + +"Ain't nothin' to say 'bout September," declared Riley Hines, gloomily, +"and I'll be dogged if I say it. I'm goin' to get my sister to write +mine fer me. She'll do it ef I tease long enough, and give her something +to boot." + +"I'll ask paw what to say," declared Tommy Bowser. "He won't write it +for me, but he'll sort o' boost me along. Then if it ain't what she +wants, _I_ won't be to blame. I'll tell her paw said 'twas all right." + +This shifting of responsibility to paternal shoulders restored the +habitual expression of cheerfulness to Tommy's smudgy face, but there +was no corresponding smile on Sammy's. There was no help to be had in +the household of Perkins. + +That was why he was waiting on the starch-box while Tommy was sent on an +errand. It was in the vain hope that Tommy would return and apply for +his "boost" and share it with him before darkness fell. He was a +practical child, not given to whimsical reflections, but as he sat there +in desperate silence, he began wondering what the different customers +would have to say if they were suddenly called upon, as he had been that +afternoon, to write about September. + +Mrs. Powers, for instance, in her big crape bonnet, with its long wispy +veil trailing down her back. He was almost startled, when, as if in +answer to his thought, she uttered the word that was at the bottom of +his present trouble, the subject assigned him for composition. + +"Yes, Mr. Bowser, September is a month that I'm never sorry to say +good-bye to. What with the onion pickle and peach preserves and the +house-cleaning to tend to, I'm nearly broke down when it's over. There's +so many odds and ends to see to on a farm this time of year, first in +doors and then out. I tell Jane it's like piecing a crazy quilt. You +can't never count on what a day's going to bring forth in September. You +may get a carpet up and beat, and have your stove settin' out waiting to +be put up, and your furniture in a heap in the yard, and the hired man +will have to go off and leave it all while he takes the cider-mill to be +mended. And you in a stew all day long for fear it'll rain before he +gets things under shelter. + +"Then it's a sad time to me, too," she exclaimed with a mournful shake +of the head in the black bonnet. "It was in September I lost my first +and third husbands, two of the best that ever had tombstones raised to +their memory, if I do say it as oughtn't. One died on the sixteenth, and +his funeral was preached on the eighteenth, and the other died fifteen +years later on the twenty-third, and we kept him three days, on account +of waiting till his brother could get here from Missouri. So you see +that makes nearly a week altogether of mournful anniversaries for me +every September." + +Another breath and she had reached the three tombstones, and talking +volubly on her favourite subject, she completed her purchases and went +out. But her conversation had not lightened the woes of the little +Prometheus on the starch-box. Despair still gnawed on. House-cleaning +worries and onion pickle, and reminiscences of two out of three departed +husbands, might furnish material for Mrs. Powers's composition, should +the fates compel her to write one, but there was no straw of a +suggestion for Sammy Perkins, and again he cried out inwardly as +bitterly as the oppressed of old had cried out against Pharaoh. + +A man in a long, sagging linen duster was the next comer. He squeaked +back and forth in front of the counter in new high-heeled boots, and +talked incessantly while he made his purchases, with a clumsy attempt at +facetiousness. + +"Put in a cake of shaving-soap, too, Jim," he called, passing his hand +over the black stubble on his chin. "County court begins to-morrer. +Reckon the lawyers will shave everything in sight when it comes to their +bills, but I want to be as slick as them. I'll be settin' on the jury +all week. Did you ever think of it, Jim, that's a mighty interesting way +to earn your salt? Jest set back and be entertained with the history of +all the old feuds and fusses in the county, and collect your two bucks a +day without ever turning your hand over. Good as a show, and dead easy. + +"Only one thing, it sort o' spiles your faith in human nature. The +court stenographer said last year that in the shorthand he writes, the +same mark that stands for lawyer stands for liar, too. He! he! he! isn't +that a good one? You can only tell which one is meant by what comes +before it, and this fellow said he'd come to believe that one always fit +in the sentence as good as the other. Either word was generally +appropriate. You miss a lot of fun, Jim, by not getting on the jury. I +always look forrard to fall on that account." + +No help for Perkins's oldest in _that_ conversation. He waited awhile +longer. Presently an old gentleman in a long-tailed, quaintly cut black +coat, stepped up on the porch. He had a gold-headed cane under his arm, +and the eyes behind the square-bowed spectacles beamed kindly on the +little fellow. He stopped beside the starch-box a moment with a friendly +question about school and the health of the Perkins household. The boy's +heart gave a jump up into his throat. The old minister knew everything. +The minister could even tell him what to write in his composition if he +dared but ask him. He opened his mouth to form the question, but his +tongue seemed glued in its place, and the head under the torn hat +drooped lower in embarrassed silence. His troubled face flushed to the +roots of his tow hair, and he let the Angel of Opportunity pass him by +unchallenged. + +"Will you kindly give me one of those advertising almanacs, Mr. Bowser?" +inquired the parson, when his packages of tea and sugar had been +secured. "I've misplaced mine, and I want to ascertain at what hour +to-morrow the moon changes." + +"Certainly, certainly!" responded the storekeeper with obliging +alacrity, rubbing his hands together, and stepping up on a chair to +reach the pile on a shelf overhead. "Help yourself, sir. I must answer +the telephone." + +The parson, slowly studying the moon's phases as he stepped out of the +store, did not notice that he had taken two almanacs until one fell at +his feet. The boy sprang up to return it, but he waved it aside with a +courtly sweep of his hand. + +"No, my son, I intended to take but one. Keep it. They are for general +distribution. You will find it full of useful information. Have you ever +learned anything about the signs of the Zodiac? Here is Leo. I always +take an especial interest in this sign, because I happened to be born +under it. I'm the seventh son of a seventh son, born in the seventh +month, and I always take it as a good omen, seven being the perfect +number. You know the ancients believed a man's star largely affected his +destiny. You will find some interesting historical events enumerated +under each month. A good almanac is almost as interesting to study as a +good dictionary, my boy. I would advise you to form a habit of referring +to both of them frequently." + +With one of his rare, childlike smiles the good man passed on, and +Perkins's oldest was left with the almanac in his hands. For awhile he +studied the signs of the Zodiac, in puzzled awe, trying to establish a +relationship between them and the man they surrounded, whose vital +organs were obligingly laid open to public inspection, regardless of any +personal inconvenience the display might cause him. + +Then he turned to the historical events. There was one for each day in +the month. On Sunday, the first, eighteen hundred and ninety-nine, had +occurred the Japanese typhoon. Friday, the sixth, sixteen hundred and +twenty, the _Mayflower_ had sailed. Mahomet's birth had set apart the +eleventh in five hundred and seventy. The founding of Mormonism, +Washington's Farewell, and the battle of Marathon were further down the +list, but it was all Greek to Perkins's oldest. Any one of these items +would have been straw for the parson. Out of the _Mayflower_, Mahomet, +Mormonism, or Marathon, each one of them the outgrowth of some +September, he could have pressed enough literary brick to build a fair +sky-scraping structure that would have been the wonder of all who gazed +upon it. This time the boy looked his Angel of Opportunity in the face +and did not recognise it as such. + +The gate clicked across the road and he turned his head. Miss Anastasia +Dill was going up the path, her arms full of goldenrod and white and +purple asters. September was a poem to Miss Anastasia, but the boy +looked upon goldenrod and the starry asters simply as meadow weeds. The +armful of bloom brought no suggestion to him. On the morrow Riley Hines +would hand in two pages of allusions to them, beginning with a quotation +from Whittier's "Autumn Thoughts," and ending with a couplet from Pope, +carefully copied by Maria Hines from the "Exercises for Parsing" in the +back of her grammar. + +Somebody's supper-horn blew in the distance, and, grown desperate by +Tommy's long absence and the lateness of the hour, he took his little +cracked slate from the strap of books on the floor beside him, and laid +it across his knees. Then with a stubby pencil that squeaked dismally in +its passage across the slate, he began copying bodily from the almanac +the list of historical events enumerated therein, just as they stood, +beginning with the Japanese typhoon on the first, and ending +"_Volunteer_ beat _Thistle_" on the thirtieth, eighteen hundred and +eighty-seven. + +Then he began to copy a few agricultural notes, inserted as side remarks +for those who relied on their almanacs as guide-posts to gardening. +"Gather winter squashes now. They keep better when stored in a warm dry +place. Harvest sugar beets when the leaves turn yellowish green, etc." + +He was bending painfully over this task when a shadow fell across his +slate, and, looking up, he saw the old miller looking over his shoulder. + +"Doing your sums?" he asked, with a friendly smile. "Let's see if you +do them the way I was taught when I was a lad." He held out his hand for +the slate. There had been a bond of sympathy between the two ever since +Christmas eve, when a certain pair of skates had changed owners, and +now, although the boy's voice trembled almost out of his control, he +managed to stammer out the reply that he was trying to write a +composition. + +The old man looked from the straggling lines on the slate, then at the +open almanac, then down at the boy's troubled face, and understood. +Drawing a chair across the porch he sat down beside him, and, catching +the furtive, scared side-glance cast in his direction, he plunged at +once into a story. + +It was about a shepherd boy who went out to fight a giant, and the king +insisted on lending him his armour. But he couldn't fight in the heavy +helmet and the coat of mail. The shield was in his way, and the spear +more than he could lift. So he threw it aside, and going down to a +little brook, chose five small pebbles, worn smooth by the running +water. And with these in his hand, and only the simple sling he was +accustomed to use every day, he went out against the Philistine giant, +and slew him in the first round. + +Perkins's oldest wondered what the story had to do with his +composition. He wasn't looking for a personal application. He had not +been brought up at Sunday schools and kindergartens. But all of a sudden +he realised that the miller meant him; that his depending on Tommy, or +the customers, or the almanac, to furnish him ideas, was like going out +in Saul's armour, and that he could only come to failure in that, +because it wouldn't fit him; that he could hit the mark the little +schoolmistress had in mind for him, only with the familiar sling-shot of +his own common every-day personal experiences. + +Maybe the old miller recognised that it was a crisis in the little +fellow's life, for he stayed beside him with helpful hints and +questions, until the slate was full. When he carried it home in the +gloaming it no longer bore the items from the almanac. There were other +remarks straggling across it, not so well expressed, perhaps, but +plainly original. They were to the effect that September is the month +you've got to go back to school when you don't want to, 'cos it's the +nicest time of all to stay out-doors, neither too hot nor too cold. +There's lots of apples then, and it's the minister's birthday. He's the +seventh son of a seventh son, and Dick Wiggins says if you're that you +can pick Wahoo berries in the dark of the moon and make med'cine out of +them, that will cure the bone-break fever every time, when nothing else +in the world will. Then followed several items of information that he +had discovered for himself, in his prowls through the September woods, +about snakes and tree-toads, as to their habits at that season of the +year. It closed with a suggestive allusion to the delights of sucking +cider from the bung of a barrel through a straw. + +Next day the little schoolmistress shook her head over the composition +that Riley Hines handed in, and laid it aside with a hopeless sigh. She +recognised too plainly the hand of Maria in its construction. The +sentiments expressed therein were as foreign to Riley's nature as they +would have been to a woodchuck's. She took up Tommy Bowser's. Alas, +four-syllabled words were not in Tommy's daily vocabulary, nor were the +elegant sentences under his name within the power of his composition. +Plainly it was the work of a plagiarist. + +She went through the pile slowly, and then wrote on the blackboard as +she had promised, the names of the ten whose work was the best and most +original. It was then that Perkins's oldest had the surprise of his +life, for lo! his name, like Abou-ben-Adhem's, "led all the rest." + +Again the Cross-Roads had taught him more than the school,--to depend +on the resources to which nature had adapted him, and never again to +attempt to sally forth in borrowed armour, even though it be a king's. + + + + +Chapter XII + + +IT was Cy Akers who carried the news to the schoolhouse, galloping his +old sorrel up to the open door just before the bell tapped for afternoon +dismissal. He did not dismount, but drawing rein, leaned forward in his +saddle, waiting for the little schoolmistress to step down from the desk +to the doorstep. The rows of waiting children craned their necks +anxiously, but only those nearest the door heard his message. + +"Mr. Asa Holmes died this morning," he said. "The funeral is set for +to-morrow afternoon at four, and you can announce to the children that +there won't be any school. The trustees thought it would be only proper +to close out of respect for him, as he was on the school board over +thirty years, and has done so much for the community. He's one of the +old landmarks, you might say, about the last of the old pioneers, and +everybody will want to go." + +Before she could recover from the suddenness of the announcement the +rider was gone, and she was left looking out across the October fields +with a lonely sense of personal loss, although her acquaintance with the +old miller had extended over only two short school terms. + +A few minutes later the measured tramp of feet over the worn door-sill +began, and forty children passed out into the mellow sunshine of the +late autumn afternoon. They went quietly at first, awed by the tender, +reverent words in which the little schoolmistress had given them the +message to carry home. But once outside, the pent-up enthusiasm over +their unexpected holiday, and the mere joy of being alive and free on +such a day sent them rushing down the road pell-mell, shouting and +swinging their dinner-pails as they ran. + +A shade of annoyance crossed the teacher's face as she stood watching +from the doorstep. She wished she had cautioned them not to be so noisy, +for she knew that their shouts could be plainly heard in the old house +whose gables she could see through a clump of cedars, farther down the +road. It was standing with closed blinds now, and she had a feeling that +the laughing voices floating across to it must strike harshly across its +profound silence. + +But presently her face brightened as she watched the children running +on in the sunshine, in the joy of their emancipation. Part of a poem she +had read that morning came to her. She had thought when she read it that +it was a beautiful way to look upon death, and now it bore a new +significance, and she whispered it to herself: + + "'Why should it be a wrench to leave this wooden bench? + Why not with happy shout, run home when school is out?' + +"That's the way the old miller has gone," she said, softly. "His lessons +all learned and his tasks all done--so well done, too, that he has +nothing to regret. I'm glad that I didn't stop the children. I am sure +that's the way he would want them to go. Dear old man! He was always a +boy at heart." + +She turned the key in the door behind her presently, and started down +the road to Mrs. Powers's, where she boarded. In every fence corner the +sumachs flamed blood-red, and across the fields, where purple shadows +trailed their royal lengths behind every shock of corn, the autumn +woodlands massed their gold and crimson against the sunset sky. She +walked slowly, loath to reach the place where she must go indoors. + +The Perkins home lay in her way, and as she passed, Mrs. Perkins with a +baby on her hip, and a child clinging to her skirts, leaned over the +gate to speak to her. + +"Isn't it sad," the woman exclaimed, grasping eagerly at this chance to +discuss every incident of the death and illness, with that love for +detail always to be found in country districts where happenings are few +and interests are strong. + +"They sent for the family Tuesday when he had the stroke, but he +couldn't speak to them when they got here. They said he seemed to +recognise Miss Polly, and smiled when she took his hand. She seemed to +be his favourite, and they say she's taking it mighty hard--harder than +any of the rest. It's a pity he couldn't have left 'em all some last +message. I think it's always a comfort to remember one's dying words +when as good a person as Mr. Holmes goes. And it's always so nice when +they happen to be appropriate, so's they can be put on the tombstone +afterward. I remember my Aunt Maria worked my grandfather's last words +into a sampler, with an urn and weeping-willow-tree. She had it framed +in black and hung in the parlour, and everybody who came to the house +admired it. It's a pity that the miller couldn't have left some last +word to each of 'em." + +"I don't think it was necessary," said the girl, turning away with a +choke in her voice, as the eloquent face of the old man seemed to rise +up before her. "His whole life speaks for him." + +Mrs. Perkins looked after the retreating figure regretfully, as the +jaunty sailor hat disappeared behind a tall hedge. "I wish she hadn't +been in such a hurry," she sighed, shifting the baby to the other hip. +"I would have liked to ask her if she's heard who the pall-bearers are +to be." + +At the turn in the road the little schoolmistress looked up to see Miss +Anastasia Dill leaning over her gate. She had just heard the news, and +there were tears in her pale blue eyes. + +"And Polly's wedding cards were to have been sent out this next week!" +she exclaimed after their first words of greeting. "The poor child told +me so herself when she was here in August on a visit. 'Miss Anastasia,' +she said to me, 'I'm not going abroad for my honeymoon, as all my family +want me to do. I'm going to bring Jack back here to the old homestead +where grandfather's married life began. Somehow it was so ideal, so +nearly perfect, that I have a feeling that maybe the mantle of that old +romance will fall on our shoulders. Besides, Jack has never seen +grandfather, and I tell him it's as much of an education to know such a +grand old man as it is to go through Yale. So we're coming in October. +The woods will have on all their gala colours then, and I'll be the +happiest bride the sun ever shone on, unless it was my grandmother +Polly.' And now to think," added Miss Anastasia, tearfully, "none of +those plans can come to pass. It's bad luck to put off a wedding. Oh, I +feel so sorry for her!" + + * * * * * + +There is an undefined note of pathos in a country funeral that is never +reached in any other. The little schoolmistress felt it as she walked up +the path to the old house behind the cedars. The front porch was full of +men, who, dressed in their unaccustomed best, had the uneasy appearance +of having come upon a Sunday in the middle of the week. Their heavy +boots tiptoed clumsily through the hall, with a painful effort to go +silently, as one by one the neighbours passed into the old sitting-room +and out again. The room across the hall had been filled with rows of +chairs, and the women who came first were sitting there in a deep +silence, broken only by a cough now and then, a hoarse whisper or a +rustle, as some one moved to make room for a newcomer. + +It was a sombre assembly, for every one wore whatever black her wardrobe +afforded, and many funeral occasions had left an accumulation of +mourning millinery in every house in the neighbourhood. But the limp +crape veils and black gloves and pall-like cashmere shawls were all +congregated in the dimly lighted parlour. In the old sitting-room it was +as cheerful and homelike as ever, save for the still form in the centre. + +Through an open window the western sun streamed into the big, +hospitable room, across the bright home-made rag carpet. The old clock +in the corner ticked with the placid, steady stroke that had never +failed or faltered, in any vicissitude of the generations for which it +had marked the changes. No fire blazed on the old hearthstone that had +warmed the hearts as well as the hands of the whole countryside on many +a cheerful occasion. But a great bough of dogwood, laid across the +shining andirons, filled the space with coral berries that glowed like +live embers as the sun stole athwart them. + +"Oh, if the old room could only speak!" thought Miss Anastasia, when her +turn came to pass reverently in for a last look at the peaceful face. +"There would be no need of man's eulogy." + +But man's eulogy was added presently, when the old minister came in and +took his place beside the coffin of his lifelong friend and neighbour. +The men outside the porch closed in around the windows to listen. The +women in the back rows of chairs in the adjoining room leaned forward +eagerly. Those farthest away caught only a faltering sentence now and +then. + +"A hospitality as warm as his own hearthstone, as wide as his broad +acres.... No man can point to him and say he ever knowingly hurt or +hindered a fellow creature.... He never measured out to any man a scant +bushel. Be it grain or good-will, it was ever an overflowing +measure...." But those who could not hear all that was said could make +the silent places eloquent with their own recollections, for he had +taken a father's interest in them all, and manifested it by a score of +kindly deeds, too kindly to ever be forgotten. + +It was a perfect autumn day, sunny and golden and still, save for the +patter of dropping nuts and the dry rustle of fallen leaves. A purple +haze rested on the distant horizon like the bloom on a ripened grape. +Down through the orchard, when the simple service was over, they carried +their old friend to the family burying-ground, and, although voices had +choked, and eyes overflowed before, there was neither sob nor tear, when +the light of the sunset struck across the low mound, heaped with its +covering of glowing autumn leaves. For if grief has no part in the +sunset glory that ends the day, or in the perfect fulness of the autumn +time, then it must indeed stand hushed, when a life comes both to its +sunset and its harvest, in such royal fashion. + + * * * * * + +That evening at the Cross-Roads, Bowser lighted the first fire of the +season in the rusty old stove, for the night was chilly. One by one the +men accustomed to gather around it dropped in and took their usual +places. The event of the day was all that was spoken of. + +"Do you remember what he said last Thanksgiving, nearly a year ago?" +asked Bowser. "It came back to me as I stood and looked at him to-day, +and if I'd never believed in immortality before, I'd 'a' had to have +believed in it then. The words seemed to fairly shine out of his face. +He said '_The best comes after the harvest, when the wheat goes to make +up blood and muscle and brain; when it's raised to a higher order of +life in man. And it's the same with me. At eighty-five, when it looks as +if I'd about reached the end, I've come to believe that "the best is yet +to be._"'" + +There was a long pause, and Cy Akers said, slowly, "Somehow I can't +feel that he is dead. Seems as if he'd just gone away a while. But Lord! +how we're going to miss him here at the store." + +"No, don't say that!" exclaimed Bud Hines, with more emotion than he had +ever been known to show before. "Say, how we're going to feel him! I +can't get him out of my mind. Every time I turn around, most, seems to +me I can hear him laugh, and say, 'Don't cross your bridge till you come +to it, Bud.' That saying of his rings in my ears every time I get in the +dumps. Seems like he could set the calendar straight for us, all the +year around. The winters wasn't so cold or the summers so hard to pull +through, looking at life through his eyes." + +Perkins's oldest crept up unnoticed. He added no word, but deep in his +heart lay an impression that all the years to come could never erase; +the remembrance of a kindly old man who had given him a new gospel, in +that one phrase, "A brother to Santa Claus;" who had taught him to go +out against his Philistines with simple directness of aim and whatever +lay at hand; who had left behind him the philosophy of a cheerful +optimist, and the example of a sweet simple life, unswerving in its +loyalty to duty and to truth. + + * * * * * + +Over in the old homestead, Polly, standing in the firelight, fair and +slender in her black gown, looked up at the tall young fellow beside +her, and placed two little books in his hands. The old house was not her +only heritage. The little atlas of the heavens was hers also. Standing +there in the room where the beloved presence seemed to have left its +benediction, Polly told the story of the love that had outlived Death. +Then across the yellowed page of the old grammar where the faded violets +lay, two hands met in the same sure clasp that had joined the souls of +those older lovers, who somewhere beyond the stars were still repeating +the old conjugation--"we love--_for ever_!" + + +THE END. + + + + + L. C. Page & Company's + Announcement List + of New Fiction + + + =Haunters of the Silences.= BY CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS, + author of "Red Fox," "The Watchers of the Trails," + etc. + + Cloth, one volume, with many drawings by Charles Livingston + Bull, four of which are in full color $2.00 + +The stories in Mr. Roberts's new collection are the strongest and best +he has ever written. + +He has largely taken for his subjects those animals rarely met with in +books, whose lives are spent "In the Silences," where they are the +supreme rulers. Mr. Roberts has written of them sympathetically, as +always, but with fine regard for the scientific truth. + + "As a writer about animals, Mr. Roberts occupies an + enviable place. He is the most literary, as well as + the most imaginative and vivid of all the nature + writers."--_Brooklyn Eagle._ + + "His animal stories are marvels of sympathetic + science and literary exactness."--_New York World._ + + + =The Lady of the Blue Motor.= BY G. SIDNEY + PATERNOSTER, author of "The Cruise of the Motor-Boat + Conqueror," "The Motor Pirate," etc. + + Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by John C. Frohn $1.50 + +The Lady of the Blue Motor is an audacious heroine who drove her +mysterious car at breakneck speed. Her plea for assistance in an +adventure promising more than a spice of danger could not of course be +disregarded by any gallant fellow motorist. Mr. Paternoster's hero rose +promptly to the occasion. Across France they tore and across the English +Channel. There, the escapade past, he lost her. + +Mr. Paternoster, however, is generous, and allows the reader to follow +their separate adventures until the Lady of the Blue Motor is found +again and properly vindicated of all save womanly courage and affection. +A unique romance, one continuous exciting series of adventure. + + + =Clementina's Highwayman.= BY ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS, + author of "The Flight of Georgiana," "An Enemy to the + King," etc. + + Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +Mr. Stephens has put into his new book, "Clementina's Highwayman," the +finest qualities of plot, construction, and literary finish. + +The story is laid in the mid-Georgian period. It is a dashing, +sparkling, vivacious comedy, with a heroine as lovely and changeable as +an April day, and a hero all ardor and daring. + +The exquisite quality of Mr. Stephens's literary style clothes the +story in a rich but delicate word-fabric; and never before have his +setting and atmosphere been so perfect. + + + =The Sorceress of Rome.= BY NATHAN GALLIZIER, author + of "Castel del Monte," etc. + + Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +The love-story of Otto III., the boy emperor, and Stephania, wife of the +Senator Crescentius of Rome, has already been made the basis of various +German poems and plays. + +Mr. Gallizier has used it for the main theme of "The Sorceress of Rome," +the second book of his trilogy of romances on the medićval life of +Italy. In detail and finish the book is a brilliant piece of work, +describing clearly an exciting and strenuous period. It possesses the +same qualities as "Castel del Monte," of which the _Chicago Record +Herald_ said: "There is color, there is sumptuous word-painting in these +pages; the action is terrific at times; vividness and life are in every +part; brilliant descriptions entertain the reader; mystic scenes and +prophecies give a singular fascination to the tale, which is strong and +forceful in its portrayal." + + + =Hester of the Hills.= BY GILDER CLAY. + + Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +"Hester of the Hills" has a motif unusual in life, and new in fiction. +Its hero, who has only acquired his own strength and resourcefulness by +a lifelong struggle against constitutional frailty, has come to make the +question of bodily soundness his dominant thought. He resolves to ensure +strong constitutions to his children by marrying a physically perfect +woman. After long search, he finds this ideal in Hester, the daughter of +a "cracker squatter," of the Ozark Mountains of Missouri. But,--he +forgot to take into consideration that very vital emotion, love, which +played havoc with his well-laid plans. + +It is an ingenious combination of practical realism and imaginative +fiction worked out to a thoroughly delightful and satisfying climax. + + + =Prisoners of Fortune.= A TALE OF THE MASSACHUSETTS + BAY COLONY. BY RUEL PERLEY SMITH, author of "The Rival + Campers," etc. + + Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by Frank T. Merrill $1.50 + +The period of Mr. Smith's story is the beginning of the eighteenth +century, when the shores of the American colonies were harassed and the +seas patrolled by pirates and buccaneers. These robbed and spoiled, and +often seized and put to death, the sailors and fishers and other humbler +folk, while their leaders claimed friendship alike with Southern +planters and New England merchants,--with whom it is said they +frequently divided their spoils. + +The times were stern and the colonists were hardy, but they loved as +truly and tenderly as in more peaceful days. Thus, while the hero's +adventures with pirates and his search for their hidden treasure is a +record of desperate encounters and daring deeds, his love-story and his +winning of sweet Mary Vane is in delightful contrast. + + + =The Rome Express.= BY MAJOR ARTHUR GRIFFITHS, author + of "The Passenger from Calais," etc. + + Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by A. O. Scott $1.25 + +A mysterious murder on a flying express train, a wily Italian, a +charming woman caught in the meshes of circumstantial evidence, a +chivalrous Englishman, and a police force with a keen nose for the wrong +clue, are the ingredients from which Major Griffiths has concocted a +clever, up-to-date detective story. The book is bright and spirited, +with rapid action, and consistent development which brings the story to +a logical and dramatic ending. + + + =The Morning Glory Club.= BY GEORGE A. KYLE. + + Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by A. O. Scott. $1.25 + +The doings of the Morning Glory Club will furnish genuine amusement to +the reader. Originally formed to "elevate" the village, it quickly +develops into an exchange for town gossip. It has a saving grace, +however, in the person of motherly Mrs. Stout, the uncultured but +sweet-natured and pure-minded village philosopher, who pours the oil of +her saneness and charity on the troubled waters of discussion and +condemnation. + +It is a series of clear and interesting pictures of the humor of village +life. + + + =The Chronicles of Martin Hewitt, Detective.= NEW + ILLUSTRATED EDITION. BY ARTHUR MORRISON, author of + "The Green Diamond," "The Red Triangle," etc. + + Cloth decorative, with six full-page drawings by W. Kirkpatrick $1.50 + +The success of Mr. Morrison's recent books, "The Green Diamond" and "The +Red Triangle," has led to an imperative demand for the reissue of "The +Chronicles of Martin Hewitt," which has been out of print for a number +of years. + +It will be remembered that Martin Hewitt is the detective in "The Red +Triangle," of whom the _New York Tribune_ said: "Better than Sherlock +Holmes." His adventures in the London slums were of such a nature that +the _Philadelphia North American_ said: "The reader who has a grain of +fancy or imagination may be defied to lay this book down once he has +begun it until the last word is reached." + + + =Mystery Island.= BY EDWARD H. HURST. + + Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece $1.50 + +A hunting camp on a swampy island in the Florida Everglades furnishes +the background for this present-day tale. + +By the murder of one of their number, the secret of egress from the +island is lost, and the campers find themselves marooned. + +Cut off from civilization, conventional veneer soon wears away. Love, +hate, and revenge spring up, and after the sterner passions have had +their sway the man and the woman are left alone to fulfil their own +destiny. + +While there is much that is unusual in the plot and its development, Mr. +Hurst has handled his subject with fine delicacy, and the tale of their +love on the beautiful little island is told with deep sympathy and +feeling. + + + =The Flying Cloud.= BY MORLEY ROBERTS, author of "The + Promotion of the Admiral," "Rachel Marr," "The + Idlers," etc. + + Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece $1.50 + +Mr. Roberts's new book is much more than a ripping good sea story such +as might be expected from the author of "The Promotion of the Admiral." +In "The Flying Cloud" the waters and the winds are gods personified. +Their every mood and phase are described in words of telling force. +There is no world but the waste of waters. + +Mr. Roberts glories and exults in the mystery, the passion, the +strength of the elements, as did the Viking chroniclers of old. He +understands them and loves them and interprets them as no other writer +has heretofore done. The book is too big for conventional phrases. It +needs Mr. Roberts's own richness of imagery and masterly expression to +describe adequately the word-pictures in this epic of wind and waves. + + + + +Selections from L. C. Page and Company's List of Fiction + + +WORKS OF ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS + + _Each one vol., library 12mo, cloth decorative_ $1.50 + + +=The Flight of Georgiana= + +A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF THE YOUNG PRETENDER. Illustrated by H. C. +Edwards. + +"A love-story in the highest degree, a dashing story, and a remarkably +well finished piece of work."--_Chicago Record-Herald._ + + +=The Bright Face of Danger= + +Being an account of some adventures of Henri de Launay, son of the Sieur +de la Tournoire. Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. + +"Mr. Stephens has fairly outdone himself. We thank him heartily. The +story is nothing if not spirited and entertaining, rational and +convincing."--_Boston Transcript._ + + +=The Mystery of Murray Davenport= + +(40th thousand.) + +"This is easily the best thing that Mr. Stephens has yet done. Those +familiar with his other novels can best judge the measure of this +praise, which is generous."--_Buffalo News._ + + +=Captain Ravenshaw= + +OR, THE MAID OF CHEAPSIDE. (52d thousand.) A romance of Elizabethan +London. Illustrations by Howard Pyle and other artists. + +Not since the absorbing adventures of D'Artagnan have we had anything so +good in the blended vein of romance and comedy. + + +=The Continental Dragoon= + +A ROMANCE OF PHILIPSE MANOR HOUSE IN 1778. (53d thousand.) Illustrated +by H. C. Edwards. + +A stirring romance of the Revolution, with its scene laid on neutral +territory. + + +=Philip Winwood= + +(70th thousand.) A Sketch of the Domestic History of an American Captain +in the War of Independence, embracing events that occurred between and +during the years 1763 and 1785 in New York and London. Illustrated by E. +W. D. Hamilton. + + +=An Enemy to the King= + +(70th thousand.) From the "Recently Discovered Memoirs of the Sieur de +la Tournoire." Illustrated by H. De M. Young. + +An historical romance of the sixteenth century, describing the +adventures of a young French nobleman at the court of Henry III., and on +the field with Henry IV. + + +=The Road to Paris= + +A STORY OF ADVENTURE. (35th thousand.) Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. + +An historical romance of the eighteenth century, being an account of the +life of an American gentleman adventurer of Jacobite ancestry. + + +=A Gentleman Player= + +HIS ADVENTURES ON A SECRET MISSION FOR QUEEN ELIZABETH. (48th thousand.) +Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. + +The story of a young gentleman who joins Shakespeare's company of +players, and becomes a friend and protégé of the great poet. + + + + +WORKS OF CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS + + +=Red Fox= + +THE STORY OF HIS ADVENTUROUS CAREER IN THE RINGWAAK WILDS, AND OF HIS +FINAL TRIUMPH OVER THE ENEMIES OF HIS KIND. With fifty illustrations, +including frontispiece in color and cover design by Charles Livingston +Bull. + + Square quarto, cloth decorative $2.00 + + "Infinitely more wholesome reading than the average + tale of sport, since it gives a glimpse of the hunt + from the point of view of the hunted."--_Boston + Transcript._ + + "True in substance but fascinating as fiction. It will + interest old and young, city-bound and free-footed, + those who know animals and those who do + not."--_Chicago Record-Herald._ + + "A brilliant chapter in natural + history."--_Philadelphia North American._ + + +=The Kindred of the Wild= + +A BOOK OF ANIMAL LIFE. With fifty-one full-page plates and many +decorations from drawings by Charles Livingston Bull. + + Square quarto, decorative cover $2.00 + + "Is in many ways the most brilliant collection of + animal stories that has appeared; well named and well + done."--_John Burroughs._ + + +=The Watchers of the Trails= + +A companion volume to "The Kindred of the Wild." With forty-eight +full-page plates and many decorations from drawings by Charles +Livingston Bull. + + Square quarto, decorative cover $2.00 + + "Mr. Roberts has written a most interesting series of + tales free from the vices of the stories regarding + animals of many other writers, accurate in their facts + and admirably and dramatically told."--_Chicago News._ + + "These stories are exquisite in their refinement, and + yet robust in their appreciation of some of the + rougher phases of woodcraft. Among the many writers + about animals, Mr. Roberts occupies an enviable + place."--_The Outlook._ + + "This is a book full of delight. An additional charm + lies in Mr. Bull's faithful and graphic illustrations, + which in fashion all their own tell the story of the + wild life, illuminating and supplementing the pen + pictures of the author."--_Literary Digest._ + + +=Earth's Enigmas= + +A new edition of Mr. Roberts's first volume of fiction, published in +1892, and out of print for several years, with the addition of three new +stories, and ten illustrations by Charles Livingston Bull. + + Library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover $1.50 + + "It will rank high among collections of short stories. + In 'Earth's Enigmas' is a wider range of subject than + in the 'Kindred of the Wild.'"--_Review from advance + sheets of the illustrated edition by Tiffany Blake in + the Chicago Evening Post._ + + +=Barbara Ladd= + +With four illustrations by Frank Verbeck. + + Library 12mo, gilt top $1.50 + + "From the opening chapter to the final page Mr. + Roberts lures us on by his rapt devotion to the + changing aspects of Nature and by his keen and + sympathetic analysis of human character"--_Boston + Transcript._ + + +=Cameron of Lochiel= + +Translated from the French of Philippe Aubert de Gaspé, with +frontispiece in color by H. C. Edwards. + + Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50 + + "Professor Roberts deserves the thanks of his reader + for giving a wider audience an opportunity to enjoy + this striking bit of French Canadian + literature."--_Brooklyn Eagle._ + + "It is not often in these days of sensational and + philosophical novels that one picks up a book that so + touches the heart."--_Boston Transcript._ + + +=The Prisoner of Mademoiselle= + +With frontispiece by Frank T. Merrill. + + Library 12mo, cloth decorative, gilt top $1.50 + +A tale of Acadia,--a land which is the author's heart's delight,--of a +valiant young lieutenant and a winsome maiden, who first captures and +then captivates. + + "This is the kind of a story that makes one grow + younger, more innocent, more light-hearted. Its + literary quality is impeccable. It is not every day + that such a heroine blossoms into even temporary + existence, and the very name of the story bears a + breath of charm."--_Chicago Record-Herald._ + + +=The Heart of the Ancient Wood= + +With six illustrations by James L. Weston. + + Library 12mo, decorative cover $1.50 + + "One of the most fascinating novels of recent + days."--_Boston Journal._ + + "A classic twentieth-century romance."--_New York + Commercial Advertiser._ + + +=The Forge In the Forest= + +Being the Narrative of the Acadian Ranger, Jean de Mer, Seigneur de +Briart, and how he crossed the Black Abbé, and of his adventures in a +strange fellowship. Illustrated by Henry Sandham, R. C. A. + + Library 12mo, cloth, gilt top $1.50 + +A story of pure love and heroic adventure. + + + +=By the Marshes of Minas= + + Library 12mo, cloth, gilt top, illustrated $1.50 + +Most of these romances are in the author's lighter and more playful +vein; each is a unit of absorbing interest and exquisite workmanship. + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes: + + +Obvious punctuation errors repaired. + + +Page 80, "threatenin" changed to "threatening" (and a threatening swing) + + +Page 177, "fastidous" changed to "fastidious" (is fastidious, and only) + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Asa Holmes, by Annie Fellows Johnston + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASA HOLMES *** + +***** This file should be named 39598-8.txt or 39598-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/5/9/39598/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Asa Holmes + or At the Cross-Roads + +Author: Annie Fellows Johnston + +Illustrator: Ernest Fosbery + +Release Date: May 2, 2012 [EBook #39598] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASA HOLMES *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 392px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="392" height="600" alt="Cover: Asa Holmes" /> +</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + + + +<h1>Asa Holmes<br /> + +<span class='small'>or</span><br /> + +At the Cross-roads</h1><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='bbox'> + +<div class='center'><b>Works of</b><br /> + +<b><span class='bigger'>Annie Fellows Johnston</span></b></div> + + +<div class='center'><b>The Little Colonel Series</b><br /> + +(<i>Trade Mark, Reg. U. S. Pat. Of.</i>)<br /> + +Each one vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated<br /><br /></div> + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Booklist"> +<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel Stories</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan='2'>(Containing in one volume the three stories, "The<br /> +Little Colonel," "The Giant Scissors," and<br /> +"Two Little Knights of Kentucky.")</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel's House Party</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel's Holidays</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel's Hero</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel at Boarding-School</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel in Arizona</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel: Maid of Honor</td><td align="right">1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The above 8 vols., <i>boxed</i></td><td align="right">12.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan='2'><br /><b>Illustrated Holiday Editions</b></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan='2'>Each one vol., small quarto, cloth, illustrated, and printed in color</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel</td><td align="right">$1.25</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Giant Scissors</td><td align="right">1.25</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Two Little Knights of Kentucky</td><td align="right">1.25</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The above 3 vols., <i>boxed</i></td><td align="right">3.75</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan='2'><br /><b>Cosy Corner Series</b></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan='2'>Each one vol., thin 12mo, cloth, illustrated</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Little Colonel</td><td align="right">$.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Giant Scissors</td><td align="right">.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Two Little Knights of Kentucky</td><td align="right">.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Big Brother</td><td align="right">.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ole Mammy's Torment</td><td align="right">.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Story of Dago</td><td align="right">.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Cicely</td><td align="right">.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Aunt 'Liza's Hero</td><td align="right">.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Quilt that Jack Built</td><td align="right">.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Flip's "Islands of Providence"</td><td align="right">.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Mildred's Inheritance</td><td align="right">.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="center" colspan='2'><b>Other Books</b></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Joel; A Boy of Galilee</td><td align="right">$1.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In the Desert of Waiting</td><td align="right">.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Three Weavers</td><td align="right">.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Keeping Tryst</td><td align="right">.50</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Asa Holmes</td><td align="right">1.00</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Songs Ysame (Poems, with Albion Fellows Bacon)</td><td align="right">1.00</td></tr> +</table></div> +<div class='center'> +L. C. PAGE & COMPANY<br /> +200 Summer Street Boston, Mass.<br /> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4 ]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="350" height="500" alt="Asa Holmes" /> +</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'> <table class="title" summary="title"> +<tr><td align='left'><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + + + +<h1>Asa Holmes<br /> + +or<br /> + +At the Cross<i>=</i>Roads</h1> + +<div class='center'>By<br /> + +<span class='author'>Annie Fellows Johnston</span><br /> + +<span class='small'>Author of</span><br /> +<span class='small'>"The Little Colonel," "Two Little Knights</span><br /> +<span class='small'>of Kentucky," etc.</span><br /> +<br /> +With a Frontispiece by<br /> +<b>Ernest Fosbery</b><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 82px;"> +<img src="images/emblem.png" width="82" height="100" alt="Emblem" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><br /> +Boston<br /> +<span class='big'>L.C. Page & Company</span><br /> +Publishers<br /> +</div> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></td> +</tr></table></div> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class='copyright'> +<i>Copyright, 1900, 1901</i><br /> +<span class="smcap">By E. S. Barnett</span><br /> +——————<br /> +<i>Copyright, 1902</i><br /> +<span class="smcap">By L. C. Page and Company</span><br /> +<br /> +(INCORPORATED)<br /> +——————<br /><br /> +<i>All rights reserved</i><br /> +<br /><br /><br /> +<i>Seventh Impression</i><br /> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +Colonial Press<br /> +Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.<br /> +Boston, Mass., U. S. A.<br /> +</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class='center'> +TO<br /> +<br /> +<span class='big'><b>A Dear Old Philosopher</b></span><br /> +<br /> +WHOSE CHEERFUL OPTIMISM AND SUNNY FAITH HAVE<br /> +SWEETENED LIFE FOR ALL WHO KNOW HIM<br /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>Asa Holmes<br /> + +or<br /> + +At the Cross-roads</h2> + + + + +<h2>Chapter I</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THERE is no place where men +learn each other's little peculiarities +more thoroughly than in the +group usually to be found around the +stove in a country store. Such acquaintance +may be of slow growth, +like the oak's, but it is just as sure. +Each year is bound to add another ring +to one's knowledge of his neighbours +if he lounges with them, as man and +boy, through the Saturday afternoons +of a score of winters.</div> + +<p>A boy learns more there than he +can be taught in schools. It may be +he is only a tow-headed, freckle-faced +little fellow of eight when he rides<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +over to the cross-roads store for the +first time by himself. Too timid to +push into the circle around the fire, he +stands shivering on the outskirts, looking +about him with the alertness of a +scared rabbit, until the storekeeper +fills his kerosene can and thrusts the +weekly mail into his red mittens. +Then some man covers him with +confusion by informing the crowd that +"that little chap is Perkins's oldest," +and he scurries away out of the embarrassing +focus of the public eye.</p> + +<p>But the next time he is sent on the +family errands he stays longer and +carries away more. Perched on the +counter, with his heels dangling over +a nail keg, while he waits for the belated +mail train, he hears for the first +time how the government ought to be +run, why it is that the country is going +to the dogs, and what will make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +hens lay in cold weather. Added to +this general information, he slowly +gathers the belief that these men +know everything in the world worth +knowing, and that their decisions on +any subject settle the matter for all +time.</p> + +<p>He may have cause to change his +opinion later on, when his sapling acquaintance +has gained larger girth; +when he has loafed with them, +smoked with them, swapped lies and +spun yarns, argued through a decade +of stormy election times, and talked +threadbare every subject under the sun. +But now, in his callow judgment, he +is listening to the wit and wisdom of +the nation. Now, as he looks around +the overflowing room, where butter +firkins crowd the calicoes and crockery, +and where hams and saddles swing +sociably from the same rafter, as far as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +his knowledge goes, this is the only +store in the universe.</p> + +<p>Some wonder rises in his childish +brain as he counts the boxes of axle-grease +and the rows of shining new +pitchforks, as to where all the people +live who are to use so many things. +He has yet to learn that this one little +store that is such a marvel to him is +only a drop in the bucket, and that he +may travel the width of the continent, +meeting at nearly every mile-post that +familiar mixture of odours—coal oil, +mackerel, roasted coffee, and pickle +brine. And a familiar group of men, +discussing the same old subjects in the +same old way, will greet him at every +such booth he passes on his pilgrimage +through Vanity Fair.</p> + +<p>Probably in after years Perkins's +oldest will never realise how much of +his early education has been acquired<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +at that Saturday afternoon loafing-place, +but he will often find himself looking +at things with the same squint with +which he learned to view them +through 'Squire Dobbs's short-sighted +spectacles. Many a time he will find +that he has been unconsciously warped +by the prejudices he heard expressed +there, and that his opinions of life in +general and men in particular are the +outgrowth of those early conversations +which gave him the creed of his boyhood.</p> + +<p>"Them blamed Yankees!" exclaims +one of these neighbourhood orators, +tilting his chair back against the +counter, and taking a vicious bite at +his plug of tobacco. "They don't +know no better than to eat cold bread +the year 'round!" And the boy, accepting +the statement unquestioningly, +stores away in his memory not only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +the remark, but all the weighty emphasis +of disgust which accompanied +the remark in the spitting of a mouthful +of tobacco juice. Henceforth his +idea of the menu north of the Mason +and Dixon line is that it resembles the +bill of fare of a penitentiary, and he +feels that there is something coldblooded +and peculiar about a people +not brought up on a piping hot diet of +hoe-cake and beaten biscuit.</p> + +<p>In the same way the lad whose +opinions are being moulded in some +little corner grocery of a New England +village, or out where the roads cross on +the Western prairie, receives his prejudices. +It may be years before he finds +out for himself that the land of Boone +is not fenced with whiskey jugs and +feuds, and that the cap-sheaf on +every shock of wheat in its domain is +not a Winchester rifle.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> + +<p>But these prejudices, popular at local +cross-roads, are only the side lines of +which every section carries its own +specialty. When it comes to staple +articles, dear to the American heart +and essential to its liberty and progress, +their standard of value is the same the +country over.</p> + +<p>One useful lesson the youthful +lounger may learn here, if he can +learn it anywhere, and that is to be a +shrewd reader of men and motives. +Since staple characteristics in human +nature are repeated everywhere, like +staple dry goods and groceries, a thorough +knowledge of the group around +the stove will be a useful guide to +Perkins's oldest in forming acquaintances +later in life.</p> + +<p>Long after he has left the little +hamlet and grown gray with the experiences +of the metropolis, he will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +run across some queer Dick whose +familiar personality puzzles him. As +he muses over his evening pipe, suddenly +out of the smoke wreaths will +spring the face of some old codger +who aired his wisdom in the village +store, and he will recognise the likeness +between the two as quickly as he +would between two cans of leaf lard +bearing the same brand.</p> + +<p>But Perkins's oldest is only in the +primer of his cross-roads curriculum +now, and these are some of the lessons +he is learning as he edges up to the +group around the fire. On the day +before Thanksgiving, for instance, he +was curled up on a box of soap behind +the chair of old Asa Holmes—Miller +Holmes everybody calls him, because +for nearly half a century his water-mill +ground out the grist of all that section +of country. He is retired now; gave<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +up his business to his grandsons. They +carry it on in another place with steam +and modern machinery, and he is laid +on the shelf. But he isn't a back +number, even if his old deserted mill +is. It is his boast that now he has +nothing else to do, he not only keeps +up with the times, but ahead of them.</p> + +<p>Everybody goes to him for advice; +everybody looks up to him as they do +to a hardy old forest tree that's lived +through all sorts of hurricanes, but has +stood to the last, sturdy of limb, and +sound to the core. He is as sweet and +mellow as a winter apple, ripened in +the sun, and that's why everybody likes +to have him around. You don't see +many old men like that. Their troubles +sour them.</p> + +<p>Well, this day before Thanksgiving +the old miller was in his usual place at +the store, and as usual it was he who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +was giving the cheerful turn to the +conversation. Some of the men were +feeling sore over the recent election; +some had not prospered as they had +hoped with their crops, and were experiencing +the pinch of hard times and +sickness in their homes. Still there +was a holiday feeling in the atmosphere. +Frequent calls for nutmeg, +and sage, and cinnamon, left the air +spicy with prophecies of the morrow's +dinner.</p> + +<p>The farmers had settled down for a +friendly talk, with the comfortable +sense that the crops were harvested, +the wood piled away for the winter, +and a snug, warm shelter provided for +the cattle. It was good to see the hard +lines relax in the weather-beaten faces, +in the warmth of that genial comradeship. +Even the gruffest were beginning +to thaw a little, when the door opened,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +and Bud Hines slouched in. The spirits +of the crowd went down ten degrees.</p> + +<p>Not that he said anything; only gave +a gloomy nod by way of greeting as he +dropped into a chair. But his whole +appearance said it for him; spoke in +the droop of his shoulders, and the +droop of his hat brim, and the droop +of his mouth at the corners. He +looked as if he might have sat for the +picture of the man in the "Biglow +Papers," when he said:</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Sometimes my innard vane pints east for weeks together,<br /> +My natur' gits all goose-flesh, an' my sins<br /> +Come drizzlin' on my conscience sharp ez pins."<br /> +</div> + +<p>The miller greeted him with the +twinkle in his eye that eighty years +and more have never been able to dim; +and Perkins's oldest had his first meeting +with the man who always finds a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +screw loose in everything. Nothing +was right with Bud Hines. One of +his horses had gone lame, and his best +heifer had foundered, and there was +rust in his wheat. He didn't have any +heart to keep Thanksgiving, and he +didn't see how anybody else could, +with the bottom dropped clean out of +the markets and the new road tax so +high. For his part he thought that +everything was on its last legs, and it +wouldn't be long till all the Powers +were at war, and prices would go up +till a poor man simply couldn't live.</p> + +<p>It was impossible not to be affected +more or less by his gloomy forebodings, +and the old miller, looking around +on the listening faces, saw them settling +back in their old discouraged lines. +Clasping his hands more firmly over +the top of his cane, he exclaimed: +"Now look here, Bud Hines, I'm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +going to give you a proverb that was +made on purpose for such a poor, weak-kneed +Mr. Ready-to-halt as you are: +'Never be discouraged, and never be a +discourager!' If you can't live up to +the first part, you certainly can to the +second. No matter how hard things +go with you, you've no right to run +around throwing cold water on other +people. What if your horse has gone +lame? You've got a span of mules +that can outpull my yoke of oxen +any day. One heifer oughtn't to send +a man into mourning the rest of his +days, and it would be more fitting to +be thankful over your good tobacco +crop than to groan over the failure of +your wheat. More fitting to the season. +As for the rest of the things +you're worrying over, why, man, they +haven't happened yet, and maybe never +will. My old grandad used to say to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +me when I was a lad, 'Never cross +your bridge till you come to it, Asa,' +and I've proved the wisdom of that +saying many a time. Suppose'n you +put that in your pipe and smoke it."</p> + +<p>If Perkins's oldest learns no other +lesson this year than to put those two +proverbs into practice, he will have +had a valuable education. How many +Thanksgivings they will help to make +for him! How many problems and +perplexities they will solve!</p> + +<p>"Never be discouraged; never be a +discourager! Don't cross your bridge +until you come to it!" It is a philosophy +that will do away with half the +ills which flesh imagines it is heir to.</p> + +<p>Thanksgiving Day! How much +more it means to the old miller than +to the little fellow beside him on the +soap box! To the child it is only a +feast day; to the old man it is a festival<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +that links him to a lifetime of sacred +memories.</p> + +<p>"Five and eighty years," he says, musingly, +resting his chin on the wrinkled +hands that clasp the head of his cane. +A silence falls on the group around the +stove, and through the cracked door +the red firelight shines out on thoughtful +faces.</p> + +<p>"It's a long time; five and eighty +years," he repeats, "and every one of +them crowned with a Thanksgiving. +Boys," lifting his head and looking +around him, "you've got a good bit +of pike to travel over yet before you +get as far as I've gone, and some of you +are already half fagged out and beginning +to wonder if it's all worth while—Bud, +here, for instance. I'd like to +give you all a word of encouragement.</p> + +<p>"Looking back, I can see that I've +had as many ups and downs as any of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +you, and more than your share of work +and trouble, for I've lived longer, and +nearly all the years are marked with +graves. Seems to me that lately I've +had to leave a new grave behind me at +every mile-stone, till now I'm jogging +on all alone. Family gone, old neighbours +gone, old friends—I'm the last +of the old set. But, still, when all is +said and done, I haven't lost heart, for +'I've lived, seen God's hand through a +lifetime, and all was for best.'</p> + +<p>"When I was milling down there on +Bear Creek you'd 'a' thought I was a +fool if I hadn't taken my rightful toll +out of every bushel of grist that ran +through my hopper, and sometimes I +think that the Almighty must feel that +way about us when we go on grinding +and grinding, and never stopping to count +up our share of the profit and pleasure +and be thankful over it. I believe that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +no matter what life pours into our hopper, +we are to grind some toll of good +out of it for ourselves, and as long as a +man does his part toward producing +something for the world's good, some +kind of bread for its various needs, he +will never go hungry himself.</p> + +<p>"And I believe more than that. +You've heard people compare old age +to a harvest field, and talk about the +autumn of life with its ripened corn +waiting for the reaper Death, and all +that, and speak about the 'harvest +home,' as if it were the glorious end +of everything. But it never did strike +me that way, boys. The best comes +after the harvesting, when the wheat +is turned into flour and the flour into +bread, and the full, wholesome loaves go +to make up blood and muscle and brain. +That's giving it a sort of immortality, +you might say, raising it into a higher<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +order of life. And it's the same with +a man. His old age is just a ripening +for something better a little further on. +All that we go through with here isn't +for nothing, and at eighty-five, when +it looks as if a man had come to the +stepping-off place, I've come to believe +that 'the best is yet to be.'"</p> + +<p>There is a stir around the door, and +the old miller looks around inquiringly. +The mail has come in, and he rises +slowly to get his weekly paper. Perkins's +oldest, waiting his turn in front +of the little case of pigeonholes, eyes +the old man with wondering side +glances. He has not understood more +than half of what he has heard, but he +is vaguely conscious that something is +speaking to him now, as he looks into +the tranquil old face. It is the miller's +past that is calling to him; all those +honest, hard-working years that show<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +themselves in the bent form and +wrinkled hands; the serene peacefulness +that bespeaks a clear conscience; +the big, sunny nature that looks out +of those aged eyes; and above all the +great hopefulness that makes his days a +perpetual Thanksgiving.</p> + +<p>The mute eloquence of an unspoken +invitation thrills the child's heart, he +knows not why:</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Grow old along with me;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The best is yet to be!"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>It is the greatest lesson that Perkins's +oldest can ever learn.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>Chapter II</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>ONE would have known that it +was the day before Christmas +at the Cross-Roads store, even +if the big life insurance calendar over +the desk had not proclaimed the fact +in bold red figures. An unwonted +bustle pervaded the place. Rows of +plump, dressed turkeys hung outside +the door, and on the end of the counter +where the pyramid of canned tomatoes +was usually stacked, a little +evergreen tree stood in a brave array +of tinsel and tiny Christmas tapers.</div> + +<p>It was only an advertisement. No +one might hope to be the proud possessor +of the Noah's ark lodged in its +branches, or of the cheap toys and +candy rings dangling from every limb, +unless he had the necessary pennies.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +Still, every child who passed it eyed it +with such wistful glances that the little +rubber Santa Claus at the base must +have felt his elastic heart stretch almost +to bursting.</p> + +<p>Above the familiar odour of coal-oil +and mackerel, new leather, roasted +coffee and pickle brine, rose the holiday +fragrance of cedar and oranges.</p> + +<p>"Makes me think of when I was a +kid," said a drummer who had been +joking with the men around the stove, +trying to kill time while he waited for +the train that was to take him home +for Christmas. "There's nothing like +that smell of cedar and oranges to resurrect +the boy in a man. It puts me +straight back into knickerbockers again, +among a whole grove of early Christmas +trees. I'll never forget the way I +felt when I picked my first pair of +skates off one of them. A house and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +lot wouldn't give me such a thrill +now."</p> + +<p>"Aw, I don't believe Christmas is at +all what it's cracked up to be," said a +voice from behind the stove, in such +a gloomy tone that a knowing smile +passed around the circle.</p> + +<p>"Bet on you, Bud Hines, for findin' +trouble, every time," laughed the storekeeper. +"Why, Bud, there ain't no +screw loose in Christmas, is there?"</p> + +<p>"Well, there just is!" snapped the +man, resenting the laugh. "It comes +too often for one thing. I just wish +it had happened on leap-year, the +twenty-ninth of February. It would +be a heap less expensive having it just +once in four years. Seems to me we're +always treading on its heels. My old +woman hardly gets done knitting tidies +for one Christmas till she's hard at it +for another.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Anyhow, Christmas never measures +up to what you think it's a-going +to—not by a jug-full. Sure as you +get your heart set on a patent nail-puller +or a pair of fur gloves—something +that'll do <i>you</i> some good—your +wife gives you a carpet sweeper, or +an alarm-clock that rattles you out an +hour too early every morning."</p> + +<p>The drummer led the uproarious +laughter that followed. They were +ready to laugh at anything in this season +of good cheer, and the drummer's +vociferous merriment was irresistible. +He slapped the speaker on the back, +adding jokingly, "That's one thing +Job never had to put up, did he, partner! +He nearly lost his reputation for +politeness over the misfit advice he +didn't want. But there's no telling +what he'd have done with misfit Christmas +gifts. It would take a star actor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +to play the grateful for some of the +things people find in their stockings. +For instance, to have a fond female +relative give you a shaving outfit, when +you wear a full beard."</p> + +<p>"You bet your life," answered the +storekeeper feelingly. "Now, if Santa +Claus wasn't a fake—"</p> + +<p>"Hist!" said the drummer, with a +significant glance toward a small boy, +perched on a soap-box in their midst, +listening open-mouthed to every word. +"I've children myself, and I'd punch +anybody's head who would shake their +faith in Santy. It's one of the rosy +backgrounds of childhood, in my opinion, +and I've got a heap of happiness +out of it since I was a kid, too, looking +back and recollecting."</p> + +<p>It was very little happiness that the +boy on the soap-box was getting out +of anything, that gray December afternoon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +He was weighed down with a +feeling of age and responsibility that +bore heavily on his eight-year-old +shoulders. He had long felt the strain +of his position, as pattern to the house +of Perkins, being the oldest of five. +Now there was another one, and to be +counted as the oldest of six pushed +him almost to the verge of gray hairs.</p> + +<p>There was another reason for his +tear-stained face. He had been disillusioned. +Only that noon, his own +mother had done that for which the +drummer would have punched any +one's head, had it been done to his +children. "We're too poor, Sammy. +There can't be any Christmas at our +house this year," she had said, fretfully, +as she stopped the noisy driving of +nails into the chimney, on which he +contemplated hanging the fraternal +stockings. To his astonished "Why?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +she had replied with a few blunt truths +that sent him out from her presence, +shorn of all his childish hopefulness as +completely as Samson was shorn of his +strength.</p> + +<p>There had been a sorry half-hour in +the hay-mow, where he snuffled over +his shattered faith alone, and from +whence he went out, a hardened little +skeptic, to readjust himself to a cold +and Santa Clausless world. The only +glimmer of comfort he had had since +was when the drummer, with a friendly +wink, slipped a nickel into his hand. +But even that added to his weight of +responsibility. He dropped it back +and forth from one little red mitten to +another, with two impulses strong upon +him. The first was to spend it for six +striped sticks of peppermint candy, one +for each stocking, and thus compel +Christmas to come to the house of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +Perkins. The other was to buy one +orange and go off in a corner and suck +it all by himself. He felt that fate +owed him that much of a reparation +for his disappointment. He was in +the midst of this inward debate when +a new voice joined the discussion +around the stove. It came from Cy +Akers.</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>I</i> think it's downright sinful +to stuff a child with such notions. +You may call 'em fairy-tales all you +like, but it's nothing more or less than +a pack of lies. The idea of a Christian +payrent sitting up and telling his immortal +child that a big fat man in +furs will drive through the air to-night +in a reindeer sleigh right over the roofs +and squeeze himself down a lot of +sooty chimneys, with a bag of gimcracks +on his back—it's all fol-de-rol! +I never could see how any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +intelligent young one could believe it. +I never did. But that's one thing about +me, as the poet says, 'If I've one pecooliar +feature it's a nose that won't be +led.' I never could be made to take +stock in any such nonsense, even as a +boy. I'll leave it to Mr. Asa Holmes, +here, if it isn't wrong to be putting +such ideas into the youth of our land."</p> + +<p>The old miller ran his fingers through +his short white hair and looked around. +His smile was wholesome as it was +genial. He was used to being called +in judgment on these neighbourhood +discussions, and he spoke with the air +of one who felt that his words carried +weight:</p> + +<p>"You're putting it pretty strong, Cy," +he said, with a laugh, and then a tender, +reminiscent light gleamed in his old +eyes.</p> + +<p>"You see it's this way with me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +boys. We never heard any of these +things when I was a lad. It's plain +facts in a pioneer cabin, you know. +Father taught us about Christmas in +the plain words that he found set down +in the Gospels, and I told it the same +way to my boys. When my first little +grandson came back to the old house +to spend Christmas, I thought it was +almost heathenish for his mother to +have him send letters up the chimney +and talk as if Santa Claus was some +real person. I told her so one day, +and asked what was going to happen +when the little fellow outgrew such +beliefs.</p> + +<p>"'Why, Father Holmes,' said she,—I +can hear her now, words and tones, +for it set me to thinking,—'don't you +see that he is all the time growing into +a broader belief? It's this way.' She +picked up a big apple from the table.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +'Once this apple was only a tiny seed-pod +in the heart of a pink blossom. +The beauty of the blossom was all that +the world saw, at first, but gradually, +as the fruit swelled and developed, the +pink petals fell off, naturally and easily, +and the growing fruit was left. My +little son's idea of Christmas is in the +blossom time now. This rosy glamour +of old customs and traditions that +makes it so beautiful to him is taking +the part of the pink petals. They will +fall away by and by, of their own accord, +for underneath a beautiful truth +is beginning to swell to fruitage. Santa +Claus is the Spirit of Christmas love +and giving, personified. It is because +I want to make it real and vital, something +that my baby's mind can grasp +and enjoy, that I incarnate it in the +form of the good old Saint Nicholas, +but I never let him lose sight of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +Star. It was the Spirit of Christmas +that started the wise men on their +search, and they followed the Star and +they found the Child, and laid gifts at +his feet. And when the Child was +grown, he, too, went out in the world +and followed the Star and scattered his +gifts of love and healing for all the +children of men. And so it has gone +on ever since, that Spirit of Christmas, +impelling us to follow and to find and +to give, wherever there is a need for +our gold and frankincense and myrrh. +That is the larger belief my boy is +growing into, from the smaller.'</p> + +<p>"And she is right," said the old +man, after an impressive pause. "She +raised that boy to be an own brother +to Santa Claus, as far as good-will to +men goes. It's Christmas all the year +round wherever <i>he</i> is. And now when +he brings his boys back to the old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +home and hangs their stockings up by +the fire, I never say a word. Sometimes +when the little chaps are hunting +for the marks of the reindeer hoofs +in the ashes, I kneel down on the old +hearthstone and hunt, too.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>"A brother to Santa Claus!" The +phrase still echoed in the heart of +Perkins's oldest when the group around +the stove dispersed. It was that which +decided the fate of the nickel, and +filled the little red mittens with sticks +of striped delight for six, instead of the +lone orange for one. Out of a conversation +but dimly understood he had +gathered a vague comfort. It made +less difference that his patron saint was +a myth, since he had learned there +might be brothers in the Claus family +for him to fall back upon. Then his +fingers closed over the paper bag of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +peppermints, and, suddenly, with a little +thrill, he felt that in some queer way +he belonged to that same brotherhood.</p> + +<p>As he fumbled at the latch, the old +miller, who always saw his own boyhood +rise before him in that small +tow-headed figure, and who somehow +had divined the cause of the tear-streaks +on the dirty little face, called +him. "Here, sonny!" It was a pair +of shining new skates that dangled +from the miller's hands into his.</p> + +<p>One look of rapturous delight, and +two little feet were flying homeward +down the frozen pike, beating time to +a joy that only the overflowing heart +of a child can know, when its troubles +are all healed, and faith in mankind +restored. And the old man, going +home in the frosty twilight of the +Christmas eve, saw before him all the +way the light of a shining star.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>Chapter III</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>IT was an hour past the usual time +for closing the Cross-Roads store, +but no one made a move to go. +Listening in the comfortable glow of +the red-hot stove, to the wind whistling +down the long pipe, was far pleasanter +than facing its icy blasts on the +way home. Besides, it was the last +night of the old year, and hints of +forthcoming cider had been dropped +by Jim Bowser, the storekeeper. Also +an odour of frying doughnuts came +in from the kitchen, whenever Mrs. +Bowser opened the door into the +entry.</div> + +<p>Added to the usual group of loungers +was the drummer who had spent +Christmas eve with them. He had +come in on an accommodation train,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +and was waiting for the midnight express. +He had had the floor for some +time with his stories, when suddenly +in the midst of the laughter which +followed one of his jokes, Bud Hines +made himself heard.</p> + +<p>"I say, Jim," he exclaimed, turning +to the storekeeper, "why don't you +tear off the last leaf of that calendar? +We've come to the end of everything +now; end of the day, end of the year, +end of the century! Something none +of <i>us</i> will ever experience again. It's +always a mighty solemn thought to me +that I'm doing a thing for the la-ast +time!"</p> + +<p>Jim laughed cheerfully, tilting his +chair back against the counter, and +thrusting his thumbs into the armholes +of his vest.</p> + +<p>"I don't know as I feel any call to +mourn over takin' down an old calendar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +when I have a prettier one to +put in its place, and it's the same way +with the century. There'll be a better +one to begin on in the morning."</p> + +<p>"That's so," asserted Cy Akers. +"But some people come bang up +against a New Year as if it was a stone +wall, and down they set and count up +their sins, and turn over new leaves, +and load 'emselves down with so many +good resolutions that they stick in the +mud by the end of the first week. +Now I hold that if it wasn't for the +almanacs, steppin' from one year to +another, or from one century to another, +wouldn't jar you no more than +steppin' over the equator. They're +only imaginary lines, and nobody would +ever know where he was at, either in +months or meridians, if he didn't have +almanacs and the like to keep him +posted. Fourth of July is just as good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +a time to take stock and turn over a +new leaf as the first of January."</p> + +<p>"Maybe you take stock like a man +I used to sell to down in Henderson +County," said the drummer. "He +never kept any books, so he never +knew exactly where he was 'at,' as you +say. Once a year he'd walk around +the store with his hands in his pockets, +and size up things in a general sort of +way. 'Bill,' he'd say to his clerk, +cocking his eyes up at the shelves, +'we've got a right smart chance of +canned goods left over. I reckon +there's a half shelf full more than we +had left last year. I know there's +more bottles of ketchup.' Then he'd +take another turn around the room. +'Bill, I disremember how many pitchforks +we had in this rack. There's +only two left now. Nearly all the +calico is sold, and (thumping the molasses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +barrel), this here bar'l sounds like +it's purty nigh empty. Take it all +around, Bill, we've done first-rate this +year, so I don't know as it's worth +while botherin' about weighin' and +measurin' what's left over, so long as +we're satisfied.' And maybe that's why +Cy makes so little of New Year," +added the drummer, with a sly wink +at the others. "He thinks it's not +worth while to weigh and measure his +shortcomings when he can take stock +of himself in a general sort of a way, +and always be perfectly satisfied with +himself."</p> + +<p>There was a laugh at Cy's expense, +and Bud Hines began again.</p> + +<p>"What worries me is, what's been +prophesied about the new century. +One would think we've had enough +famines and plagues and wars and +rumours of wars in this here old one to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +do for awhile, but from what folks say, +it ain't goin' to hold a candle to the +trouble we'll see in the next one."</p> + +<p>"Troubles is seasonin'. ''Simmons +ain't good till they are frostbit,'" quoted +Cy.</p> + +<p>"Then accordin' to Bud's tell, he +ought to be the best seasoned persimmon +on the bough," chuckled the +storekeeper.</p> + +<p>"No, that fellow that was here this +afternoon goes ahead of Bud," insisted +Cy, turning to the drummer. "I wish +you could have heard him, pardner. +He came in to get a postal order for +some money he wanted to send in a +letter, and he nearly wiped up the earth +with poor old Bowser, because there +was a two-cent war tax to pay on it.</p> + +<p>"'Whose war?' says he. ''Tain't +none of <i>my</i> makin',' says he, 'and I'll +be switched if I'll pay taxes on a thing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +I've been dead set against from the +start. It's highway robbery,' says he, +'to load the country down with a war +debt in times like these. It's kill +yourself to keep yourself these days, +and as my Uncle Josh used to say after +the Mexican war, "it's tough luck +when people are savin' and scrimpin' +at the spigot for the government to be +drawin' off at the bung."'</p> + +<p>"Bowser here just looked him over +as if he'd been a freak at a side-show, +and said Bowser, in a dry sort of way, +he guessed, 'when it came to the pinch, +the spigot wouldn't feel that a two-cent +stamp was a killin' big leakage.'</p> + +<p>"The fellow at that threw the coppers +down on the counter, mad as a +hornet. 'It's the principle of the +thing,' says he. 'Uncle Sam had no +business to bite off more'n he could +chew and then call on me to help.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +What's the war done for this country, +anyhow?'</p> + +<p>"He was swinging his arms like a +stump speaker at a barbecue, by this +time. 'What's it done?' says he. +'Why it's sent the soldiers back from +Cuba with an itch as bad as the smallpox, +and as ketchin' to them citizens +that wanted peace, as to them that +clamoured for war. I know what I'm +talkin' about, for my hired man like to +'uv died with it, and he hadn't favoured +the war any more than a spring lamb. +And what's it doin' for us, now?' says +he. 'Sendin' the poor fellows back +from the Philippines by the ship-load, +crazy as June-bugs. I know what I'm +talkin' about. That happened to one +of my wife's cousins. What was it +ever begun for,' says he, 'tell me +that!'</p> + +<p>"Peck here, behind the stove, sung<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +out like a fog-horn, '<i>Remember the +Maine!</i>' Peck knew what a blow the +fellow had made at an indignation +meeting when the news first came. +No tellin' what would have happened +then if a little darky hadn't put his +head in at the door and yelled, 'Say, +mistah, yo' mules is done backed yo' +wagon in de ditch!' He tore out to +tend to them, or we might have had +another Spanish war right here among +Bowser's goods and chattels."</p> + +<p>"No danger," said Peck, dryly, +"he isn't the kind of a fellow to fight +for principle. It's only when his +pocketbook is touched he wants to +lick somebody. He's the stingiest man +I ever knew, and I've known some +mighty mean men in my time."</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with you all to-night?" +said the drummer. "You're +the most pessimistic crowd I've struck<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +in an age. This is the tune you've +been giving me from the minute I +lifted the latch." And beating time +with foot and hands in old plantation +style, the drummer began forthwith to +sing in a deep bass voice that wakened +the little Bowsers above:</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Ole Satan is loose an' a-bummin'!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">De wheels er distruckshin is a-hummin.'</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Oh, come 'long, sinner, ef you comin'!"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>The door into the entry opened a +crack and Mrs. Bowser's forefinger +beckoned.</p> + +<p>"Here's good-bye to the old and +good luck to the new," cried Jim, +jumping up to take the big pitcher of +cider that she passed through the opening.</p> + +<p>"And here's to Mrs. Bowser," cried +the drummer, taking the new tin cup +filled for him with the sparkling cider,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +and helping himself to a hot doughnut +from the huge panful which she +brought in. "It's a pretty good sort +of world, after all, that gives you cakes +as crisp and sugary as these. 'Speak +well of the bridge that carries you +over' is my motto, so don't let another +fellow cheep to-night, unless he can +say something good of the poor old +century or the men who've lived in +it!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Asa Holmes!" +cried several voices.</p> + +<p>The old miller, who had been silent +all evening, straightened himself up in +his chair and drew his hand over his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I feel as if I were parting with an +old comrade, to-night," he said. "The +century had only fifteen years the start +of me, and it's a long way we've travelled +together. I've been sitting here,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +thinking how much we've lived +through. Listen, boys."</p> + +<p>It was a brief series of pictures he +drew for them, against the background +of his early pioneer days. They saw +him, a little lad, trudging more than +a mile on a winter morning to borrow +a kettle of hot coals, because the fire +had gone out on his own hearthstone, +and it was before the days of matches. +They saw him huddled with the other +little ones around his mother's knee +when the wolves howled in the night +outside the door, and only the light +of a tallow-dip flickered through the +darkness of the little cabin. They saw +the struggle of a strong life against +the limitations of the wilderness, and +realised what the battle must have been +oftentimes, against sudden disease and +accident and death, with the nearest +doctor a three days' journey distant, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +no smoke from any neighbour's chimney +rising anywhere on all the wide +horizon.</p> + +<p>While he talked, a heavy freight +train rumbled by outside; the wind +whistled through the telegraph wires. +The jingle of a telephone bell interrupted +his reminiscences. The old +man looked up with a smile. "See +what we have come to," he said, "from +such a past to a time when I can say +'hello,' across a continent. Cables and +cross-ties and telegraph poles have annihilated +distance. The century and I +came in on an ox-cart; we are going +out on a streak of lightning.</p> + +<p>"But that's not the greatest thing," +he said, pausing, while the listening +faces grew still more thoughtful. +"Think of the hospitals! The homes! +The universities! The social settlements! +The free libraries! The humane<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +efforts everywhere to give humanity +an uplift! When I think of all this +century has accomplished, of the heroic +lives it has produced, I haven't a word +to say about its mistakes and failures. +After all, how do we know that the +things we cry out against <i>are</i> mistakes?</p> + +<p>"This war may be a Samson's riddle +that we are not wise enough to read. +Those who shall come after us may be +able to say '<i>Out of the eater came forth +meat, and out of the strong came forth +sweetness!</i>'"</p> + +<p>Somewhere in an upper room a clock +struck twelve, and deep silence fell on +the little company as they waited for +the solemn passing of the century. It +was no going out as of some decrepit +Lear tottering from his throne. Perhaps +no man there could have put it in +words, but each one felt that its majestic +leave-taking was like the hoary old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +apostle's: "I have fought a good fight, +I have finished my course, I have kept +the faith."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>Chapter IV</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>FOR some occult reason, the successful +merchant in small towns +and villages is the confidant, if +not father-confessor, of a large number +of his patronesses. It may be that his +flattering air of personal interest, assumed +for purely business purposes, +loosens not only the purse-strings but +the spring that works the panorama +of private affairs. Or it may be an +idiosyncrasy of some classes of the +mind feminine, to make no distinction +between a bargain counter and a +confessional. Whatever the cause, +many an honest merchant can testify +that it is no uncommon thing for a +woman to air her domestic troubles +while she buys a skirt braid, or to +drag out her family skeleton with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +sample of sewing silk she wishes to +match.</div> + +<p>The Cross-Roads had had its share +of confidences, although as a rule the +women who disposed of their butter +and eggs in trade to Bowser were of +the patient sort, grown silent under +the repressing influence of secluded +farm life. Still, Bowser, quick to see +and keen to judge, had gained a remarkable +insight into neighbourhood +affairs in fifteen years' dealings with his +public. "All things come to him who +waits" if he wears an air of habitual +interest and has a sympathetic way of +saying "Ah! indeed!"</p> + +<p>It was with almost the certainty of +foreknowledge that Bowser counted +his probable patrons as he spread out his +valentines on the morning of the fourteenth +of February. He had selected +his comic ones with a view to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +feud that existed between the Hillock +and Bond families, well knowing +that a heavy cross-fire of ugly caricatures +and insulting rhymes would be +kept up all day by the younger members +of those warring households. It +was with professional satisfaction he +smiled over the picture of a fat man +with a donkey's head, which he was +as sure would be sent by Pete Hillock +to old man Bond, as if he had heard +Pete's penny dropping into the cash-drawer.</p> + +<p>"Nothing like supplying the demand," +he chuckled.</p> + +<p>It was with more than professional +interest that he arranged the lace-paper +valentines in the show-case, for the +little embossed Cupids had a strong +ally in this rustic haberdasher, whose +match-making propensities had helped +many a little romance to a happy issue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +Drawing on his fund of private information, +acquired in his rôle of confidant +to the neighbourhood gossips, he +set out his stock of plump red hearts, +forget-me-nots, and doves; and with +each addition to the festal array he +nodded his head knowingly over the +particular courtship it was designed to +speed, or the lovers' quarrel that he +hoped might be ended thereby.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>There had been two weeks of "February +thaw." Melting snow had made +the mud hub-deep in places. There +was a velvety balminess in the touch +of the warm wind, and faint, elusive +odours, prophetic of spring, rose from +the moist earth and sap-quickened trees.</p> + +<p>The door of the Cross-Road store +stood open, and behind it, at the post-office +desk, sat Marion Holmes, the +old miller's granddaughter. Just out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +of college and just into society, she had +come to spend Lent in the old place +that had welcomed her every summer +during her childhood. The group +around the stove stared covertly at the +pretty girl in the tailor-made gown, +failing to recognise in the tall, stylish +figure any trace of the miller's "little +Polly," who used to dangle her feet +from the counter and munch peppermint +drops, while she lisped nursery +rhymes for their edification.</p> + +<p>She had come for the letters herself, +she told Bowser, because she was expecting +a whole bag full, and her +grandfather's rheumatism kept him at +home. Installed in the post-office +chair, behind the railing that enclosed +the sanctum of pigeon-holes, she amused +herself by watching the customers while +she waited for the mail-train.</p> + +<p>"It's like looking into a kaleidoscope,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +she told Bowser in one of the +pauses of trade. "Every one who +comes in gives me a different point +of view and combination of opinions. +Now, those valentines! I was thinking +what old-fashioned things those +little lace-paper affairs are, and wondering +how anybody could possibly get +up any thrills over them, when in +walked Miss Anastasia Dill. Prim and +gentle as ever, isn't she? Still getting +her styles from <i>Godey's Lady's Books</i> of +the early sixties; she must draw on +their antiquated love stories for her +sentiment, too, for she seemed lost in +admiration of those hearts and darts. +What <i>do</i> you suppose is Miss Anastasia's +idea of a lover?"</p> + +<p>Marion rattled on with all of a débutante's +reckless enthusiasm for any +subject under discussion. "Wouldn't +he be as odd and old-fashioned as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +lace valentines themselves? She'd call +him a <i>suitor</i>, wouldn't she? I wonder +if she ever had one."</p> + +<p>Then Bowser, piecing together the +fragmentary gossip of fifteen years, told +Marion all he knew of Miss Anastasia's +gentle romance; and Marion, idly +clasping and unclasping the little Yale +pin on her jacket, gained another peep +into the kaleidoscope of human experiences.</p> + +<p>"I have read of such devotion to a +memory," she said when the story was +done, "but I never met it in the flesh. +What a pity he died while he was on +such a high pedestal in her imagination. +If he had lived she would have +discovered that there are no such paragons, +and all the other sons of Adam +needn't have suffered by comparison. +So she's an old maid simply because +she put her ideal of a lover so high in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +the clouds nobody could live up to it! +Dear old Miss Anastasia!"</p> + +<p>Bowser pulled his beard. "Such +couples make me think of these here +lamps with double wicks," he said. +"They hardly ever burn along together +evenly. One wick is sure to flare up +higher than the other; you either have +to keep turning it down and get along +with a half light or let it smoke the +chimney—maybe crack it—and make +things generally uncomfortable. But +here comes somebody, Miss Marion, +who's burned along pretty steady, and +that through three administrations. It's +her brag that she's had three husbands +and treated them just alike, even to the +matter of tombstones. 'Not a pound +difference in the weight nor a dollar in +the price,' she always says."</p> + +<p>The newcomer was a fat, wheezy +woman, spattered with mud from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +hem of her skirt to the crown of her +big crape bonnet, which had tipped +on one side with the jolting of the +wagon.</p> + +<p>"Well, Jim Bowser!" she exclaimed, +catching sight of the valentines. +"Ef you ain't got out them +silly, sentimental fol-de-rols again! My +nephew, Jason Potter,—that's my second +husband's sister's son, you know,—spent +seventy-five cents last year to buy +one of them silly things to send to his +girl; and I says to him, 'Jason,' says I, +'ef <i>I'd</i> been Lib Meadows, that would +'uv cooked your goose with <i>me!</i> Any +man simple enough to waste his substance +so, wouldn't make a good provider.' +I ought to know—I've been +a wife three times."</p> + +<p>This, like all other of Mrs. Power's +conversational roads, led back to the +three tombstones, and started a flow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +of good-natured badinage on the subject +of matrimony, which continued +long after she had taken her noisy +departure. "Well!" exclaimed Bud +Hines, as the big crape bonnet went +jolting down the road, "I guess there's +three good men gone that could tell +why heaven is heaven."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Cy Akers.</p> + +<p>"Because there's no marryin' or +givin' in marriage there."</p> + +<p>"Bud speaks feelingly!" said Cy, +winking at the others. "He'd better +get a job on a newspaper to write Side +Talks with Henpecked Husbands."</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't think <i>you'd</i> want to hear +any extrys or supplements," retorted +Bud. "You get enough in your own +daily editions."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>"St. Valentine has been generous +with my little Polly," said the old miller,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +looking up fondly at the tall, graceful +girl, coming into his room, her face +aglow and her arms full of packages.</p> + +<p>"But what's the good of it all, +grandfather?" answered Marion. "I've +been looking into Cupid's kaleidoscope +through other people's eyes this afternoon, +and nothing is rose-coloured +as I thought. Everything is horrid. +'Marriage is a failure,' and sentiment +is a silly thing that people make flippant +jokes about, or else break their +hearts with, like Mr. Bowser's double-wick +lamps, that flare up and crack +their chimneys. I've come to the conclusion +that St. Valentine has outlived +his generation."</p> + +<p>She broke the string which bound +one of the boxes that she had dropped +on the table, and took out a great dewy +bunch of sweet violets. As their fragrance +filled the room, the old man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +looked around as if half expecting to +see some familiar presence; then +dropped his white head with a sigh, +and gazed into the embers on the +hearth, lost in a tender reverie.</p> + +<p>Presently he said, "I wish you would +hand me that box on my wardrobe +shelf, little girl." As Marion opened +the wardrobe door, something hanging +there made her give a little start of +surprise. It was an old familiar gray +dress, with the creases still in the bent +sleeves just as they had been left when +the tired arms last slipped out of them. +That was ten years ago; and Marion, +standing there with a mist gathering +in her eyes, recalled the day her grandfather +had refused to let any one fold +it away. It had hung there all those +years, the tangible reminder of the +strong, sweet presence that had left its +imprint on every part of the household.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is like my life since she slipped +out of it," the old man had whispered, +smoothing the empty sleeve with his +stiff old fingers. "Like my heart—set +to her ways at every turn, and left just +as she rounded it out—but now—so +empty!"</p> + +<p>He lifted an old dog-eared school-book +from the box that Marion brought +him, a queer little "Geography and +Atlas of the Heavens," in use over fifty +years ago. Inside was a tiny slip of +paper, time-yellowed and worn. The +ink was faded, until the words written +in an unformed girlish hand were +barely legible:</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"True as grapes grow on a vine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">I will be your Valentine."</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>"I had put a letter into her Murray's +grammar," he explained, holding up +another little book. "Here is the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +page, just at the conjugation of the +verb 'to love.' You see I was a big, +shy, overgrown boy that lost my tongue +whenever I looked at her, although +she wasn't fifteen then, and only reached +my shoulder. This valentine was the +answer that she slipped into my atlas +of the heavens. I thought the sky +itself had never held such a star. We +walked home across the woodland together +that day, never saying a word. +It was the last of the February thaw, +and the birds were twittering as if it +were really spring. Just such a day as +this. All of a sudden, right at my feet, +I saw something smiling up at me, blue +as the blue of my Polly's eyes. I +stooped and brushed away the leaves, +and there were two little violets.</p> + +<p>"As I gave them to her I wanted to +say, 'There will always be violets in +my heart for you, my Polly,' but I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +couldn't speak a word. I know she +understood, for long years after—when +she was dead—I found them here. +She had pinned them on the page +where my letter had lain, here on the +conjugation that says, 'we love,' and +she had added the word '<i>for ever</i>.'"</p> + +<p>A tear dropped on the dead violets +as the old man reverently closed the +book, and sat gazing again into the +dying embers. There was a tremulous +smile on his face. Was it backward +over the hills of their youth he was +wandering, or ahead to those heights +of Hope, where love shall "put on +immortality?"</p> + +<p>Marion laid her warm cheek against +her violets, still fragrant with the sweetness +of their fresh, unfaded youth. +Then taking a cluster from the great +dewy bunch, she fastened it at her +throat with the little Yale pin.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>Chapter V</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>TRADE was dull at the Cross-Roads. +Jim Bowser, his hands +thrust into his pockets and his +lips puckered to a whistle, stood looking +through the dingy glass of his front +door. March was coming in with a +snow-storm, and all he could see in +any direction was a blinding fall of +white flakes. There were only three +men behind the stove that afternoon, +and one of them was absorbed in a +newspaper. Conversation flagged, and +from time to time Bud Hines yawned +audibly.</div> + +<p>"This is getting to be mighty monotonous," +remarked the storekeeper, +glancing from the falling snow to the +silent group by the stove.</p> + +<p>"March always is," answered Bud<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +Hines. "The other months have +some holiday in 'em; something to +brighten 'em up, if it's no more than +a family birthday. But to me, March +is as dull and uninteresting as a mud +road."</p> + +<p>"There's the inauguration this year," +suggested Cy Akers, looking up from +his newspaper. "That's a big event. +This paper is full of it."</p> + +<p>"Well, now you've hit it!" exclaimed +Bud, with withering scorn, as +he bit off another chew of tobacco. +"That is exciting! Just about as interesting +as watching a man take his +second helping of pie. I wouldn't go +across the road to see it. Now in a +monarchy, where death makes the +changes, it can't get to be a cut and +dried affair that takes place every four +years. They make a grand occasion +of it, too, with their pomp and ceremony.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +Look at what England's just +seen. It's the sight of a lifetime to +bury a queen and crown a king. But +what do we see when we change Presidents? +One man sliding into a chair +and another sliding out, same as when +the barber calls 'Next!' Humph!"</p> + +<p>Cy Akers rubbed his chin. "Fuss +and feathers! That's all it amounts +to," he exclaimed. "I'm down on +monopolies, and in my opinion it's the +worst kind of monopoly to let one +family crowd out everybody else in the +king business. I like a country where +every man in it has a show. Not that +I'd <i>be</i> President, if they offered me +double the salary, but it is worth a +whole lot to me to feel that in case I +did want the office, I've as good a right +to it as any man living. And talk +about sights—I say it's the sight of a +lifetime to see a man step out from his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +place among the people, anywhere he +happens to be when they call his name, +take his turn at ruling as if he'd been +born to it, and then step back as if +nothing had happened."</p> + +<p>Bud smiled derisively. "You only +see that on paper, my boy. Men +don't step quietly into offices in this +country. They run for 'em till they +are red in the face, and it's the best +runner that gets there, not the best +man. Monopoly in the king business +keeps out the rabble, any how, and it +gives a country a good deal more dignity +to be ruled by a dynasty than by +Tom, Dick, and Harry."</p> + +<p>"Well, there's no strings tied to +you," said Cy, testily, taking up his +newspaper again. "When people don't +like the way things are run on this +side of the water, there's nothing to +hinder emigration."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was a stamping of snowy feet +outside the door, and a big, burly fellow +blustered in, whom they hailed as +Henry Bicking. He was not popular +at the Cross-Roads, having the unenviable +reputation of being a "born +tease," but any diversion was welcome +on such a dull day.</p> + +<p>In the catalogue of queer characters +which every neighbourhood possesses, +the Autocrat, Bore, and Crank may take +precedence of all others alphabetically, +but the one that heads the list in disagreeableness +is that infliction on society +known as the "born tease." One +can forgive the teasing propensity +universally found in boys, as he would +condone the playful destructiveness of +puppyhood; something requiring only +temporary forbearance. But when that +trait refuses to be put away with childish +things it makes of the man it dominates<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +a sort of human mosquito. He +regards every one in reach his lawful +prey, from babies to octogenarians, and +while he does not always sting, the persistency +of his annoying attacks becomes +exasperating beyond endurance.</p> + +<p>The same motive that made Henry +Bicking pull cats' whiskers out by the +roots when he was a boy, led him to +keep his children in a turmoil, and his +sensitive little wife in tears half the +time. He had scarcely seated himself +by the stove when he was afforded +opportunity for his usual pastime by +the entrance of half a dozen children, +who came tumbling in on their way +home from school to warm.</p> + +<p>He began with a series of those +inane questions by which grown people +have made themselves largely responsible +for the pertness of the younger +generation. If children of this day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +have departed from that delectable +state wherein they were seen and not +heard, the fault is due far more to their +elders than to them. Often they have +been made self-conscious, and forced +into saucy self-assertion by the teasing +questions that are asked merely to provoke +amusing replies.</p> + +<p>Henry Bicking's quizzing had an +element of cruelty in it. His was the +kind that pinches his victims' ears, that +tickles to the verge of agony, that +threatens all sorts of disagreeable things, +for the sake of seeing little faces blanch +with fright, or eyes fill with tears of +pain.</p> + +<p>"Come here, Woodpecker," he began, +reaching for a child whose red +hair was the grief of his existence. +But the boy deftly eluded him, and +the little fellow standing next in line, +drying his snowball-soaked mittens,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +became the victim. He was dragged +unwillingly to his tormentor's knee.</p> + +<p>"What are you going to be when +you're a man?" was demanded, when +the first questions had elicited the fact +that the child's name was Sammy Perkins, +and that he was eight years old. +But Perkins's oldest, having no knowledge +of the grammar of life beyond its +present tense indicative, hung his head +and held his tongue at mention of its +future potential.</p> + +<p>"If you don't tell me you sha'n't +have your mittens!" Bicking dangled +them tantalisingly out of reach, until, +after an agonising and unsuccessful +scramble, the child was forced into a +tearful reply.</p> + +<p>Then he began again: "Which are +you for, Democrats or Republicans?"</p> + +<p>"Ain't for neither."</p> + +<p>"Well, you're the littlest mugwump<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +I ever did see. Mugwumps ain't got +any right to wear mittens. I've a +notion to pitch 'em in the stove."</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>don't!</i>" begged the child. +"<i>Please</i>, mister! I'm not a mugwump!"</p> + +<p>The tragic earnestness of the child +as he disclaimed all right to the term +of reproach which he could not understand, +yet repudiated because of its +obnoxious sound, amused the man +hugely. He threw back his head and +laughed.</p> + +<p>"Tell me who you holler for!" he +continued, catching him up and holding +him head downward a moment. +Then goaded by more teasing questions +and a <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'threatenin'">threatening</ins> swing of his +red mittens toward the stove door, +Perkins's oldest was at last led to take +a bold stand on his party platform, and +publicly declare his political preference.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +But it was in a shaking voice and between +frightened sobs.</p> + +<p>"M-ma, she's for McKinley, an' +p-pap, he's for B-Bryan, so I jus' holler +for Uncle Sam!"</p> + +<p>"Good enough for you, sonny," +laughed the storekeeper. "That's true +blue Americanism. Stick to Uncle +Sam and never mind the parties. +They've had new blades put on their +old handles, and new handles put on +those old blades again, till none of 'em +are what we started out with. We +keep on calling them 'genuine Barlows,' +but it's precious little of the +original Barlows we're hanging on to +nowadays."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>It was a woman's voice that interrupted +the conversation. Mrs. Teddy +Mahone had come in for some tea.</p> + +<p>"Arrah, Misther Bicking! Give the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +bye his mitts! You're worrse than a +cat with a mouse."</p> + +<p>The loud voice with its rich Irish +brogue drew Cy Akers's attention from +his newspaper. "By the way, Bud," +he exclaimed, raising his voice so that +Mrs. Mahone could not fail to hear, +"you were complaining about March +being so dull and commonplace without +any holidays. You've forgotten +St. Patrick's Day."</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't. St. Patrick is nothing +to me. There's no reason I should +take any interest in him."</p> + +<p>"And did you hear that, Mrs. Mahone," +asked Henry Bicking, anxious +to start a war of words.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Oi heard it, indade Oi did!" +she answered with a solemn shake of +the head. "It grieves the hearrt of me +to hear such ingratichude. There's +niver a sowl in all Ameriky but has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +cause to be grateful for what he's done +for this counthry."</p> + +<p>"What's he ever done?" asked Bud, +skeptically. There was a twinkle in +Mrs. Mahone's eyes as she answered:</p> + +<p>"It was this way. A gude while +back whin it was at the beginnin' iv +things, Ameriky said to herself wan +day, 'It's a graand pudding Oi'll be +afther makin' meself, by a new resait +Oi've just thought iv.' So she dips +into this counthry for wan set iv immygrants, +an' into another counthry for +another batch, and after a bit a foine +mess she had iv 'em. Dutch an' Frinch +an' Eyetalian, Rooshian, Spaniards an' +haythen Chinee, all stirred up in wan +an' the same pudding-bag.</p> + +<p>"'Somethin's lackin',' siz she, afther +awhile, makin' a wry face.</p> + +<p>"'It's the spice,' siz St. Pathrick, 'ye +lift out iv it, an' the leaven. Ye'll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +have to make parsinal application to +meself for it, for Oi'm the only wan +knowin' the saicret of where it's to be +found.'</p> + +<p>"'Then give me some,' siz she, an' +St. Pathrick, not loikin' to lave a leddy +in trouble, reached out from the auld +sod and handed her a fair shprinklin' +of them as would act as both spice an' +leaven.</p> + +<p>"'They'll saison the whole lot,' siz +he, 'an' there's light-heartedness enough +among them to raise the entoire heavy +mass in your whole united pudding-bag.'</p> + +<p>"'Thanks,' siz she, stirrin' us in. +'It's the makin' of the dish, sorr, and +Oi'm etarnally obliged to ye, sorr. +Oi'll be afther puttin' the name of St. +Pathrick in me own family calendar, +and ivery year on that day, it's the pick +iv the land that'll take pride in addin'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +to me own shtars an' shtripes the +wearin' o' the green.'</p> + +<p>"Ye see, Misther Hines, ye may +think ye're under no parsinal obligation +to him, but down-hearted as ye +are by nature, what wud ye have been +had ye niver coom in conthact with +the leaven of St. Pathrick at all, sorr? +Oi ask ye that."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Late that night Bowser pushed his +ledger aside with a yawn, and got +down from his high stool to close the +store. As he counted the meagre contents +of the cash drawer, he reviewed +the day, whose minutes had been as +monotonous in passing as the falling +of the snowflakes outside. It had left +nothing behind it to distinguish it from +a hundred other days. The same old +faces! The same kind of jokes! The +same round of commonplace duties! A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +spirit of unrest seized him, that made +him chafe against such dreary monotony.</p> + +<p>When he went to the door to put +up the shutters, the beauty of the +night held him a moment, and he +stood looking across the wide fields, +lying white in moonlight and snow. +Far down the road a lamp gleamed +from the window of an upper room in +the old miller's house, where anxious +vigil had been kept beside him for +hours. The crisis was passed now. +Only a little while before, the doctor +had stopped by to say that their old +friend would live. Down the track +a gleaming switch-light marked the +place where a wreck had been narrowly +averted that morning.</p> + +<p>"And no telling how many other +misfortunes we've escaped to-day," +mused Bowser. "Maybe if a light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +could be swung out for each one, folks +would see that the dull gray days when +nothing happens are the ones to be +most thankful for, after all."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>Chapter VI</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>APRIL sunshine of mid-afternoon +poured in through the open door +of the Cross-Roads. The usual +group of loungers had gathered around +the rusty stove. There was no fire in +it; the day was too warm for that, +but force of habit made them draw +their chairs about it in a circle, as if +this common centre were the hub, +from which radiated the spokes of all +neighbourly intercourse.</div> + +<p>The little schoolmistress was under +discussion. Her short reign in District +No. 3 had furnished a topic of conversation +as inexhaustible as the weather, +for her régime was attended by startling +changes. Luckily for her, the young +ideas enjoyed being taught to shoot at +wide variance from the targets set up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +by parental practice and tradition, else +the tales told out of school might have +aroused more adverse criticism than +they did.</p> + +<p>"You can't take much stock in her +new-fangled notions," was the unanimous +opinion at the Cross-Roads. She +had "put the cart before the horse" +when she laid the time-honoured alphabet +on the shelf, and gave the primer +class a whole word at a mouthful, before +it had cut a single orthographic +tooth on such primeval syllables as +a-b ab.</p> + +<p>"Look at my Willie," exclaimed +one of the district fathers. "Beating +around the bush with talk about a picture +cow, and a real cow, and a word +cow, and not knowing whether B comes +after W or X. At his age I could say +the alphabet forwards or backwards as +fast as tongue could go without a slip."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She's done <i>one</i> sensible thing," admitted +Cy Akers. "They tell me +she's put her foot down on the scholars +playing April fool tricks this year."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why," said Henry Bicking. +"It has been one of the customs +in this district since the schoolhouse +was built. What's the harm if the +children do take one day in the year +for a little foolishness? Let them have +their fun, I say."</p> + +<p>"But they've carried it too far," was +the answer. "It's scandalous they +should be allowed to abuse people's +rights and feelings and property as +they have done the last few years. +First of April doesn't justify such cutting +up any more than the first of +August."</p> + +<p>"She's got Scripture on her side," +said Squire Dobbs. "You know Solomon +says, 'As a mad man who casteth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +firebrands, arrows, and death, so is the +man that deceiveth his neighbour and +saith, am I not in sport?'"</p> + +<p>"She can't stamp out such a deep-rooted +custom in one day," protested +Bicking.</p> + +<p>"You can bet on the little school-ma'am +every time," laughed Bowser. +"My daughter Milly says they didn't +have regular lessons yesterday afternoon. +She had them put their books in their +desks.</p> + +<p>"Said they'd been studying about +wise men all their lives, now they'd +study about fools awhile; the fools of +Proverbs and the fools of history.</p> + +<p>"She read some stories, too, about a +cruel disappointment and the troubles +brought about by some thoughtless +jokes on the first of April. Mighty +interesting stories, Milly said. You +could have heard a pin drop, and some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +of the girls cried. Then she drew a +picture on the blackboard of a court +jester, in cap and bells, and asked if +they wouldn't like a change this year. +Instead of everybody acting the fool +and doing silly things they'd all be +ashamed of if they'd only stop to think, +wouldn't they rather she'd appoint just +one scholar to play the fool for all of +them, as the old kings used to do.</p> + +<p>"They agreed to that, quick enough, +thinking what fun they'd have teasing +the one chosen to be it. Then she +said she'd appoint the first one this +morning who showed himself most +deserving of the office. Milly says +from the way she smiled when she said +it, they're all sure she means to choose +the first one who plays an April Fool +joke. She'd put it so strong to 'em +how silly it was, that there ain't a +child in school you could hire to run<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +the risk of being appointed fool for the +day. So I think she's coming out +ahead as usual."</p> + +<p>"After all," said Bud Hines, "there's +some lessons to be got out of those old +tricks we used to play. For instance, +the pocketbook tied to a string. Seems +to me that everything in life worth +having has a string tied to it, and just +as I am about to pick it up, Fate +snatches it out of my hands."</p> + +<p>"Don't you believe it, Buddy," said +Bowser, cheerfully; "you take notice +those pocketbooks on strings are always +empty ones, and they don't +belong to us, so we have no business +grabbing for them or feeling disappointed +because we can't get something +for nothing."</p> + +<p>But Bud waved aside the interruption +mechanically.</p> + +<p>"Then there's the <i>gifts</i> with strings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +tied to 'em," he continued. "My wife +has a rich aunt who is always sending her +presents, and writing, 'Understand this +is for <i>you</i>, Louisy. You're too generous, +and I don't want anybody but your +own deserving self to wear this.' Now +out in the country here, my wife +doesn't have occasion to wear handsome +clothes like them once a year, +while they'd be the very thing for +Clara May, off at Normal School. But +not a feather or a ribbon can the child +touch because her great-aunt bought +them expressly for her ma. Goodness +knows she'd have a thousand times +more pleasure in seeing Clara May +enjoy them, than knowing they were +lying away in bureau drawers doing +nobody any good. When she takes +'em out at house-cleaning times I say, +'Ma,' says I, 'deliver me from gifts +with strings tied to 'em. I'd rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +have a ten-cent bandanna, all mine, to +have and to hold or to give away as +pleased me most, than the finest things +your Aunt Honigford's money could +buy, if I had to account to her every +time I turned around in them.'</p> + +<p>"When I give anything I <i>give</i> it, +and don't expect to come back, spying +around ten years afterward to see if +it's worn out, or cracked, or faded, or +broken. That's my doctrine."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Marion Holmes, driving along the +country road in the old miller's antiquated +chaise, drew rein in front of a +low picket gate, overhung by mammoth +snowball bushes. Down the path, between +the rows of budding lilacs and +japonicas, came an old gentleman in a +quaintly cut, long-tailed coat. He was +stepping along nimbly, although he +leaned hard on his gold-headed cane.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'A man he was to all the country +dear,'" quoted Marion softly to herself +as the minister's benign face smiled +a greeting through his big square-bowed +spectacles. "I know he must +have been Goldsmith's friend, and I +wish I dared ask him how long he +lived in the Deserted Village." But +all she called out to him as he stopped +with a courtly bow, under the snowball +bushes, was a cheery good morning +and an invitation to take a seat beside +her if he wanted to drive to the Cross-Roads +store.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Miss Polly," he answered, +"that is my destination. I am +on my way there for a text."</p> + +<p>"For a what?" exclaimed Marion +in surprise, turning the wheel for him +to step in beside her.</p> + +<p>"For a text for my Easter sermon," +he explained as they drove on in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +warm April sunshine. "Ah, I see, +Miss Polly, you have not discovered the +school of philosophers that centres +around the Cross-Roads store. Well, +it's not to be wondered at; few people +do. I spent a winter in Rome, when +I was younger, and one of my favourite +walks was up on the Pincian Hill. +The band plays in the afternoons, you +know, and tourists flock to see the +queen drive by. There is a charming +view from the summit—the dome of +St. Peters against the blue Italian sky, +the old yellow Tiber crawling along +under its bridges from ruin to ruin, +and the immortal city itself, climbing +up its historic hills. And on the Pincio +one meets everybody,—soldiers and +courtiers, flower girls and friars, monks +in robes of every order, and pilgrims +from all parts of the world.</p> + +<p>"The first time I was on the hill,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +as I wandered among the shrubbery and +flowers, I noticed a row of moss-grown +pedestals set along each side of the +drive for quite a distance. Each pedestal +bore the weather-beaten bust of +some old sage or philosopher or hero.</p> + +<p>"They made no more impression +on my mind then, than so many +fence-posts, but later I found a workman +repairing the statuary one day. +He had put a new nose on the mutilated +face of an old philosopher, and +that fresh white nasal appendage, standing +out jauntily in the middle of the +ancient gray visage, was so ludicrous +I could not help smiling whenever I +passed it. I began to feel acquainted +with the old fellow, as day after day +that nose forced my attention. Sometimes, +coming upon him suddenly, the +only familiar face in a city full of +strangers, I felt that he was an old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +friend to whom I should take off my +hat. Then it became so that I rarely +passed him without recalling some of +his wise sayings that I had read at college. +Many a time he and his row of +stony-eyed companions were an inspiration +to me in that way.</p> + +<p>"It was so that I met these men at +the Cross-Roads. They scarcely claimed +my attention at first. Then one day +I heard one of them give utterance to +a time-worn truth in such an original +way that I stopped to talk to him.</p> + +<p>"Trite as it was, he had hewn it +himself out of the actual experiences +of his own life. It was the result of +his own keen observation of human +nature. Set as it was in his homely, +uncouth dialect, it impressed me with +startling force. Then I listened to his +companions, and found that they, too, +were sometimes worthy of pedestals.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +Unconsciously to themselves they have +often given me suggestions for my sermons. +Ah, it's a pity that the backwoods +has no Pincio on which to give +its philosophers to posterity!"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Half an hour later as they drove +homeward, Marion glanced at her companion. +"No text this time," she +laughed, breaking the reverie into +which the old minister had fallen. +"Your sages said nothing but 'good +morning, sir,' and there wasn't a single +suggestion of Easter in the whole store, +except the packages of egg dyes, and +some impossible little chocolate rabbits. +Oh, yes,—those two little boys playing +on the doorstep. Tommy Bowser had +evidently taken time by the forelock +and sampled his father's dyes, for he +had a whole hatful of coloured eggs, +and was teaching that little Perkins<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +boy how to play 'bust.' He was an +apt scholar, for while I watched he +won five of Tommy's eggs and never +cracked his own. You should have +seen them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I saw them," said the minister, +with a smile. "It was those same +little lads who suggested the text for +my Easter sermon."</p> + +<p>Marion gave a gasp of astonishment. +"Would you mind telling me <i>how?</i>" +she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"It came about very naturally. There +they stood with their hands full of the +Easter eggs, with never a thought of +what they symbolised—the breaking +shell—the rising of this little embryo +earth-existence to the free full-winged +life of the Resurrection. They were +too intent on their little game, on their +small winnings and losings, to have a +thought for higher things. As I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +watched them it occurred to me how +typical it was of all the children of +men, and instantly that text from Luke +flashed into my mind: '<i>Their eyes were +holden.</i>' Do you remember? It was +when the two disciples went down to +Emmaus. I often picture it," mused the +old man after a little pause. "The green +of the olive groves, the red and white +of the blossoming almond-trees, the +late afternoon sunshine, and those two +discouraged fishermen trudging along +the dusty road. They were turning +away from a lost cause and a buried +hope, too absorbed in their overwhelming +grief to see that it was the risen +Lord Himself who walked beside them. +Not till the end of their journey did +they know why it was that their hearts +had burned within them as He talked +with them by the way. Their eyes +were holden.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How typical that is, too, Miss +Polly. Sometimes we go on to the +end of life, missing the comfort and +help that we might have had at every +step, because we look up at our Lord +only through eyes of clay, and hold +communion with him as with a stranger. +Yes, I shall certainly make that the +subject of my Easter sermon, Miss +Polly. Thank you for helping me +discover it."</p> + +<p>That next Sunday as Marion sat in +church beside the old miller, her gaze +wandered from the lilies in the chancel +to the faces of the waiting congregation. +Bud Hines was there and Bowser, +Cy Akers, and even Perkins's +oldest, whose game of "bust" had +suggested the helpful sermon of the +morning. Marion studied the serious, +weather-beaten faces with new interest. +"It is not in spiritual things alone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +that our eyes are holden," she said to +herself. "I have been looking at only +the commonplace exterior of these +people. It takes a man like the old +minister to recognise unpedestalled virtues +and to set them on the Pincio they +deserve."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>Chapter VII</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THE old saying that "there are +always two sides to a story" has +worn a deep rut into the popular +mind. It has been handed down +to us so often with an air of virtuous +rebuke, that we have come to regard +the individual who insists on his two-sided +theory as the acme of all that is +broad-minded and tolerant. But in +point of fact, if two sides is all he sees, +he is only one remove from the bigot +whose mental myopia limits him to a +single narrow facet.</div> + +<p>Even such a thing as a May-day +picnic is polyhedral. The little schoolmistress, +who was the chief promoter +of the one at the Cross-Roads, would +have called it a parallelopiped, if she +had been there that morning, to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +seen the different expressions portrayed +on the faces of six people who were +interested in it.</p> + +<p>The business side of the picnic appealed +to Bowser. As he bustled +around, dusting off cases of tinned +goods that he had long doubted his +ability to dispose of, and climbed to +the top shelves for last summer's shop-worn +cans of sardines and salmon, as he +sliced cheese, and counted out the little +leathery lemons that time had shrivelled, +his smile was as bland as the May +morning itself. One could plainly see +that he regarded this picnic as a special +dispensation of Providence, to help him +work off his old stock.</p> + +<p>There were no loungers in the store. +Field and garden claimed even the +idlest, and only the old miller, who had +long ago earned his holiday, sat in the +sun on the porch outside, with his chair<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +tipped back against the wall. At intervals +a warm breath from the apple orchard, +in bloom across the road, touched +his white hair in passing, and stirred his +memory until he sat oblivious of his surroundings. +He was wholly unmindful +of the gala stir about him, save when +Polly recalled his wandering thoughts. +She, keenly alive to every sensation of +the present, stood beside him with her +hand on his shoulder, while she waited +for her picnic basket to be filled.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it an ideal May-day, grandfather?" +she exclaimed. "It gives +me a real Englishy feeling of skylarks +and cuckoos and cowslips, of primroses +and village greens. I think it is dear +of the little school-ma'am to resurrect +the old May-pole dance, and give the +children some idea of 'Merrie old +England' other than the dates and +dust of its ancient history." Unconsciously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +beating time with light fingertips +on the old man's shoulder, she +began to hum half under her breath:</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'And then my heart with rapture thrills,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And dances with the daffodills-o-dills—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And dances with the daffodils!'"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>Suddenly she broke off with a girlish +giggle of enjoyment. "Listen, +grandfather. There's little Cora Bowser +up-stairs, rehearsing her speech +while she dresses. Isn't it delicious to +be behind the scenes!"</div> + +<p>Through an open bedroom window, +a high-pitched, affected little voice +came shrilly down to them: "'If you're +<i>wa</i>-king, call me <i>early!</i> Call me <i>early</i>, +mother dear!'"</p> + +<p>"Now, Cora," interrupted the maternal +critic, "you went and forgot +to make your bow; and how many +times have I told you about turning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +your toes out? You'll have to begin +all over again." Then followed several +beginnings, each brought to a stop +by other impatient criticisms. There +were so many pauses in the rehearsal +and reminders to pay attention to +manners, commas, and refractory ribbons, +that when Cora was finally +allowed to proceed, it was in a tearful +voice punctuated with sobs, that she +declared, "'To-morrow will be the +ha-happiest day of all the g-glad new +year.'"</p> + +<p>"'Uneasy lies the head that wears +the crown,'" quoted the old miller +with a smile, as Mrs. Bowser's parting +injunction reached their ears.</p> + +<p>"Now, Cora, for goodness' sake, +don't you forget for one minute this +whole enduring day, that them daisies +on your crown came off your teacher's +best hat, and have to be put back on.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +If you move around much to the picnic +you might lose some of 'em. Best +keep pretty quiet anyway, or your sash +will come unpinned, and the crimp +will all get out of your hair. Wish I'd +thought to iron them plaits before I +unbraided 'em. They'd have been +lots frizzier."</p> + +<p>It was a very stiffly starched, precise +little Queen o' the May who came +down the steep back stairs into the +store. She stepped like a careful peacock, +fearing to ruffle a feather of her +unrivalled splendour. Her straight +flaxen hair, usually as limp as a string, +stood out in much crimped profusion +from under her gilt paper crown. +Polly could not decide whether the +pucker on the little forehead came +from anxiety concerning the borrowed +daisies which starred her crown, +or the fact that it was too tightly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +skewered to the royal head by a relentless +hat-pin.</p> + +<p>One of the picnic wagons was waiting +at the door, and as Bowser lifted +her in among her envious and admiring +schoolmates, Polly saw with sympathetic +insight which of its many +sides the picnic parallelopiped was +presenting to the child in that proud +moment. The feeling of supreme importance +that it bestowed is a joy not +permitted to all, and rarely does it +come to any mortal more than once +in a lifetime.</p> + +<p>But for every Haman, no matter +how resplendent, sits an unmoved Mordecai +in the king's gate. So to this +little Sheba of the Cross-Roads there +was one who bowed not down. Perkins's +oldest, on the front seat beside +the driver, had no eyes for her. He +scarcely looked in her direction. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +glances were all centred on the baskets +which Bowser was packing in +around his feet. He smelled pickles +and pies and ham sandwiches. He +knew of sundry tarts and dressed eggs +in his own basket, and wild rumours +had reached his ears that Miss Polly +intended to stand treat to the extent +of Bowser's entire stock of bananas and +candy. Aside from hopes of a surreptitious +swim in the creek and a wild +day in the woods, his ideas of a picnic +were purely prandial.</p> + +<p>Across the road, Miss Anastasia Dill, +peeping through the blinds, watched the +wagon rattle off with its merry load. +Long after the laughing voices had +passed beyond her hearing, she still stood +there, one slender hand holding back the +curtain, and the other shading her faded +blue eyes, as she gazed absently after +them. It was the sunshine of another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +May-day she was looking into. +Presently with a little start she realised +that she was not out in the cool green +woods with a May-basket in her hands, +brimming over with anemones. She +was all alone in her stuffy little parlour, +with its hair-cloth furniture and depressing +crayon portraits. And the +canary was chirping loudly for water, +and the breakfast cups were still unwashed. +But for once, heedless of her +duties, even unmindful of the fact that +she had left the shutters open, and the +hot sun was streaming across her cherished +store carpet, she drew a chair up +to the marble-topped centre table, and +deliberately sat down. There was a +pile of old-fashioned daguerreotypes in +front of her. She opened them one +by one, and then took up another that +lay by itself on a blue beaded mat. +So the face it dimly pictured held a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +sacred place, apart, in her memory. +When her eyes had grown misty with +long gazing, she lifted a book from its +place beside the family Bible. It was +bound in red leather, and it had a +quaint wreath of embossed roses around +the gilt letters of its title, "The Album +of the Heart." It was an autograph +album, and as she slowly turned the +pages she remembered that every hand +that had traced a sentiment or a signature +therein had once upon a time +gathered anemones with her in some +one of those other May-days.</p> + +<p>Then she turned through the pages +again. Of all that circle of early +friends not one was left to give her a +hand-clasp. She had friends in plenty, +but the old ones—the early ones—the +roots of whose growth had twined +with hers in the intimacy known only +to childhood, were all gone. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +May-day picnic brought only a throb +of pain to gentle Miss Anastasia, for +to her it was but the lonely echo of +a "voice that was still."</p> + +<p>Bud Hines watched the wagon drive +away with far different emotions. +He had happened to come into the +store for a new hoe, as the gay party +started. "It's all foolishness," he +grumbled to the miller, "to lose a +whole day's schooling while they go +gallivanting around the country for +nothing. They'll ride ten miles to +find a place to eat their dinner in, and +pass by twenty on the way nicer than +the one they finally pick out. They'd +better be doing sums in school, or +grubbing weeds out of the garden, instead +of playing 'frog in the meadow' +around a fool British May-pole."</p> + +<p>He looked around inquiringly as if +he expected his practical listener to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +agree with him. But all the sympathy +he got from the old miller was one of +the innumerable proverbs he seemed +to keep continually on tap. "'All +work and no play makes Jack a dull +boy,' Bud. Life is apt to be little but +sums and grubbing for the youngsters +by and by, so let them make the most +of their May-days now."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The sequels of picnics are also polyhedral. +Miss Anastasia, lingering at +her front gate in the early twilight, +that she might enjoy to the last moment +the orchard odours that filled +all the balcony outdoors, heard the +rattle of returning wheels. She had +had a pleasant day, despite the tearful +retrospection of the morning, for she +had attended the great social function +of the neighbourhood, the monthly +missionary tea. It had brought immeasurable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +cheer, and now she was +returning with a comfortable conviction +that she was to be envied far above +any of her neighbours. The consciousness +of having on her best gown, of +being the mistress of the trim little +home to which she was going, of freedom +from a hundred harassing cares +that she had heard discussed that afternoon, +all combined to make her supremely +contented with her lot.</p> + +<p>"Poor children," she sighed, as the +tired, dirty little picnickers were lifted +from the wagon across the road. +"They look as if the game hadn't been +worth the candle. I'm glad that I've +outgrown such things."</p> + +<p>Perkins's oldest, having soaked long +in the cold creek, and sampled every +dinner-basket with reckless abandon +till he could sample no more, sat +doubled up in the straw of the wagon-bed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +He was white about the mouth, +and had he been called upon to debate +the time-worn question, "Resolved, +that there is more pleasure in pursuit +than in possession," the tarts and sandwiches +of that day's picnic would have +furnished several dozen indisputable +arguments for the affirmative.</p> + +<p>The dishevelled little queen sat beside +him, tired out by her day's wild +frolic, with starch and frizzes all gone.</p> + +<p>As she was lifted over the wheel, and +put down on the doorstep, a limp little +bunch of woe, Miss Anastasia heard +her bewailing her fate. She had lost +the stars from her crown, the borrowed +daisies that must be reckoned for on +the morrow. The amused listener +smiled to herself under cover of the +twilight, as she heard Bowser's awkward +attempts at consolation, for all +the comfort that he could muster was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +an old saw learned from the miller: +"Never mind, Cora, pa's mighty sorry +for his little girl. But you know:</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'When a man buys meat he buys bone,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And when he buys land he buys stone.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">You must take the bad with the good.'"</span><br /> +</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>Chapter VIII</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THERE is something in the air +of June that stirs even insentient +things with a longing to +blossom. Staid old universities blaze +out with the gala colours of commencement +week, when the month of roses +is ushered in, and on every college +campus the social life of the student +year comes to flower in the crowning +exercises of class-day.</div> + +<p>One wonders sometimes if the roots, +burrowing underground in order to +fill the bush overhead with myriads +of roses, have any share in the thrill of +success at having produced such a +wealth of sweetness and beauty. But +there need be no surmise about college +florescence. Faculties may beam with +complacency on their yearly cluster of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +full-blown graduates, the very walls +of the gray old universities may thrill +as they echo the applause of admiring +audiences, but the greatest pride is not +felt within the college town itself +where the student life centres. It is +back in the roots that have made college +life possible. Back in some parental +existence that daily sinks itself +farther into the commonplace in order +that some son or daughter may blossom +into the culture of arts and belles-lettres. +The Jacqueminot that flaunts +its glory over the garden wall may not +sweeten life for the fibres that lift it, +but the valedictorian who flaunts his +diploma and degree in the classic halls +of some sea-board college may be +glorifying the air of some little backwoods +village a thousand miles inland. +Even the Cross-Roads are bound with +a network of such far-reaching roots<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +to the commencements of Harvard and +Yale.</p> + +<p>It was Cy Akers's boy who came +home this June, a little lifted up, perhaps, +by the honours he had won; +thoroughly impressed with the magnitude +of his own knowledge and the +meagreness of other peoples', but honestly +glad at first to get back to the +old home and neighbours.</p> + +<p>The family pride in him was colossal. +Old Cy encouraged his visits to +the Cross-Roads store, inventing excuses +for going which he considered the +acme of subtle diplomacy. But his +motives were as transparent as a child's. +Illiterate himself, he wanted his neighbours +to see what college had done for +his boy in the way of raising him head +and shoulders above them all. And +the boy was good-naturedly compliant. +He was as willing to show off mentally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +as he had been to lend a hand in +the wheat harvest, and demonstrate +what football training had done for +him in the way of developing muscle.</p> + +<p>Like Perkins's oldest, his education +had begun with the primer of the +Cross-Roads. He could remember the +time when he, too, had ignorantly +believed this to be the only store in +the universe, and wondered if there +were enough people living to consume +all its contents. Now he smiled to +himself when he looked around the +stuffy little room and saw the same old +butter firkins crowding the—apparently—same +old calico and crockery, +and looked up at the half-dozen hams +still swinging sociably from the low +rafters.</p> + +<p>Time had been, too, when he thought +the men who gossiped around its rusty +stove on Saturday afternoons knew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +everything. Like Perkins's oldest, he +had unquestioningly formulated the +creed of his boyhood from their conversations, +and he smiled again when +he recalled how he had been warped +in those early days by their prejudices +and short-sighted opinions.</p> + +<p>The smile extended outwardly when +he walked into their midst to find +them repeating the same old saws about +the weather, and the way the country +was going to the dogs. Yet in his +salad days these time-honoured prognostications +had seemed to him the +wisdom of seers and sages.</p> + +<p>Probably it was the thought that he +had travelled far beyond the narrow +confines of the Cross-Roads that gave +his conversation a patronising tone. +But the Cross-Roads refused to be +patronised. He learned that on the +day of his arrival. It was the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +lesson of a valuable post-graduate course. +That a man away from home may +be Mister Robert Harrison Hamilton +Akers, with all the A. B.'s and LL. D.'s +after his name that an educational institution +can bestow; but as soon as he sets +foot again on his native heath, where +he has gone through the vicissitudes of +boyhood, he is shorn of titles and degrees +as completely as Samson was +shorn of his locks, and his strength +straightway falls from him. He is +nobody but Bobby Akers, and everybody +remembers when he robbed birds' +nests, and stole grapes, and played +hooky, and was a little freckle-faced, +snub-nosed neighbourhood terror. A +man cannot maintain his importance +long in the face of such reminiscences. +No amount of university culture is +going to lay the ghost of youthful indiscretions, +and he might as well put<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +his patronising proclivities in his +pocket. They will not be tolerated +by those who have patted him on the +head when he wore roundabouts.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>It was Saturday afternoon, but it was +also the and of the wheat-harvest, and +the men were afield who usually gathered +on the Cross-Roads porch to +round up the week over their pipes +and plugs of chewing tobacco. Only +three chairs were tilted back against +the wall, and on these, with their heels +caught over the front rungs, sat Bowser, +the old miller, and Robert Akers.</p> + +<p>The whirr of reaping machines came +faintly up from the fields and near by, +where several acres of waving yellow +grain still stood uncut, a bob-white +whistled cheerily. No one was talking. +"Knee-deep in June" would have +voiced the thoughts of the trio, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +they were "Jes' a sort o' lazein' there," +with their hats pulled over their eyes, +enjoying to the utmost the perfect +afternoon. Every breeze was redolent +with red clover and wild honeysuckle, +and vibrant with soothing country +sounds.</p> + +<p>"Who is that coming up the road?" +asked the miller, as a team and wagon +appeared over the brow of the hill.</p> + +<p>"They wabble along like Duncan +Smith's horses," answered the storekeeper, +squinting his eyes for a better +view. "Yes, that's who it is. That's +Dunk on the top of the load. Moving +again, bless Pete!"</p> + +<p>As the wagon creaked slowly nearer, +a feather bed came into view, surmounting +a motley collection of household +goods, and perched upon it, high +above the jangle of her jolting tins and +crockery, sat Mrs. Duncan Smith. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +clock and a looking-glass lay in her +lap, and, like a wise virgin, in her +hands she carefully bore the family +lamp. From frequent and anxious +turnings of her black sunbonnet, it was +evident that she was keeping her +weather eye upon the chicken-coop, +which was bound to the tail-board of +the wagon by an ancient clothes-line.</p> + +<p>A flop-eared dog trotted along under +the wagon. Squeezed in between a +bureau and the feather bed, two shock-headed +children sat on a flour barrel, +clutching each other at every lurch of +the crowded van to keep from losing +their balance.</p> + +<p>"Howdy, Dunk!" called the storekeeper, +as the dusty pilgrims halted in +front of the porch. "Where are you +bound now?"</p> + +<p>"Over to the old Neal place," answered +the man, handing the reins to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +his wife, and climbing stiffly down +over the wheel. Going around to the +back of the wagon, he unstrapped a +kerosene can which swung from the +pole underneath.</p> + +<p>"Gimme a gallon of coal-ile, Jim," +he said. "I don't want to be left in +the dark the first night, anyway. It +takes awhile to git your bearings in a +strange place, and it's mighty confusing +to butt agin a half-open door where +you've always been used to a plain +wall, and it hurts like fire to bark your +shins on a rocking-chair when you're +steering straight for bed, and hain't no +idee it's in the road. This time it'll +be a little more so than usual," he +added, handing over the can. "The +house backs up agin a graveyard, you +know. Sort o' spooky till you git +used to it."</p> + +<p>"What on earth did you move there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +for?" asked Bowser. "They say the +place is ha'nted."</p> + +<p>"To my mind the dead make better +neighbours than the living," came the +tart reply from the depths of the black +sunbonnet. "At any rate, they mind +their own business."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come now, Mrs. Smith," began +Bowser, good-naturedly. "Maybe +you've been unfortunate in your choice +of neighbours."</p> + +<p>"I've had a dozen different kinds," +came the emphatic answer. "This'll +make the twelfth move in eight years, +so you can't say that I'm speaking from +hearsay."</p> + +<p>"Twelve moves in eight years!" exclaimed +Bowser, as the wagon went +lurching and creaking on through the +dust. "There's gipsy blood in that +Dunk Smith, sure as you live. Seems +like that family can't be satisfied anywhere;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +always thinking they can better +themselves by changing, and always +getting out of the frying-pan into the +fire. There wa'n't no well in the place +where they settled when they was first +married, and they had to carry water +from a spring. The muscle put into +packing that water up-hill those six +months would have dug a cistern, but +they were too short-sighted to see that. +They jest played Jack and Jill as long +as they could stand it, and then moved +to a place where there was a cistern +already dug. But there wa'n't any fruit +on that place. If they'd have set out +trees right away they'd have been eating +from orchards of their own planting +by this time. But they thought it +was easier to move to where one was +already set out.</p> + +<p>"Then when they got to a place +where they had both fruit and water,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +it was low, and needed draining. The +water settled around the house, and +they all had typhoid that summer. Oh, +they've spent enough energy packing +up and moving on and settling down +again in new places to have fixed the +first one up to a queen's taste. They +seem to be running a perpetual Home-seeker's +Excursion. Well, such a life +might suit some people, but it would +never do for me."</p> + +<p>"But such a life has some things in +its favour," put in Rob Akers, always +ready to debate any question that offered, +for the mere pleasure of arguing. "It +keeps a man from getting into a rut, +and develops his ability to adapt himself +to any circumstance. A man who +hangs his hat on the same peg for fifty +or sixty years gets to be so dependent on +that peg that he would be uncomfortable +if it were suddenly denied him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +Now Dunk Smith can never become +such a slave to habit. Then, too, +moving tends to leave a man more unhampered. +He gradually gets rid of +everything in his possessions but the +essentials. He hasn't a garret full of +old claptraps, as most people have +who never move from under their ancestral +roof-trees. You saw for yourself, +one wagon holds all his household +goods and gods.</p> + +<p>"It is the same way with a man +mentally. If he stays in the spot where +his forefathers lived, in the same social +conditions, he is apt to let his upper +story accumulate a lot of worn-out +theories that he has no earthly use for; +all their old dusty dogmas and cob-webbed +beliefs. He will hang on to +them as on to the old furniture, because +he happened to inherit them. If +he would move once in awhile, keep<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +up with the times, you know, he'd get +rid of a lot of rubbish. It is especially +true in regard to his religion. All +those old superstitions, for instance, +about Jonah and the whale, and Noah's +ark and the like.</p> + +<p>"He hangs on to them, not because +he cares for them himself, but because +they were his father's beliefs, and he +doesn't like to throw out anything the +old man had a sentiment for. Now, +as I say, if he'd move once in awhile—do +some scientific thinking and investigating +on his own account—he'd +throw out over half of what he holds +on to now. He'd cut the most of +Genesis out of his Bible, and let Job +slide as a myth. One of the finest bits +of literature, to be sure, that can be +found anywhere, but undoubtedly fiction. +The sooner a man moves on +untrammelled, I say, by those old heirlooms<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +of opinion, the better progress +he will make."</p> + +<p>"Toward what?" asked the old +miller, laconically. "Dunk's moving +next door to the graveyard." There +was a twinkle in his eye, and the young +collegian, who flattered himself that +his speech was making a profound impression, +paused with the embarrassing +consciousness that he was affording +amusement instead.</p> + +<p>"The last time I went East to visit +my grandson," said the old man, meditatively, +"his wife showed me a mahogany +table in her dining-room which +she said was making all her friends +break the tenth commandment. It +was a handsome piece of furniture, +worth a small fortune. It was polished +till you could see your face in it, and +I thought it was the newest thing out +in tables till she told me she'd rummaged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +it out of her great-grandmother's +attic, and had it 'done over' as she +called it. It had been hidden away in +the dust and cobwebs for a lifetime +because it had been pronounced too +time-worn and battered and scratched +for longer use; yet there it stood, just as +beautiful and useful for this generation +to spread its feasts on as it was the day it +was made. Every whit as substantial, +and aside from any question of sentiment, +a thousand times more valuable +than the one that Dunk Smith drove +past with just now. His table is modern, +to be sure, but it's of cheap pine, +too rickety to serve even Dunk through +his one short lifetime of movings.</p> + +<p>"I heard several lectures while I +was there, too. One was by a man +who has made a name for himself on +both sides of the water as a scientist +and a liberal thinker. He took up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +Genesis, all scratched and battered as it +is by critics, and showed us how it had +been misunderstood and misconstrued. +And by the time he'd polished up the +meaning here and there, so that we +could see the original grain of the +wood, what it was first intended to +be, it seemed like a new book, and +fitted in with all the modern scientific +ideas as if it had been made only yesterday.</p> + +<p>"There it stood, like the mahogany +table that had been restored after people +thought they had stowed it away +in the attic to stay. Just as firm on +its legs, and as substantial for this generation +to put its faith on, as it was in +the days of the Judges.</p> + +<p>"Take an old man's word for it, +Robert, who has lived a long time and +seen many a restless Dunk Smith fling +out his father's old heirlooms, in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +fever to move on to something new. +Solid mahogany, with all its dust and +scratches, is better than the modern +flimsy stuff, either in faith or furniture, +that he is apt to pick up in its stead."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>Chapter IX</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THE booming of distant cannon +had been sounding at intervals +since midnight, ushering in +the Fourth, but Bowser, although disturbed +in his slumbers by each reverberation, +did not rouse himself to any +personal demonstration until dawn. +Then his patriotism manifested itself +in a noisy tattoo with a hammer, as he +made the front of his store gay with +bunting, and nailed the word <i>Welcome</i> +over the door, in gigantic letters of red, +white, and blue.</div> + +<p>When he was done, each window +wore a bristling eyebrow of stiff little +flags, that gave the store an air of +mild surprise. The effect was wholly +unintentional on Bowser's part, and, +unconscious of the likeness to human<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +eyes he had given his windows, he +gazed at his work with deep satisfaction.</p> + +<p>But the expression was an appropriate +one, considering all the astonishing +sights the old store was to look +upon that day. In the woodland across +the railroad track, just beyond Miss +Anastasia Dill's little cottage, preparations +were already begun for a grand +barbecue. Even before Bowser had +finished tacking up his flags, the digging +of the trench had begun across the way, +and the erection of a platform for the +speakers. In one corner of the woodland +a primitive merry-go-round had +already been set in place, and the first +passenger train from the city deposited +an enterprising hoky-poky man, a peanut +and pop-corn vender, and a lank +black-bearded man with an outfit for +taking tin-types.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> + +<p>By ten o'clock the wood-lot fence +was a hitching-place for all varieties of +vehicles, from narrow sulkies to cavernous +old carryalls. A haze of thick +yellow dust, extending along the pike +as far as one could see, was a constant +accompaniment of fresh arrivals. Each +newcomer emerged from it, his Sunday +hat and coat powdered as thickly as the +wayside weeds. Smart side-bar buggies +dashed up, their shining new tops +completely covered with it. There +was a great shaking of skirts as the +girls alighted, and a great flapping of +highly perfumed handkerchiefs, as the +young country beaux made themselves +presentable, before joining the other +picnickers.</p> + +<p>Slow-going farm wagons rattled +along, the occupants of their jolting +chairs often representing several generations, +for the drawing power of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +Fourth of July barbecue reaches from +the cradle to the grave.</p> + +<p>The unusual sight of such a crowd, +scattered through the grove in gala +attire, was enough of itself to produce +a holiday thrill, and added to this was +the smell of gunpowder from occasional +outbursts of firecrackers, the +chant of the hoky-poky man, and the +hysterical laughter of the couples patronising +the merry-go-round, as they +clung giddily to the necks of the +wooden ostriches and camels in the first +delights of its dizzy whirl.</p> + +<p>"Good as a circus, isn't it?" exclaimed +Robert Akers, pausing beside +the bench where the old miller and +the minister sat watching the gay +scene. "I'm having my fun walking +around and taking notes. It is amusing +to see how differently the affair +impresses people, and what seems to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +make each fellow happiest. Little +Tommy Bowser, for instance, is in the +seventh heaven following the hoky-poky +man. He gets all that people +leave in their dishes for helping to +drum up a crowd of patrons. Perkins's +boy sticks by the merry-go-round. He +has spent every cent of his own money, +and had so many treats that he's spun +around till he's so dizzy he's cross-eyed. +One old fellow I saw back there is +simply sitting on the fence grinning at +everything that goes by. He's getting +his enjoyment in job lots."</p> + +<p>"Sit down," said the minister, sociably +moving along the bench to +make room beside him for the young +man. "Mr. Holmes and I are finding +our amusement in the same way, only +we are not going around in search of +it. We are catching at it as it drifts +by."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What has happened to Mrs. Teddy +Mahone?" exclaimed Rob, as a red-faced +woman with an important self-conscious +air hurried by. "She seems +ubiquitous this morning, and as proud +as a peacock over something. One +would think she were the mistress of +ceremonies from her manner."</p> + +<p>"Or hostess, rather," said the miller. +"She met me down by the fence on +my arrival, and held out her hand as +graciously as if she were a duchess in +her own drawing-room, and I an invited +guest.</p> + +<p>"'Gude marnin' to yez, Mr. Holmes,' +she said. 'I hope ye'll be afther enjyin' +yerself the day. If anything intherferes +wid yer comfort ye've but to +shpake to Mahone about it. He's been +appinted <i>constable</i> for the occasion, ye +understhand. If I do say it as oughtn't, +he can carry the title wid the best av<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +'im; him six fut two in his stockin's, +an' the shtar shinin' on his wes'cut loike +he'd been barn to the job.'</p> + +<p>"Then she turned to greet some +strangers from Morristown, and I heard +her introducing herself as Mrs. <i>Constable</i> +Mahone, and repeating the same +instructions she had given me, to report +to her husband, in case everything was +not to their liking."</p> + +<p>Both listeners laughed at the miller's +imitation of her brogue, and the minister +quoted, with an amused smile:</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'For never title yet so mean could prove,<br /> +But there was eke a mind, which did that title love.'<br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>It is a pity we cannot dress more of +them in 'a little brief authority.' It +seems to be a means of grace to a certain +class of Hibernians. It has Americanised +the Mahones, for instance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +You'll find no patriots on the ground +to-day more enthusiastic than Mr. and +Mrs. Constable Mahone. Fourth of +July will be an honoured feast-day +henceforth in their calendar. It is +often surprising how quickly a policeman's +buttons and billy will make a +good citizen out of the wildest bog-trotter +that ever brandished a shillalah."</div> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Later, in subsequent wanderings +around the grounds, the young collegian +spied the little schoolmistress helping +to keep guard over the cake-table. +He immediately crossed over and joined +her. She was looking unusually pretty, +and there was an amused gleam in her +eyes as she watched the crowds, which +made him feel that she was viewing the +scene from his standpoint; that he +had found a kindred spirit.</p> + +<p>"What incentive to patriotism do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +you see in all this, Miss Helen?" he +asked, when he had induced her to +turn over her guardianship of the cake-table +to some one else, and join him in +his tour among the boisterous picnickers.</p> + +<p>"None at all—yet," she answered. +"I suppose that will come by and by +with the songs and speeches. But +all this foolishness seems a legitimate +part of the celebration to me. You +remember Lowell says, 'If I put on +the cap and bells, and made myself +one of the court fools of King Demos, +it was less to make his Majesty laugh +than to win a passage to his royal ears +for certain serious things which I had +deeply at heart.' It takes a barbecue +and its attendant attractions to draw a +crowd like this. See what a hotch-potch +it is of all nationalities. Now +that Schneidmacher family never would +have driven ten miles in this heat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +and dust simply to hear the band +play 'Hail, Columbia,' and Judge +Jackson make one of his spread-eagle +speeches on the Duty of the American +Citizen. Neither would the O'Gradys +or any of the others who represent the +foreign element in the neighbourhood. +Even Young America himself, the type +we see here, is more willing to come +and bring his best girl on account of +the diversions offered."</p> + +<p>"Well, that may be so," was the +reluctant assent, "but if this is a sample +of the Fourth of July observances all +over the country I can't help feeling +sorry for Uncle Sam. Patriotism has +sadly degenerated from the pace that +Patrick Henry set for it."</p> + +<p>"The old miller says not," answered +the little schoolmistress. "I made that +same complaint last Washington's Birthday, +when I was trying to work my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +school up to proper enthusiasm for the +occasion. He recalled the drouth of +the summer before when nearly every +well and creek and pond in the township +went dry. Cattle died of thirst, +gardens dried up like brick-kilns, and +people around here were almost justified +in thinking that the universe would +soon be entirely devoid of water. The +skies were like brass, and there was no +indication of rain for weeks. But one +day there was a terrific earthquake +shock. It started all the old springs, +and opened new ones all over this part +of the country, and the water gushed +out of the earth where it had been +pent up all the time, only waiting for +some such touch to call it forth. 'And +you're afraid that patriotism is going +dry in this generation,' he said to me. +'But it only takes some shock like the +sinking of the <i>Maine</i>, or some sudden<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +menace to the public safety, to start a +spring that will gush from Plymouth +Rock to the Golden Gate. There is a +deep underground vein in the American +heart that no drouth can ever dry. +Maybe it does not come to the surface +often, but it can always be depended +on in time of need.'"</p> + +<p>The speakers for the day began to +arrive, and Rob, seeing the crowds +gravitating toward the grand stand, +took the little schoolmistress to the +bench where the miller had stationed +himself.</p> + +<p>"Watch that old Scotchman just in +front of us," whispered the girl, "Mr. +Sandy McPherson. Last Thanksgiving +there was a union service in the schoolhouse. +After the sermon 'America' was +sung, and that old heathen stood up +and roared out through it all, at the +top of his voice, every word of 'God<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +Save the Queen!' Wasn't that flaunting +the thistle in our faces with a vengeance? +I am sure that he will repeat +the performance to-day. Think of the +dogged persistence that refuses to succumb +to the fact that we have thrown +off the British yoke! The very day we +are celebrating that event, he'll dare to +mix up our national hymn with 'God +Save the King.'"</p> + +<p>It was as she had predicted. As the +band started with a great clash of +brazen instruments, and the whole +company rose to the notes of "America," +Sandy McPherson's big voice, with +its broad Scotch burr, rolled out like +a bass drum:</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'Thy choicest gifts in store,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">On <i>him</i> be pleased to pour.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Long may <i>he</i> reign.'"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>It drowned out every voice around +him. "He ought to be choked," exclaimed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +Rob, in righteous indignation, +as they resumed their seats. "To-day +of all days! The old Tory has been +living in this country for forty-five +years, and a good living he's gotten out +of it, too, for himself and family. Nobody +cares what he sings on his own +premises, but he might have the +decency to keep his mouth shut on +occasions of this kind, if he can't join +with us."</p> + +<p>There was a gleam of laughter in +the little schoolmistress's eyes as she +replied: "If the truth were known I +have no doubt but that this Fourth of +July celebration is very like the pie +in Mother Goose's song of sixpence, +when her four and twenty blackbirds +were baked in a pie. If this pie could +be opened, and the birds begin to sing +according to their sentiments, there +would be a wonderful diversity of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +tunes. One would be twittering the +'Marseillaise,' and another 'Die Wacht +am Rhein,' and another echoing old +Sandy's tune. America was in too big +a hurry to serve her national pie, I am +afraid. Consequently she put it in +half prepared, and turned it out half +baked. The blackbirds should have +had their voices tuned to the same key +before they were allowed to become +vital ingredients of such an important +dish."</p> + +<p>"In other words," laughed Rob, +"you'd reconstruct the enfranchisement +laws. Make the term of probationary +citizenship so long that the +blackbird would have time to change +his vocal chords, or even the leopard +his anarchistic spots, before he would +be considered fit to be incorporated in +the national dish. By the way, Miss +Helen, have you heard Mrs. Mahone's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +allegory of the United Pudding bag? +You and she ought to collaborate. +Get the storekeeper to repeat it to you +sometime."</p> + +<p>"You needn't laugh," responded the +little schoolmistress, a trifle tartly. +"You know yourself that scores of +emigrants are given the ballot before +they can distinguish 'Yankee Doodle' +from 'Dixie,' and that is only typical +of their ignorance in all matters regarding +governmental affairs. Too many +people's idea of good citizenship is like +the man's 'who kept his private pan +just where 'twould catch most public +drippings.' There is another mistaken +idea loose in the land," she continued, +after a moment. "That is, that a +great hero must be a man who has a +reputation as a great soldier. I wish +I had the rewriting of all the school +histories. They are better now than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +when I studied them, but there is still +vast room for improvement. I had to +learn page after page of wars. Really, +war and history were synonyms then +as it was taught in the schools. Every +chapter was gory, and we were required +to memorise the numbers killed, +wounded, and captured in every battle, +from the French and Indian massacres, +down to the last cannon-shot of the +sixties. That is all right for government +records and reference libraries, +but when we give a text-book to the +rising generation, the accounts of battles +and the glorifying thereof would +be better relegated to the foot-notes. +It is loyal statesmanship that ought +to be exalted in our school histories. +We ought to make our heroes out of +the legislators who cannot be bribed +and public men who cannot be bought, +and the honest private citizen who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +<i>lives</i> for his country instead of dying +for it."</p> + +<p>The old miller beside her applauded +softly, leaning over to say, as the overture +by the band came to a close with +a grand clash, "If ever the blackbirds +are tuned to one key, Miss Helen, +America will know whom to thank. +Not the legislators, but the patriotic +little schoolma'ams all over their land +who are serving their country in a +way her greatest generals cannot do."</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>All day the Cross-Roads store raised +its bristling eyebrows of little flags, till +the celebration came to a close. Savoury +whiffs of the barbecued meats +floated across to it, vigorous hand-clapping +and hearty cheers rang out to it +between the impassioned words of excited +orators. Later there were the +fireworks, and more rag-time music by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +the band, and renewed callings of the +hoky-poky man. But before the moon +came up there was a great backing of +teams and scraping of turning wheels, +and a gathering together of picnic-baskets +and stray children.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's over for another year," +said Bowser, welcoming the old miller, +who had crossed the road and taken a +chair on the porch to wait until the +crowds were out of the way.</p> + +<p>"Those were fine speeches we had +this afternoon, but seemed to me as if +they were plumb wasted on the majority +of that crowd. They applauded +them while they were going off, same +as they did the rockets, but they forget +in the next breath." As Bowser spoke, +a rocket whizzed up through the tree +tops, and the old miller, looking up to +watch the shining trail fade out, saw +that the sky was full of stars.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's the good of those speeches, +Bowser," he said. "'<i>To leave a wake, +men's hearts and faces skyward turning.</i>' +I hadn't noticed that the stars were out +till that rocket made me look up. The +speeches may be forgotten, but they +will leave a memory in their wake that +give men an uplook anyhow."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>Chapter X</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>"GUESS who's come to board at +the Widder Powers's for the +month of August?" It was +Bowser who asked the question, and +who immediately answered it himself, +as every man on the porch looked up +expectantly.</div> + +<p>"Nobody more nor less than a <i>multimillionaire!</i> +The big boot and shoe +man, William A. Maxwell. Mrs. +Powers bought a bill of goods this +morning as long as your arm. It's a +windfall for <i>her</i>. He offered to pay +regular summer-resort-hotel prices, because +she's living on the old farm where +he was born and raised, and he fancied +getting back to it for a spell."</p> + +<p>"Family coming with him?" queried +Cy Akers, after a moment's meditation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +over the surprising fact that a millionaire +with the world before him should +elect such a place as the Cross-Roads +in which to spend his vacation.</p> + +<p>"No, you can bet your bottom +dollar they're not. And they're all +abroad this summer or <i>he'd</i> never got +here. They'd had him dragged off to +some fashionable watering-place with +them. But when the cat's away the +mice'll play, you know. Mrs. Powers +says it is his first visit here since his +mother's funeral twenty years ago, and +he seems as tickled as a boy to get +back.</p> + +<p>"Yesterday evening he followed the +man all around the place while she was +getting supper. She left him setting +up in the parlour, but when she went +in to ask him out to the table, he was +nowhere to be seen. Pretty soon he +came walking around the corner of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +house with a pail of milk in each hand, +sloshing it all over his store clothes. +He'd done the milking himself, and +seemed mightily set up over it."</p> + +<p>"Lawzee! Billy Maxwell! Don't +I remember him?" exclaimed Bud +Hines. "Seems like 'twas only yesterday +we used to sit on the same bench +at school doin' our sums out of the +same old book. The year old man +Prosser taught, we got into so much +devilment that it got to be a regular +thing for him to say, regular as clock-work, +almost, 'I'll whip Bud Hines +and Billy Maxwell after the first arithmetic +class this morning.' I don't +s'pose he ever thinks of those old times +since he's got to be one of the Four +Hundred. Somehow I can hardly +sense it, his bein' so rich. He never +seemed any smarter than the rest of us. +That's the way of the world, though,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +seesaw, one up and the other down. +Of course it's my luck to be the one +that's down. Luck always was against +me."</p> + +<p>"There he is now," exclaimed the +storekeeper, and every head turned to +see the stranger stepping briskly along +the platform in front of the depot, on +his way to the telegraph office.</p> + +<p>He had the alertness of glance and +motion that comes from daily contact +with city corners. If there was a slight +stoop in his broad shoulders, and if his +closely cut hair and beard were iron +gray, that seemed more the result of +bearing heavy responsibilities than the +token of advancing years. His immaculate +linen, polished low-cut shoes, and +light gray business suit would have +passed unnoticed in the metropolis, but +in this place, where coats and collars +were in evidence only on Sunday, they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +gave him the appearance of being on +dress parade.</p> + +<p>Perkins's oldest eyed him as he +would a zebra or a giraffe, or some +equally interesting curiosity escaped +from a Zoo. He had heard that his +pockets were lined with gold, and that +he had been known to pay as much as +five dollars for a single lunch. Five +dollars would board a man two weeks +at the Cross-Roads.</p> + +<p>With his mouth agape, the boy +stood watching the stranger, who presently +came over to the group on the +porch with smiling face and cordial +outstretched hand. Despite his gray +hair there was something almost boyish +in the eagerness with which he +recognised old faces and claimed old +friendships. Bowser's store had been +built since his departure from the +neighbourhood, so few of the congenial<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +spirits accustomed to gather there were +familiar to him. But Bud Hines and +Cy Akers were old schoolfellows. +When he would have gone up to them +with old-time familiarity, he found +a certain restraint in their greeting +which checked his advances.</p> + +<p>If he thought he was coming back +to them the same freckle-faced, unconventional +country lad they had known +as Billy Maxwell, he was mistaken. +He might feel that he was the same at +heart; but they looked on the outward +appearance. They saw the successful +man of the world who had +outstripped them in the race and passed +out of their lives long ago. They +could not conceive of such a change +as had metamorphosed the boy they +remembered into the man who stood +before them, without feeling that +a corresponding change must have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +taken place in his attitude toward +them.</p> + +<p>They were not conscious that this +feeling was expressed in their reception +of him. They laughed at his jokes, +and indulged in some reminiscences, +but he felt, in a dim subconscious way, +that there was a barrier between them, +and he could never get back to the old +familiar footing.</p> + +<p>He turned away, vaguely disappointed. +Had he dared to dream that +he would find his lost youth just as he +had left it? The fields and hills were +unchanged. The very trees were the +same, except that they had added a +few more rings to their girth, and +threw a larger circling shade. But the +old chums he had counted on finding +had not followed the same law of +growth as the trees. The shade of their +sympathies had narrowed, not expanded,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +with the passing years, and left him +outside their contracted circle.</p> + +<p>Perkins's oldest, awed by reports of +his fabulous wealth, could hardly find +his tongue when the distinguished visitor +laid a friendly hand on his embarrassed +tow head, and inquired about +the old swimming-hole, and the mill-dam +where he used to fish. But the +boy's interest grew stronger every minute +as he watched him turning over +the limited assortment of fishing tackle. +The men he knew had outlived such +frivolous sports. It was a sight to justify +one's gazing open-mouthed,—a +grown man deliberately preparing for +a month's idleness.</p> + +<p>If the boy could have seen the +jointed rods, the reels, the flies, all the +expensive angler's outfit left behind in +the Maxwell mansion; if he could +have known of the tarpon this man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +had caught in Florida bays, and the +fishing he had enjoyed in northern +waters, he would have wondered still +more; wondered how a man could be +considered in his right mind who deliberately +renounced such privileges to +come and drop a common hook, on a +pole of his own cutting, into the shallow +pools of the Cross-Roads creek.</p> + +<p>After his purchases no one saw him +at the store for several days, but the +boy, dodging across lots, encountered +him often,—a solitary figure wandering +by the mill stream, or crashing +through the woods with long eager +strides; lying on the orchard grass sometimes +with his hat pulled over his +eyes; leaning over the pasture bars in +the twilight, and following with wistful +glance the little foot-path stretching +white across the meadows. A +pathetic sight to eyes wise enough to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +see the pathos,—a world-weary, middle-aged +man in vain quest of his lost +boyhood.</p> + +<p>On Sunday, Polly, looking across the +church from her place in the miller's +pew, recognised the stranger in their +midst, and straightway lost the thread +of the sermon in wondering at his +presence. She had gone to school +with his daughter, Maud Maxwell. +She had danced many a german with +his son Claude. They lived on the +same avenue, and passed each other +daily; but this was the first time she +had seen him away from the shadow +of the family presence, that seemed to +blot out his individuality.</p> + +<p>She had thought of him only as +Maud's father, a simple, good-natured +nonentity in his own household. A +good business man, but one who could +talk nothing but leather, and whose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +only part in the family affairs was to +furnish the funds for his wife and children +to shine socially.</p> + +<p>"Oh, your father's opinion doesn't +count," she had heard Mrs. Maxwell +say on more than one occasion, and +the children had grown up, unconsciously +copying her patronising attitude +toward him. As Polly studied +his face now in the light of other surroundings, +she saw that it was a strong, +kindly one; that it was not weakness +which made him yield habitually, until +he had become a mere figurehead in +his own establishment. It was only +that his peace-loving nature hated +domestic scenes, and his generosity +amounted to complete self-effacement +when the happiness of his family was +concerned.</p> + +<p>His eyes were fixed on the chancel +with a wistful reminiscent gaze, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +Polly read something in the careworn +face that touched her sympathy. +"Grandfather," she said, at the close +of the service, "let's be neighbourly +and ask Mr. Maxwell home to dinner +with us. He looks lonesome."</p> + +<p>She was glad afterward that she had +suggested it, when she recalled his +evident pleasure in the old man's company. +There were chairs out under +the great oak-trees in the yard, and the +two sat talking all afternoon of old +times, until the evening shadows began +to grow long across the grass. Then +Polly joined them again, and sat with +them till the tinkle of home-going cowbells +broke on the restful stillness of +the country Sabbath.</p> + +<p>"All the orchestras in all the operas +in the world can't make music that +sounds as sweet to me as that does," said +Mr. Maxwell, raising his head from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +the big armchair to listen. Then he +dropped it again with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"It rests me so after the racket of +the city. If Julia would only consent, +I'd sell out and come back to-morrow. +But she's lost all interest in the old +place. I'm country to the core, but +she never was. She took to city ways +like a duck to water, just as soon as +she got away from the farm, and she +laughs at me for preferring katydids to +the whirr of electric cars."</p> + +<p>A vision rose before the old miller +of a little country girl in a pink cotton +gown, who long ago used to wait, +bright-eyed and blushing, at the pasture +bars, for Billy to drive home the +cows. Many a time he had passed +them at their trysting-place. Then +he recalled the superficial, ambitious +woman he had met years afterward +when he visited his son. He shook<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +his head when he thought of her renouncing +her social position for the +simple pastoral life her husband longed +to find the way back to. Presently he +broke the silence of their several reveries +by turning to Polly.</p> + +<p>"What's that piece you recited to +me the other night, little girl, about +old times? Say it for Mr. Maxwell." +And Polly, clasping her hands in her +lap, and looking away across the +August meadows, purple with the +royal pennons of the ironweed, began +the musical old poem:</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'Ko-ling, ko-lang, ko-linglelingle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Way down the darkening dingle</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The cows come slowly home.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">(And old-time friends and twilight plays</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And starry nights and sunny days</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Come trooping up the misty ways,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When the cows come home.)</span><br /> +<br /> +"'And over there on Merlin Hill<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Hear the plaintive cry of the whippoorwill.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And the dewdrops lie on the tangled vines,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And over the poplars Venus shines,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">And over the silent mill.</span><br /> +<br /> +"'Ko-ling, ko-lang, ko-linglelingle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">With ting-aling and jingle</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The cows come slowly home.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">(Let down the bars, let in the train</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Of long-gone songs and flowers and rain,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">For dear old times come back again,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">When the cows come home.)'"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>Once as Polly went on, she saw the +tears spring to his eyes at the line "and +mother-songs of long-gone years," and +she knew that the</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"same sweet sound of wordless psalm,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The same sweet smell of buds and balm,"</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>that had been his delight in the past, +were his again as he listened. But, +much to her surprise, as she finished, +he rose abruptly, and began a hurried +leave-taking. She understood his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +manner, however, when his mood was +revealed to her a little later.</div> + +<p>At her grandfather's suggestion she +walked down to the gate with him, to +point out a short cut across the fields +to Mrs. Powers's. Outside the gate he +paused, hat in hand.</p> + +<p>"Miss Polly," he began, as if unconsciously +taking her into his confidence, +"old times never come back +again. Seems as if the bottom had +dropped out of everything. I've done +my best to resurrect them, but I can't +do it. I thought if I could once get +back to the old place I could rest as +I've not been able to rest for twenty +years—that I'd have a month of perfect +enjoyment. But something's the +matter.</p> + +<p>"Many a time when I've been off +at some fashionable resort I've thought +I'd give a fortune to be able to drop<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +my hook in your grandfather's mill-stream, +and feel the old thrill that I +used to feel when I was a boy. I tried +it the day I came—caught a little +speckled trout, the kind that used to +make me tingle to my finger ends, but +somehow it didn't bring back the old +sensation. I just looked at it a minute +and put it back in the water, and +threw my pole away.</p> + +<p>"Even the swimming-hole down by +the mill didn't measure up to the way +I had remembered it. I've fairly ached +for a dip into it sometimes, in the years +I've been gone. Seemed as if I could +just get into it once, I could wash myself +clear of all the cares and worries +of business that pester a man so. That +was a disappointment, too. The change +is in me, I guess, but nothing seems +the same."</p> + +<p>Polly knew the reason. He had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +tried so long to mould his habits to fit +his wife's exacting tastes, that he had +succeeded better than he realised. He +could not analyse his feelings enough to +know that it was the absence of long +accustomed comforts that made him +vaguely dissatisfied with his surroundings; +his luxuriously appointed bathroom, +for instance; the perfect service +of his carefully trained footmen. Mrs. +Powers's noisy table, where with great +clatter she urged every one "to fall +to and help himself," jarred on him, +although he was unconscious of what +caused the irritation. As for the rank +tobacco Bowser furnished him when +he had exhausted his own special brand +of cigars with which he had stocked +his satchel, it was more than flesh and +blood could endure. That is, flesh +and blood that had acquired the pampered +taste of a millionaire whose wife<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +is <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'fastidous'">fastidious</ins>, and only allows first-class +aromas in the way of the weed.</p> + +<p>But Polly knew another reason that +his vacation had been a failure. She +divined it as the little Yale pin, stuck +jauntily into the front of her white +dress, met the touch of her caressing +fingers. The girl in the pink cotton +gown was long dead, and the woman +who had grown up in her stead had no +part in the old scenes that he still +fondly clung to, with a sentiment she +ridiculed because she could not understand. +<i>There must always be two when +you turn back searching for your lost Eldorado, +and even the two cannot find it, +unless they go hand in hand.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Next day Bowser had another piece +of news to impart. "Mr. Maxwell +went home this morning. He told +Mrs. Powers it was like taking a vacation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +in a graveyard, and he'd had enough. +He'd have to get back to work again. +So he paid her for the full month, and +took the first train back to the city."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be switched!" was Bud +Hines's comment. "If I had as much +money as he's got, I'd never bother +my head about work. I'd sit down +and take it easy all the rest of my born +days."</p> + +<p>"I don't know," answered Bowser, +meditatively. "I reckon a man who's +worked the way Mr. Maxwell has, +gets such a big momentum on to himself +that he can't stop, no matter how +bad he wants a vacation."</p> + +<p>"He's a fool for coming back here +for it," said Bud Hines, looking out +across the fields that stretched away on +every side in unbroken monotony.</p> + +<p>But miles away, in his city office, +the busy millionaire was still haunted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +by an unsatisfied longing for those +same level meadows. Glimpses of the +old mill-stream and the willows still +rose before him in tantalising freshness, +and whenever he closed his tired eyes, +down twilight paths, where tinkling +cowbells called, there came again the +glimmer of a little pink gown, to wait +for him as it had waited through all +the years, beside the pasture bars.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>Chapter XII</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>THE seat was an empty starch-box +on the Cross-Roads porch, +its occupant a barefoot boy +with a torn straw hat pulled far down +over his eyes. To the casual observer +one of the most ordinary of sights, but +to one possessed of sympathetic powers +of penetration into a boy's inner consciousness +there was a suggestion of the +tragic. Perkins's oldest had that afternoon +in school been told to write a +composition on September. It was to +be handed in next morning. It was the +hopelessness of accomplishing the fact +even in ćons, not to mention the limited +time of a dozen short hours, that had +bound him, a little Prometheus, to the +starch-box, with the vulture of absolute +despair tearing at his vitals.</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> + +<p>Two other boys had been assigned +the same subject, and the three had +kicked the dust up wrathfully all the +way from the schoolhouse, echoing +an old cry that had gone up ages before +from the sons of Jacob, under the +lash of the Egyptian, "How can we +make bricks without straw?"</p> + +<p>"Ain't nothin' to say 'bout September," +declared Riley Hines, gloomily, +"and I'll be dogged if I say it. I'm +goin' to get my sister to write mine fer +me. She'll do it ef I tease long +enough, and give her something to +boot."</p> + +<p>"I'll ask paw what to say," declared +Tommy Bowser. "He won't write it +for me, but he'll sort o' boost me along. +Then if it ain't what she wants, <i>I</i> won't +be to blame. I'll tell her paw said +'twas all right."</p> + +<p>This shifting of responsibility to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +paternal shoulders restored the habitual +expression of cheerfulness to Tommy's +smudgy face, but there was no corresponding +smile on Sammy's. There +was no help to be had in the household +of Perkins.</p> + +<p>That was why he was waiting on +the starch-box while Tommy was sent +on an errand. It was in the vain hope +that Tommy would return and apply +for his "boost" and share it with him +before darkness fell. He was a practical +child, not given to whimsical +reflections, but as he sat there in desperate +silence, he began wondering +what the different customers would +have to say if they were suddenly called +upon, as he had been that afternoon, +to write about September.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Powers, for instance, in her +big crape bonnet, with its long wispy +veil trailing down her back. He was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +almost startled, when, as if in answer +to his thought, she uttered the word +that was at the bottom of his present +trouble, the subject assigned him for +composition.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Bowser, September is a +month that I'm never sorry to say good-bye +to. What with the onion pickle +and peach preserves and the house-cleaning +to tend to, I'm nearly broke +down when it's over. There's so many +odds and ends to see to on a farm this +time of year, first in doors and then +out. I tell Jane it's like piecing a +crazy quilt. You can't never count on +what a day's going to bring forth in September. +You may get a carpet up and +beat, and have your stove settin' out +waiting to be put up, and your furniture +in a heap in the yard, and the +hired man will have to go off and leave +it all while he takes the cider-mill to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +be mended. And you in a stew all +day long for fear it'll rain before he +gets things under shelter.</p> + +<p>"Then it's a sad time to me, too," +she exclaimed with a mournful shake +of the head in the black bonnet. "It +was in September I lost my first and +third husbands, two of the best that +ever had tombstones raised to their +memory, if I do say it as oughtn't. +One died on the sixteenth, and his +funeral was preached on the eighteenth, +and the other died fifteen years later +on the twenty-third, and we kept him +three days, on account of waiting till +his brother could get here from Missouri. +So you see that makes nearly +a week altogether of mournful anniversaries +for me every September."</p> + +<p>Another breath and she had reached +the three tombstones, and talking +volubly on her favourite subject, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +completed her purchases and went out. +But her conversation had not lightened +the woes of the little Prometheus on +the starch-box. Despair still gnawed +on. House-cleaning worries and onion +pickle, and reminiscences of two out of +three departed husbands, might furnish +material for Mrs. Powers's composition, +should the fates compel her to write +one, but there was no straw of a suggestion +for Sammy Perkins, and again +he cried out inwardly as bitterly as the +oppressed of old had cried out against +Pharaoh.</p> + +<p>A man in a long, sagging linen duster +was the next comer. He squeaked +back and forth in front of the counter +in new high-heeled boots, and talked +incessantly while he made his purchases, +with a clumsy attempt at facetiousness.</p> + +<p>"Put in a cake of shaving-soap, too, +Jim," he called, passing his hand over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +the black stubble on his chin. "County +court begins to-morrer. Reckon the +lawyers will shave everything in sight +when it comes to their bills, but I want +to be as slick as them. I'll be settin' +on the jury all week. Did you ever +think of it, Jim, that's a mighty interesting +way to earn your salt? Jest set +back and be entertained with the history +of all the old feuds and fusses in +the county, and collect your two bucks +a day without ever turning your hand +over. Good as a show, and dead easy.</p> + +<p>"Only one thing, it sort o' spiles +your faith in human nature. The +court stenographer said last year that +in the shorthand he writes, the same +mark that stands for lawyer stands for +liar, too. He! he! he! isn't that a +good one? You can only tell which +one is meant by what comes before it, +and this fellow said he'd come to believe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +that one always fit in the sentence +as good as the other. Either word +was generally appropriate. You miss +a lot of fun, Jim, by not getting on +the jury. I always look forrard to fall +on that account."</p> + +<p>No help for Perkins's oldest in <i>that</i> +conversation. He waited awhile longer. +Presently an old gentleman in a long-tailed, +quaintly cut black coat, stepped +up on the porch. He had a gold-headed +cane under his arm, and the +eyes behind the square-bowed spectacles +beamed kindly on the little +fellow. He stopped beside the starch-box +a moment with a friendly question +about school and the health of the +Perkins household. The boy's heart +gave a jump up into his throat. The +old minister knew everything. The +minister could even tell him what to +write in his composition if he dared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +but ask him. He opened his mouth +to form the question, but his tongue +seemed glued in its place, and the head +under the torn hat drooped lower in +embarrassed silence. His troubled face +flushed to the roots of his tow hair, +and he let the Angel of Opportunity +pass him by unchallenged.</p> + +<p>"Will you kindly give me one of +those advertising almanacs, Mr. Bowser?" +inquired the parson, when his +packages of tea and sugar had been +secured. "I've misplaced mine, and I +want to ascertain at what hour to-morrow +the moon changes."</p> + +<p>"Certainly, certainly!" responded +the storekeeper with obliging alacrity, +rubbing his hands together, and stepping +up on a chair to reach the pile +on a shelf overhead. "Help yourself, +sir. I must answer the telephone."</p> + +<p>The parson, slowly studying the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +moon's phases as he stepped out of the +store, did not notice that he had taken +two almanacs until one fell at his feet. +The boy sprang up to return it, but he +waved it aside with a courtly sweep of +his hand.</p> + +<p>"No, my son, I intended to take +but one. Keep it. They are for general +distribution. You will find it full +of useful information. Have you ever +learned anything about the signs of the +Zodiac? Here is Leo. I always take +an especial interest in this sign, because +I happened to be born under it. I'm +the seventh son of a seventh son, born +in the seventh month, and I always +take it as a good omen, seven being +the perfect number. You know the +ancients believed a man's star largely +affected his destiny. You will find +some interesting historical events enumerated +under each month. A good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +almanac is almost as interesting to study +as a good dictionary, my boy. I would +advise you to form a habit of referring +to both of them frequently."</p> + +<p>With one of his rare, childlike +smiles the good man passed on, and +Perkins's oldest was left with the +almanac in his hands. For awhile he +studied the signs of the Zodiac, in +puzzled awe, trying to establish a relationship +between them and the man +they surrounded, whose vital organs +were obligingly laid open to public inspection, +regardless of any personal +inconvenience the display might cause +him.</p> + +<p>Then he turned to the historical +events. There was one for each day +in the month. On Sunday, the first, +eighteen hundred and ninety-nine, had +occurred the Japanese typhoon. Friday, +the sixth, sixteen hundred and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +twenty, the <i>Mayflower</i> had sailed. +Mahomet's birth had set apart the +eleventh in five hundred and seventy. +The founding of Mormonism, Washington's +Farewell, and the battle of +Marathon were further down the list, +but it was all Greek to Perkins's +oldest. Any one of these items would +have been straw for the parson. Out +of the <i>Mayflower</i>, Mahomet, Mormonism, +or Marathon, each one of them +the outgrowth of some September, he +could have pressed enough literary +brick to build a fair sky-scraping +structure that would have been the +wonder of all who gazed upon it. +This time the boy looked his Angel +of Opportunity in the face and did not +recognise it as such.</p> + +<p>The gate clicked across the road and +he turned his head. Miss Anastasia +Dill was going up the path, her arms<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +full of goldenrod and white and purple +asters. September was a poem to Miss +Anastasia, but the boy looked upon +goldenrod and the starry asters simply +as meadow weeds. The armful of +bloom brought no suggestion to him. +On the morrow Riley Hines would +hand in two pages of allusions to them, +beginning with a quotation from Whittier's +"Autumn Thoughts," and ending +with a couplet from Pope, carefully +copied by Maria Hines from the "Exercises +for Parsing" in the back of her +grammar.</p> + +<p>Somebody's supper-horn blew in the +distance, and, grown desperate by +Tommy's long absence and the lateness +of the hour, he took his little +cracked slate from the strap of books +on the floor beside him, and laid it +across his knees. Then with a stubby +pencil that squeaked dismally in its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +passage across the slate, he began copying +bodily from the almanac the list +of historical events enumerated therein, +just as they stood, beginning with the +Japanese typhoon on the first, and +ending "<i>Volunteer</i> beat <i>Thistle</i>" on the +thirtieth, eighteen hundred and eighty-seven.</p> + +<p>Then he began to copy a few agricultural +notes, inserted as side remarks +for those who relied on their almanacs +as guide-posts to gardening. "Gather +winter squashes now. They keep +better when stored in a warm dry +place. Harvest sugar beets when the +leaves turn yellowish green, etc."</p> + +<p>He was bending painfully over this +task when a shadow fell across his +slate, and, looking up, he saw the old +miller looking over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Doing your sums?" he asked, with +a friendly smile. "Let's see if you do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +them the way I was taught when I +was a lad." He held out his hand for +the slate. There had been a bond of +sympathy between the two ever since +Christmas eve, when a certain pair of +skates had changed owners, and now, +although the boy's voice trembled almost +out of his control, he managed +to stammer out the reply that he was +trying to write a composition.</p> + +<p>The old man looked from the +straggling lines on the slate, then at +the open almanac, then down at the +boy's troubled face, and understood. +Drawing a chair across the porch he +sat down beside him, and, catching the +furtive, scared side-glance cast in his +direction, he plunged at once into a +story.</p> + +<p>It was about a shepherd boy who +went out to fight a giant, and the king +insisted on lending him his armour.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +But he couldn't fight in the heavy +helmet and the coat of mail. The +shield was in his way, and the spear +more than he could lift. So he threw it +aside, and going down to a little brook, +chose five small pebbles, worn smooth +by the running water. And with these +in his hand, and only the simple sling +he was accustomed to use every day, he +went out against the Philistine giant, +and slew him in the first round.</p> + +<p>Perkins's oldest wondered what the +story had to do with his composition. +He wasn't looking for a personal application. +He had not been brought up at +Sunday schools and kindergartens. But +all of a sudden he realised that the +miller meant him; that his depending +on Tommy, or the customers, or the +almanac, to furnish him ideas, was like +going out in Saul's armour, and that +he could only come to failure in that,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +because it wouldn't fit him; that he +could hit the mark the little schoolmistress +had in mind for him, only +with the familiar sling-shot of his own +common every-day personal experiences.</p> + +<p>Maybe the old miller recognised +that it was a crisis in the little fellow's +life, for he stayed beside him with +helpful hints and questions, until the +slate was full. When he carried it +home in the gloaming it no longer +bore the items from the almanac. +There were other remarks straggling +across it, not so well expressed, perhaps, +but plainly original. They were +to the effect that September is the +month you've got to go back to school +when you don't want to, 'cos it's the +nicest time of all to stay out-doors, +neither too hot nor too cold. There's +lots of apples then, and it's the minister's +birthday. He's the seventh son of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +a seventh son, and Dick Wiggins says +if you're that you can pick Wahoo +berries in the dark of the moon and +make med'cine out of them, that will +cure the bone-break fever every time, +when nothing else in the world will. +Then followed several items of information +that he had discovered for +himself, in his prowls through the +September woods, about snakes and +tree-toads, as to their habits at that +season of the year. It closed with a suggestive +allusion to the delights of sucking +cider from the bung of a barrel +through a straw.</p> + +<p>Next day the little schoolmistress +shook her head over the composition +that Riley Hines handed in, and laid +it aside with a hopeless sigh. She +recognised too plainly the hand of +Maria in its construction. The sentiments +expressed therein were as foreign<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +to Riley's nature as they would have +been to a woodchuck's. She took up +Tommy Bowser's. Alas, four-syllabled +words were not in Tommy's daily +vocabulary, nor were the elegant sentences +under his name within the +power of his composition. Plainly it +was the work of a plagiarist.</p> + +<p>She went through the pile slowly, +and then wrote on the blackboard as +she had promised, the names of the +ten whose work was the best and most +original. It was then that Perkins's +oldest had the surprise of his life, for +lo! his name, like Abou-ben-Adhem's, +"led all the rest."</p> + +<p>Again the Cross-Roads had taught +him more than the school,—to depend +on the resources to which nature had +adapted him, and never again to attempt +to sally forth in borrowed armour, +even though it be a king's.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> + + + + +<h2>Chapter XII</h2> + + +<div class='cap'>IT was Cy Akers who carried the +news to the schoolhouse, galloping +his old sorrel up to the open door +just before the bell tapped for afternoon +dismissal. He did not dismount, but +drawing rein, leaned forward in his +saddle, waiting for the little schoolmistress +to step down from the desk to +the doorstep. The rows of waiting +children craned their necks anxiously, +but only those nearest the door heard +his message.</div> + +<p>"Mr. Asa Holmes died this morning," +he said. "The funeral is set for +to-morrow afternoon at four, and you +can announce to the children that there +won't be any school. The trustees +thought it would be only proper to +close out of respect for him, as he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +on the school board over thirty years, +and has done so much for the community. +He's one of the old landmarks, +you might say, about the last of +the old pioneers, and everybody will +want to go."</p> + +<p>Before she could recover from the +suddenness of the announcement the +rider was gone, and she was left looking +out across the October fields with +a lonely sense of personal loss, although +her acquaintance with the old miller +had extended over only two short +school terms.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later the measured +tramp of feet over the worn door-sill +began, and forty children passed out +into the mellow sunshine of the late +autumn afternoon. They went quietly +at first, awed by the tender, reverent +words in which the little schoolmistress +had given them the message to carry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +home. But once outside, the pent-up +enthusiasm over their unexpected holiday, +and the mere joy of being alive +and free on such a day sent them rushing +down the road pell-mell, shouting +and swinging their dinner-pails as they +ran.</p> + +<p>A shade of annoyance crossed the +teacher's face as she stood watching +from the doorstep. She wished she +had cautioned them not to be so noisy, +for she knew that their shouts could +be plainly heard in the old house +whose gables she could see through a +clump of cedars, farther down the +road. It was standing with closed +blinds now, and she had a feeling that +the laughing voices floating across to it +must strike harshly across its profound +silence.</p> + +<p>But presently her face brightened as +she watched the children running on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +in the sunshine, in the joy of their +emancipation. Part of a poem she +had read that morning came to her. +She had thought when she read it that +it was a beautiful way to look upon +death, and now it bore a new significance, +and she whispered it to herself:</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"'Why should it be a wrench to leave this wooden bench?<br /> +Why not with happy shout, run home when school is out?'<br /> +</div> + +<p>"That's the way the old miller has +gone," she said, softly. "His lessons +all learned and his tasks all done—so +well done, too, that he has nothing to +regret. I'm glad that I didn't stop the +children. I am sure that's the way he +would want them to go. Dear old +man! He was always a boy at heart."</p> + +<p>She turned the key in the door behind +her presently, and started down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +the road to Mrs. Powers's, where she +boarded. In every fence corner the +sumachs flamed blood-red, and across +the fields, where purple shadows trailed +their royal lengths behind every shock +of corn, the autumn woodlands massed +their gold and crimson against the +sunset sky. She walked slowly, loath +to reach the place where she must go +indoors.</p> + +<p>The Perkins home lay in her way, +and as she passed, Mrs. Perkins with a +baby on her hip, and a child clinging +to her skirts, leaned over the gate to +speak to her.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it sad," the woman exclaimed, +grasping eagerly at this chance to discuss +every incident of the death and +illness, with that love for detail always +to be found in country districts +where happenings are few and interests +are strong.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They sent for the family Tuesday +when he had the stroke, but he couldn't +speak to them when they got here. +They said he seemed to recognise Miss +Polly, and smiled when she took his +hand. She seemed to be his favourite, +and they say she's taking it mighty +hard—harder than any of the rest. +It's a pity he couldn't have left 'em all +some last message. I think it's always a +comfort to remember one's dying words +when as good a person as Mr. Holmes +goes. And it's always so nice when +they happen to be appropriate, so's they +can be put on the tombstone afterward. +I remember my Aunt Maria worked +my grandfather's last words into a +sampler, with an urn and weeping-willow-tree. +She had it framed in +black and hung in the parlour, and +everybody who came to the house +admired it. It's a pity that the miller<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +couldn't have left some last word to +each of 'em."</p> + +<p>"I don't think it was necessary," +said the girl, turning away with a +choke in her voice, as the eloquent +face of the old man seemed to rise up +before her. "His whole life speaks for +him."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Perkins looked after the retreating +figure regretfully, as the jaunty +sailor hat disappeared behind a tall +hedge. "I wish she hadn't been in +such a hurry," she sighed, shifting the +baby to the other hip. "I would +have liked to ask her if she's heard +who the pall-bearers are to be."</p> + +<p>At the turn in the road the little +schoolmistress looked up to see Miss +Anastasia Dill leaning over her gate. +She had just heard the news, and there +were tears in her pale blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"And Polly's wedding cards were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +to have been sent out this next week!" +she exclaimed after their first words of +greeting. "The poor child told me +so herself when she was here in August +on a visit. 'Miss Anastasia,' she said +to me, 'I'm not going abroad for my +honeymoon, as all my family want +me to do. I'm going to bring Jack +back here to the old homestead where +grandfather's married life began. Somehow +it was so ideal, so nearly perfect, +that I have a feeling that maybe the +mantle of that old romance will fall on +our shoulders. Besides, Jack has never +seen grandfather, and I tell him it's as +much of an education to know such +a grand old man as it is to go through +Yale. So we're coming in October. +The woods will have on all their gala +colours then, and I'll be the happiest +bride the sun ever shone on, unless it +was my grandmother Polly.' And now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +to think," added Miss Anastasia, tearfully, +"none of those plans can come +to pass. It's bad luck to put off a +wedding. Oh, I feel so sorry for +her!"</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>There is an undefined note of pathos +in a country funeral that is never +reached in any other. The little schoolmistress +felt it as she walked up the path +to the old house behind the cedars. +The front porch was full of men, who, +dressed in their unaccustomed best, +had the uneasy appearance of having +come upon a Sunday in the middle of +the week. Their heavy boots tiptoed +clumsily through the hall, with a painful +effort to go silently, as one by one +the neighbours passed into the old sitting-room +and out again. The room +across the hall had been filled with +rows of chairs, and the women who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +came first were sitting there in a +deep silence, broken only by a cough +now and then, a hoarse whisper or a +rustle, as some one moved to make +room for a newcomer.</p> + +<p>It was a sombre assembly, for every +one wore whatever black her wardrobe +afforded, and many funeral occasions +had left an accumulation of mourning +millinery in every house in the neighbourhood. +But the limp crape veils +and black gloves and pall-like cashmere +shawls were all congregated in +the dimly lighted parlour. In the old +sitting-room it was as cheerful and +homelike as ever, save for the still +form in the centre.</p> + +<p>Through an open window the western +sun streamed into the big, hospitable +room, across the bright home-made +rag carpet. The old clock in the +corner ticked with the placid, steady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +stroke that had never failed or faltered, +in any vicissitude of the generations +for which it had marked the changes. +No fire blazed on the old hearthstone +that had warmed the hearts as well as +the hands of the whole countryside on +many a cheerful occasion. But a great +bough of dogwood, laid across the shining +andirons, filled the space with coral +berries that glowed like live embers as +the sun stole athwart them.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if the old room could only +speak!" thought Miss Anastasia, when +her turn came to pass reverently in for +a last look at the peaceful face. "There +would be no need of man's eulogy."</p> + +<p>But man's eulogy was added presently, +when the old minister came in +and took his place beside the coffin +of his lifelong friend and neighbour. +The men outside the porch closed in +around the windows to listen. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +women in the back rows of chairs in +the adjoining room leaned forward +eagerly. Those farthest away caught +only a faltering sentence now and +then.</p> + +<p>"A hospitality as warm as his own +hearthstone, as wide as his broad acres.... +No man can point to him and say +he ever knowingly hurt or hindered a +fellow creature.... He never measured +out to any man a scant bushel. +Be it grain or good-will, it was ever an +overflowing measure...." But those +who could not hear all that was said +could make the silent places eloquent +with their own recollections, for he +had taken a father's interest in them +all, and manifested it by a score of +kindly deeds, too kindly to ever be +forgotten.</p> + +<p>It was a perfect autumn day, sunny +and golden and still, save for the patter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +of dropping nuts and the dry rustle of +fallen leaves. A purple haze rested on +the distant horizon like the bloom on +a ripened grape. Down through the +orchard, when the simple service was +over, they carried their old friend to the +family burying-ground, and, although +voices had choked, and eyes overflowed +before, there was neither sob nor tear, +when the light of the sunset struck +across the low mound, heaped with its +covering of glowing autumn leaves. +For if grief has no part in the sunset +glory that ends the day, or in the perfect +fulness of the autumn time, then +it must indeed stand hushed, when a +life comes both to its sunset and its +harvest, in such royal fashion.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>That evening at the Cross-Roads, +Bowser lighted the first fire of the season +in the rusty old stove, for the night<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +was chilly. One by one the men accustomed +to gather around it dropped +in and took their usual places. The +event of the day was all that was spoken +of.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember what he said +last Thanksgiving, nearly a year ago?" +asked Bowser. "It came back to me +as I stood and looked at him to-day, +and if I'd never believed in immortality +before, I'd 'a' had to have believed in it +then. The words seemed to fairly +shine out of his face. He said '<i>The +best comes after the harvest, when the +wheat goes to make up blood and muscle +and brain; when it's raised to a higher +order of life in man. And it's the same +with me. At eighty-five, when it looks as +if I'd about reached the end, I've come +to believe that "the best is yet to be.</i>"'"</p> + +<p>There was a long pause, and Cy +Akers said, slowly, "Somehow I can't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +feel that he is dead. Seems as if he'd +just gone away a while. But Lord! +how we're going to miss him here at +the store."</p> + +<p>"No, don't say that!" exclaimed +Bud Hines, with more emotion than +he had ever been known to show before. +"Say, how we're going to feel +him! I can't get him out of my +mind. Every time I turn around, +most, seems to me I can hear him +laugh, and say, 'Don't cross your +bridge till you come to it, Bud.' That +saying of his rings in my ears every +time I get in the dumps. Seems like +he could set the calendar straight for +us, all the year around. The winters +wasn't so cold or the summers so hard +to pull through, looking at life through +his eyes."</p> + +<p>Perkins's oldest crept up unnoticed. +He added no word, but deep in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +heart lay an impression that all the +years to come could never erase; the +remembrance of a kindly old man who +had given him a new gospel, in that +one phrase, "A brother to Santa +Claus;" who had taught him to go +out against his Philistines with simple +directness of aim and whatever lay at +hand; who had left behind him the +philosophy of a cheerful optimist, and +the example of a sweet simple life, +unswerving in its loyalty to duty and +to truth.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Over in the old homestead, Polly, +standing in the firelight, fair and slender +in her black gown, looked up at the +tall young fellow beside her, and placed +two little books in his hands. The +old house was not her only heritage. +The little atlas of the heavens was hers +also. Standing there in the room<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +where the beloved presence seemed to +have left its benediction, Polly told the +story of the love that had outlived +Death. Then across the yellowed +page of the old grammar where the +faded violets lay, two hands met in +the same sure clasp that had joined the +souls of those older lovers, who somewhere +beyond the stars were still repeating +the old conjugation—"we +love—<i>for ever!</i>"</p> + + +<div class='center'>THE END.</div><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1_ad1" id="Page_1_ad1">[1]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class='adtitle1'> +L. C. Page & Company's<br /> +Announcement List<br /> +of New Fiction<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class='adtitle2'>Haunters of the Silences.</span> <span class="smcap">By Charles G. +D. Roberts</span>, author of "Red Fox," "The Watchers of +the Trails," etc.</div> + +<div class='center'> +Cloth, one volume, with many drawings by Charles Livingston Bull, four of which are in full color $2.00<br /> +</div> + +<p>The stories in Mr. Roberts's new collection are the strongest +and best he has ever written.</p> + +<p>He has largely taken for his subjects those animals rarely +met with in books, whose lives are spent "In the Silences," +where they are the supreme rulers. Mr. Roberts has written +of them sympathetically, as always, but with fine regard +for the scientific truth.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"As a writer about animals, Mr. Roberts occupies an enviable +place. He is the most literary, as well as the most imaginative +and vivid of all the nature writers."—<i>Brooklyn Eagle.</i></p> + +<p>"His animal stories are marvels of sympathetic science and +literary exactness."—<i>New York World.</i></p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2_ad1" id="Page_2_ad1">[2]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class='adtitle2'>The Lady of the Blue Motor.</span> <span class="smcap">By +G. Sidney Paternoster</span>, author of "The Cruise of +the Motor-Boat Conqueror," "The Motor Pirate," etc.</div> + +<div class='center'> +Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by John C. Frohn $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<p>The Lady of the Blue Motor is an audacious heroine +who drove her mysterious car at breakneck speed. Her +plea for assistance in an adventure promising more than a +spice of danger could not of course be disregarded by any +gallant fellow motorist. Mr. Paternoster's hero rose +promptly to the occasion. Across France they tore and +across the English Channel. There, the escapade past, he +lost her.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paternoster, however, is generous, and allows the +reader to follow their separate adventures until the Lady of +the Blue Motor is found again and properly vindicated of +all save womanly courage and affection. A unique romance, +one continuous exciting series of adventure.</p> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class='adtitle2'>Clementina's Highwayman.</span> <span class="smcap">By Robert +Neilson Stephens</span>, author of "The Flight of Georgiana," +"An Enemy to the King," etc.</div> + +<div class='center'> +Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<p>Mr. Stephens has put into his new book, "Clementina's +Highwayman," the finest qualities of plot, construction, and +literary finish.</p> + +<p>The story is laid in the mid-Georgian period. It is a +dashing, sparkling, vivacious comedy, with a heroine as +lovely and changeable as an April day, and a hero all ardor +and daring.</p> + +<p>The exquisite quality of Mr. Stephens's literary style +clothes the story in a rich but delicate word-fabric; and +never before have his setting and atmosphere been so +perfect.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3_ad1" id="Page_3_ad1">[3]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class='adtitle2'>The Sorceress of Rome.</span> <span class="smcap">By Nathan Gallizier</span>, +author of "Castel del Monte," etc.</div> + +<div class='center'> +Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<p>The love-story of Otto III., the boy emperor, and Stephania, +wife of the Senator Crescentius of Rome, has +already been made the basis of various German poems and +plays.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gallizier has used it for the main theme of "The +Sorceress of Rome," the second book of his trilogy of +romances on the medićval life of Italy. In detail and +finish the book is a brilliant piece of work, describing +clearly an exciting and strenuous period. It possesses the +same qualities as "Castel del Monte," of which the <i>Chicago +Record Herald</i> said: "There is color, there is sumptuous +word-painting in these pages; the action is terrific at times; +vividness and life are in every part; brilliant descriptions +entertain the reader; mystic scenes and prophecies give a +singular fascination to the tale, which is strong and forceful +in its portrayal."</p> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class='adtitle2'>Hester of the Hills.</span> <span class="smcap">By Gilder Clay.</span></div> + +<div class='center'> +Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<p>"Hester of the Hills" has a motif unusual in life, and +new in fiction. Its hero, who has only acquired his own +strength and resourcefulness by a lifelong struggle against +constitutional frailty, has come to make the question of +bodily soundness his dominant thought. He resolves to +ensure strong constitutions to his children by marrying a +physically perfect woman. After long search, he finds this +ideal in Hester, the daughter of a "cracker squatter," of +the Ozark Mountains of Missouri. But,—he forgot to +take into consideration that very vital emotion, love, which +played havoc with his well-laid plans.</p> + +<p>It is an ingenious combination of practical realism and +imaginative fiction worked out to a thoroughly delightful +and satisfying climax.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4_ad1" id="Page_4_ad1">[4]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class='adtitle2'>Prisoners of Fortune.</span> <span class="smcap">A Tale of the Massachusetts +Bay Colony. By Ruel Perley Smith</span>, +author of "The Rival Campers," etc.</div> + +<div class='center'> +Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by Frank T. Merrill $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<p>The period of Mr. Smith's story is the beginning of the +eighteenth century, when the shores of the American colonies +were harassed and the seas patrolled by pirates and +buccaneers. These robbed and spoiled, and often seized +and put to death, the sailors and fishers and other humbler +folk, while their leaders claimed friendship alike with Southern +planters and New England merchants,—with whom +it is said they frequently divided their spoils.</p> + +<p>The times were stern and the colonists were hardy, but +they loved as truly and tenderly as in more peaceful days. +Thus, while the hero's adventures with pirates and his search +for their hidden treasure is a record of desperate encounters +and daring deeds, his love-story and his winning of sweet +Mary Vane is in delightful contrast.</p> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class='adtitle2'>The Rome Express.</span> <span class="smcap">By Major Arthur Griffiths</span>, +author of "The Passenger from Calais," etc.</div> + +<div class='center'> +Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by A. O. Scott $1.25<br /> +</div> + +<p>A mysterious murder on a flying express train, a wily +Italian, a charming woman caught in the meshes of circumstantial +evidence, a chivalrous Englishman, and a police +force with a keen nose for the wrong clue, are the ingredients +from which Major Griffiths has concocted a clever, up-to-date +detective story. The book is bright and spirited, +with rapid action, and consistent development which brings +the story to a logical and dramatic ending.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5_ad1" id="Page_5_ad1">[5]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class='adtitle2'>The Morning Glory Club.</span> <span class="smcap">By George A. +Kyle.</span></div> + +<div class='center'> +Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by A. O. Scott. $1.25<br /> +</div> + +<p>The doings of the Morning Glory Club will furnish genuine +amusement to the reader. Originally formed to "elevate" +the village, it quickly develops into an exchange for +town gossip. It has a saving grace, however, in the person +of motherly Mrs. Stout, the uncultured but sweet-natured +and pure-minded village philosopher, who pours the oil of +her saneness and charity on the troubled waters of discussion +and condemnation.</p> + +<p>It is a series of clear and interesting pictures of the humor +of village life.</p> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class='adtitle2'>The Chronicles of Martin Hewitt, Detective.</span> +<span class="smcap">New Illustrated Edition. By Arthur +Morrison</span>, author of "The Green Diamond," +"The Red Triangle," etc.</div> + +<div class='center'> +Cloth decorative, with six full-page drawings by W. Kirkpatrick $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<p>The success of Mr. Morrison's recent books, "The Green +Diamond" and "The Red Triangle," has led to an imperative +demand for the reissue of "The Chronicles of Martin +Hewitt," which has been out of print for a number of years.</p> + +<p>It will be remembered that Martin Hewitt is the detective +in "The Red Triangle," of whom the <i>New York +Tribune</i> said: "Better than Sherlock Holmes." His adventures +in the London slums were of such a nature that the +<i>Philadelphia North American</i> said: "The reader who has +a grain of fancy or imagination may be defied to lay this +book down once he has begun it until the last word is +reached."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6_ad1" id="Page_6_ad1">[6]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class='adtitle2'>Mystery Island.</span> <span class="smcap">By Edward H. Hurst.</span></div> + +<div class='center'> +Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<p>A hunting camp on a swampy island in the Florida Everglades +furnishes the background for this present-day tale.</p> + +<p>By the murder of one of their number, the secret of +egress from the island is lost, and the campers find themselves +marooned.</p> + +<p>Cut off from civilization, conventional veneer soon wears +away. Love, hate, and revenge spring up, and after the +sterner passions have had their sway the man and the woman +are left alone to fulfil their own destiny.</p> + +<p>While there is much that is unusual in the plot and its +development, Mr. Hurst has handled his subject with fine +delicacy, and the tale of their love on the beautiful little +island is told with deep sympathy and feeling.</p> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class='adtitle2'>The Flying Cloud.</span> <span class="smcap">By Morley Roberts</span>, +author of "The Promotion of the Admiral," "Rachel +Marr," "The Idlers," etc.</div> + +<div class='center'> +Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<p>Mr. Roberts's new book is much more than a ripping +good sea story such as might be expected from the author +of "The Promotion of the Admiral." In "The Flying +Cloud" the waters and the winds are gods personified. +Their every mood and phase are described in words of telling +force. There is no world but the waste of waters.</p> + +<p>Mr. Roberts glories and exults in the mystery, the passion, +the strength of the elements, as did the Viking chroniclers +of old. He understands them and loves them and +interprets them as no other writer has heretofore done. +The book is too big for conventional phrases. It needs +Mr. Roberts's own richness of imagery and masterly expression +to describe adequately the word-pictures in this +epic of wind and waves.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1_ad2" id="Page_1_ad2">[1]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class='adtitle1'>Selections from<br /> +L. C. Page and Company's<br /> +List of Fiction</div> + + +<div class='adtitle2'><br />WORKS OF<br /> +ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS</div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>Each one vol., library 12mo, cloth decorative</i> $1.50<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>The Flight of Georgiana</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Romance of the Days of the Young Pretender.</span> Illustrated +by H. C. Edwards.</p> + +<div class='blockquot'>"A love-story in the highest degree, a dashing story, and a remarkably +well finished piece of work."—<i>Chicago Record-Herald.</i></div> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>The Bright Face of Danger</div> + +<p>Being an account of some adventures of Henri de Launay, son of +the Sieur de la Tournoire. Illustrated by H. C. Edwards.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Stephens has fairly outdone himself. We thank him +heartily. The story is nothing if not spirited and entertaining, +rational and convincing."—<i>Boston Transcript.</i></p> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>The Mystery of Murray Davenport</div> + +<p>(40th thousand.)</p> + +<div class='blockquot'>"This is easily the best thing that Mr. Stephens has yet done. +Those familiar with his other novels can best judge the measure of +this praise, which is generous."—<i>Buffalo News.</i></div> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>Captain Ravenshaw</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Or, The Maid of Cheapside.</span> (52d thousand.) A romance +of Elizabethan London. Illustrations by Howard Pyle and other +artists.</p> + +<p>Not since the absorbing adventures of D'Artagnan have we had +anything so good in the blended vein of romance and comedy.</p> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>The Continental Dragoon</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Romance of Philipse Manor House in 1778.</span> (53d +thousand.) Illustrated by H. C. Edwards.</p> + +<p>A stirring romance of the Revolution, with its scene laid on +neutral territory.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2_ad2" id="Page_2_ad2">[2]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>Philip Winwood</div> + +<p>(70th thousand.) A Sketch of the Domestic History of an +American Captain in the War of Independence, embracing events +that occurred between and during the years 1763 and 1785 in +New York and London. Illustrated by E. W. D. Hamilton.</p> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>An Enemy to the King</div> + +<p>(70th thousand.) From the "Recently Discovered Memoirs of +the Sieur de la Tournoire." Illustrated by H. De M. Young.</p> + +<p>An historical romance of the sixteenth century, describing the +adventures of a young French nobleman at the court of Henry III., +and on the field with Henry IV.</p> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>The Road to Paris</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Story of Adventure.</span> (35th thousand.) Illustrated by +H. C. Edwards.</p> + +<p>An historical romance of the eighteenth century, being an account +of the life of an American gentleman adventurer of Jacobite ancestry.</p> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>A Gentleman Player</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">His Adventures on a Secret Mission for Queen Elizabeth.</span> +(48th thousand.) Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill.</p> + +<p>The story of a young gentleman who joins Shakespeare's company +of players, and becomes a friend and protégé of the great +poet.</p> +<hr class="chap" /> + + + +<h2>WORKS OF +CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS</h2> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>Red Fox</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Story of His Adventurous Career in the Ringwaak +Wilds, and of His Final Triumph over the Enemies of +His Kind.</span> With fifty illustrations, including frontispiece in +color and cover design by Charles Livingston Bull.</p> + +<div class='center'> +Square quarto, cloth decorative $2.00<br /> +</div> + +<blockquote><p>"Infinitely more wholesome reading than the average tale of +sport, since it gives a glimpse of the hunt from the point of view of +the hunted."—<i>Boston Transcript.</i></p> + +<p>"True in substance but fascinating as fiction. It will interest +old and young, city-bound and free-footed, those who know animals +and those who do not."—<i>Chicago Record-Herald.</i></p> + +<p>"A brilliant chapter in natural history."—<i>Philadelphia North +American.</i></p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3_ad2" id="Page_3_ad2">[3]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>The Kindred of the Wild</div> + +<p><span class="smcap">A Book of Animal Life.</span> With fifty-one full-page plates and +many decorations from drawings by Charles Livingston Bull.</p> + +<div class='center'> +Square quarto, decorative cover $2.00<br /> +</div> + +<blockquote><p>"Is in many ways the most brilliant collection of animal stories +that has appeared; well named and well done."—<i>John Burroughs.</i></p></blockquote> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>The Watchers of the Trails</div> + +<p>A companion volume to "The Kindred of the Wild." With +forty-eight full-page plates and many decorations from drawings +by Charles Livingston Bull.</p> + +<div class='center'> +Square quarto, decorative cover $2.00<br /> +</div> + +<blockquote><p>"Mr. Roberts has written a most interesting series of tales free +from the vices of the stories regarding animals of many other +writers, accurate in their facts and admirably and dramatically told."—<i>Chicago +News.</i></p> + +<p>"These stories are exquisite in their refinement, and yet robust +in their appreciation of some of the rougher phases of woodcraft. +Among the many writers about animals, Mr. Roberts occupies an +enviable place."—<i>The Outlook.</i></p> + +<p>"This is a book full of delight. An additional charm lies in Mr. +Bull's faithful and graphic illustrations, which in fashion all their +own tell the story of the wild life, illuminating and supplementing +the pen pictures of the author."—<i>Literary Digest.</i></p></blockquote> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>Earth's Enigmas</div> + +<p>A new edition of Mr. Roberts's first volume of fiction, published +in 1892, and out of print for several years, with the addition of +three new stories, and ten illustrations by Charles Livingston +Bull.</p> + +<div class='center'> +Library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<blockquote><p>"It will rank high among collections of short stories. In +'Earth's Enigmas' is a wider range of subject than in the 'Kindred +of the Wild.'"—<i>Review from advance sheets of the illustrated edition +by Tiffany Blake in the Chicago Evening Post.</i></p></blockquote> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>Barbara Ladd</div> + +<p>With four illustrations by Frank Verbeck.</p> + +<div class='center'> +Library 12mo, gilt top $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<blockquote><p>"From the opening chapter to the final page Mr. Roberts lures +us on by his rapt devotion to the changing aspects of Nature and +by his keen and sympathetic analysis of human character"—<i>Boston +Transcript.</i></p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4_ad2" id="Page_4_ad2">[4]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>Cameron of Lochiel</div> + +<p>Translated from the French of Philippe Aubert de Gaspé, with +frontispiece in color by H. C. Edwards.</p> + +<div class='center'> +Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<blockquote><p>"Professor Roberts deserves the thanks of his reader for giving +a wider audience an opportunity to enjoy this striking bit of French +Canadian literature."—<i>Brooklyn Eagle.</i></p> + +<p>"It is not often in these days of sensational and philosophical +novels that one picks up a book that so touches the heart."—<i>Boston +Transcript.</i></p></blockquote> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>The Prisoner of Mademoiselle</div> + +<p>With frontispiece by Frank T. Merrill.</p> + +<div class='center'> +Library 12mo, cloth decorative, gilt top $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<p>A tale of Acadia,—a land which is the author's heart's delight,—of +a valiant young lieutenant and a winsome maiden, who first +captures and then captivates.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"This is the kind of a story that makes one grow younger, more +innocent, more light-hearted. Its literary quality is impeccable. +It is not every day that such a heroine blossoms into even temporary +existence, and the very name of the story bears a breath of +charm."—<i>Chicago Record-Herald.</i></p></blockquote> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>The Heart of the Ancient Wood</div> + +<p>With six illustrations by James L. Weston.</p> + +<div class='center'> +Library 12mo, decorative cover $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<blockquote><p>"One of the most fascinating novels of recent days."—<i>Boston +Journal.</i></p> + +<p>"A classic twentieth-century romance."—<i>New York Commercial +Advertiser.</i></p></blockquote> + + +<div class='adtitle3'>The Forge In the Forest</div> + +<p>Being the Narrative of the Acadian Ranger, Jean de Mer, +Seigneur de Briart, and how he crossed the Black Abbé, and of +his adventures in a strange fellowship. Illustrated by Henry +Sandham, R. C. A.</p> + +<div class='center'> +Library 12mo, cloth, gilt top $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<p>A story of pure love and heroic adventure.</p> + + + +<div class='adtitle3'>By the Marshes of Minas</div> + +<div class='center'> +Library 12mo, cloth, gilt top, illustrated $1.50<br /> +</div> + +<p>Most of these romances are in the author's lighter and more +playful vein; each is a unit of absorbing interest and exquisite +workmanship.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> +<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p> + +<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Asa Holmes, by Annie Fellows Johnston + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASA HOLMES *** + +***** This file should be named 39598-h.htm or 39598-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/5/9/39598/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Asa Holmes + or At the Cross-Roads + +Author: Annie Fellows Johnston + +Illustrator: Ernest Fosbery + +Release Date: May 2, 2012 [EBook #39598] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASA HOLMES *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + + + +ASA HOLMES + +ANNIE.FELLOWS.JOHNSTON + + +[Illustration] + + + + +Asa Holmes + +or + +At the Cross-roads + + + + +Works of + +Annie Fellows Johnston + + +The Little Colonel Series + +(_Trade Mark, Reg. U. S. Pat. Of._) + +Each one vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated + + The Little Colonel Stories $1.50 + + (Containing in one volume the three stories, "The + Little Colonel," "The Giant Scissors," and "Two Little + Knights of Kentucky.") + + The Little Colonel's House Party 1.50 + The Little Colonel's Holidays 1.50 + The Little Colonel's Hero 1.50 + The Little Colonel at Boarding-School 1.50 + The Little Colonel in Arizona 1.50 + The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation 1.50 + The Little Colonel: Maid of Honor 1.50 + + The above 8 vols., _boxed_ 12.00 + + +Illustrated Holiday Editions + +Each one vol., small quarto, cloth, illustrated, and printed in color + + The Little Colonel $1.25 + The Giant Scissors 1.25 + Two Little Knights of Kentucky 1.25 + + The above 3 vols., _boxed_ 3.75 + + +Cosy Corner Series + +Each one vol., thin 12mo, cloth, illustrated + + The Little Colonel $.50 + The Giant Scissors .50 + Two Little Knights of Kentucky .50 + Big Brother .50 + Ole Mammy's Torment .50 + The Story of Dago .50 + Cicely .50 + Aunt 'Liza's Hero .50 + The Quilt that Jack Built .50 + Flip's "Islands of Providence" .50 + Mildred's Inheritance .50 + + +Other Books + + Joel; A Boy of Galilee $1.50 + In the Desert of Waiting .50 + The Three Weavers .50 + Keeping Tryst .50 + Asa Holmes 1.00 + Songs Ysame (Poems, with Albion Fellows Bacon) 1.00 + + L. C. PAGE & COMPANY + 200 Summer Street Boston, Mass. + +[Illustration] + + + + +Asa Holmes + +or + +At the Cross=Roads + +By + +Annie Fellows Johnston + +Author of + + "The Little Colonel," "Two Little Knights + of Kentucky," etc. + + With a Frontispiece by + Ernest Fosbery + +[Illustration] + + Boston + L.C. Page & Company + Publishers + + + + + _Copyright, 1900, 1901_ + BY E. S. BARNETT + + _Copyright, 1902_ + BY L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY + + (INCORPORATED) + + _All rights reserved_ + + _Seventh Impression_ + + Colonial Press + + Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. + Boston, Mass., U. S. A. + + + + + TO + + A Dear Old Philosopher + + WHOSE CHEERFUL OPTIMISM AND SUNNY FAITH HAVE + SWEETENED LIFE FOR ALL WHO KNOW HIM + + + + +Asa Holmes + +or + +At the Cross-roads + + + + +Chapter I + + +THERE is no place where men learn each other's little peculiarities more +thoroughly than in the group usually to be found around the stove in a +country store. Such acquaintance may be of slow growth, like the oak's, +but it is just as sure. Each year is bound to add another ring to one's +knowledge of his neighbours if he lounges with them, as man and boy, +through the Saturday afternoons of a score of winters. + +A boy learns more there than he can be taught in schools. It may be he +is only a tow-headed, freckle-faced little fellow of eight when he rides +over to the cross-roads store for the first time by himself. Too timid +to push into the circle around the fire, he stands shivering on the +outskirts, looking about him with the alertness of a scared rabbit, +until the storekeeper fills his kerosene can and thrusts the weekly mail +into his red mittens. Then some man covers him with confusion by +informing the crowd that "that little chap is Perkins's oldest," and he +scurries away out of the embarrassing focus of the public eye. + +But the next time he is sent on the family errands he stays longer and +carries away more. Perched on the counter, with his heels dangling over +a nail keg, while he waits for the belated mail train, he hears for the +first time how the government ought to be run, why it is that the +country is going to the dogs, and what will make hens lay in cold +weather. Added to this general information, he slowly gathers the belief +that these men know everything in the world worth knowing, and that +their decisions on any subject settle the matter for all time. + +He may have cause to change his opinion later on, when his sapling +acquaintance has gained larger girth; when he has loafed with them, +smoked with them, swapped lies and spun yarns, argued through a decade +of stormy election times, and talked threadbare every subject under the +sun. But now, in his callow judgment, he is listening to the wit and +wisdom of the nation. Now, as he looks around the overflowing room, +where butter firkins crowd the calicoes and crockery, and where hams and +saddles swing sociably from the same rafter, as far as his knowledge +goes, this is the only store in the universe. + +Some wonder rises in his childish brain as he counts the boxes of +axle-grease and the rows of shining new pitchforks, as to where all the +people live who are to use so many things. He has yet to learn that this +one little store that is such a marvel to him is only a drop in the +bucket, and that he may travel the width of the continent, meeting at +nearly every mile-post that familiar mixture of odours--coal oil, +mackerel, roasted coffee, and pickle brine. And a familiar group of men, +discussing the same old subjects in the same old way, will greet him at +every such booth he passes on his pilgrimage through Vanity Fair. + +Probably in after years Perkins's oldest will never realise how much of +his early education has been acquired at that Saturday afternoon +loafing-place, but he will often find himself looking at things with the +same squint with which he learned to view them through 'Squire Dobbs's +short-sighted spectacles. Many a time he will find that he has been +unconsciously warped by the prejudices he heard expressed there, and +that his opinions of life in general and men in particular are the +outgrowth of those early conversations which gave him the creed of his +boyhood. + +"Them blamed Yankees!" exclaims one of these neighbourhood orators, +tilting his chair back against the counter, and taking a vicious bite at +his plug of tobacco. "They don't know no better than to eat cold bread +the year 'round!" And the boy, accepting the statement unquestioningly, +stores away in his memory not only the remark, but all the weighty +emphasis of disgust which accompanied the remark in the spitting of a +mouthful of tobacco juice. Henceforth his idea of the menu north of the +Mason and Dixon line is that it resembles the bill of fare of a +penitentiary, and he feels that there is something coldblooded and +peculiar about a people not brought up on a piping hot diet of hoe-cake +and beaten biscuit. + +In the same way the lad whose opinions are being moulded in some little +corner grocery of a New England village, or out where the roads cross on +the Western prairie, receives his prejudices. It may be years before he +finds out for himself that the land of Boone is not fenced with whiskey +jugs and feuds, and that the cap-sheaf on every shock of wheat in its +domain is not a Winchester rifle. + +But these prejudices, popular at local cross-roads, are only the side +lines of which every section carries its own specialty. When it comes to +staple articles, dear to the American heart and essential to its liberty +and progress, their standard of value is the same the country over. + +One useful lesson the youthful lounger may learn here, if he can learn +it anywhere, and that is to be a shrewd reader of men and motives. Since +staple characteristics in human nature are repeated everywhere, like +staple dry goods and groceries, a thorough knowledge of the group around +the stove will be a useful guide to Perkins's oldest in forming +acquaintances later in life. + +Long after he has left the little hamlet and grown gray with the +experiences of the metropolis, he will run across some queer Dick whose +familiar personality puzzles him. As he muses over his evening pipe, +suddenly out of the smoke wreaths will spring the face of some old +codger who aired his wisdom in the village store, and he will recognise +the likeness between the two as quickly as he would between two cans of +leaf lard bearing the same brand. + +But Perkins's oldest is only in the primer of his cross-roads +curriculum now, and these are some of the lessons he is learning as he +edges up to the group around the fire. On the day before Thanksgiving, +for instance, he was curled up on a box of soap behind the chair of old +Asa Holmes--Miller Holmes everybody calls him, because for nearly half a +century his water-mill ground out the grist of all that section of +country. He is retired now; gave up his business to his grandsons. They +carry it on in another place with steam and modern machinery, and he is +laid on the shelf. But he isn't a back number, even if his old deserted +mill is. It is his boast that now he has nothing else to do, he not only +keeps up with the times, but ahead of them. + +Everybody goes to him for advice; everybody looks up to him as they do +to a hardy old forest tree that's lived through all sorts of hurricanes, +but has stood to the last, sturdy of limb, and sound to the core. He is +as sweet and mellow as a winter apple, ripened in the sun, and that's +why everybody likes to have him around. You don't see many old men like +that. Their troubles sour them. + +Well, this day before Thanksgiving the old miller was in his usual +place at the store, and as usual it was he who was giving the cheerful +turn to the conversation. Some of the men were feeling sore over the +recent election; some had not prospered as they had hoped with their +crops, and were experiencing the pinch of hard times and sickness in +their homes. Still there was a holiday feeling in the atmosphere. +Frequent calls for nutmeg, and sage, and cinnamon, left the air spicy +with prophecies of the morrow's dinner. + +The farmers had settled down for a friendly talk, with the comfortable +sense that the crops were harvested, the wood piled away for the winter, +and a snug, warm shelter provided for the cattle. It was good to see the +hard lines relax in the weather-beaten faces, in the warmth of that +genial comradeship. Even the gruffest were beginning to thaw a little, +when the door opened, and Bud Hines slouched in. The spirits of the +crowd went down ten degrees. + +Not that he said anything; only gave a gloomy nod by way of greeting as +he dropped into a chair. But his whole appearance said it for him; spoke +in the droop of his shoulders, and the droop of his hat brim, and the +droop of his mouth at the corners. He looked as if he might have sat for +the picture of the man in the "Biglow Papers," when he said: + + "Sometimes my innard vane pints east for weeks together, + My natur' gits all goose-flesh, an' my sins + Come drizzlin' on my conscience sharp ez pins." + +The miller greeted him with the twinkle in his eye that eighty years +and more have never been able to dim; and Perkins's oldest had his first +meeting with the man who always finds a screw loose in everything. +Nothing was right with Bud Hines. One of his horses had gone lame, and +his best heifer had foundered, and there was rust in his wheat. He +didn't have any heart to keep Thanksgiving, and he didn't see how +anybody else could, with the bottom dropped clean out of the markets and +the new road tax so high. For his part he thought that everything was on +its last legs, and it wouldn't be long till all the Powers were at war, +and prices would go up till a poor man simply couldn't live. + +It was impossible not to be affected more or less by his gloomy +forebodings, and the old miller, looking around on the listening faces, +saw them settling back in their old discouraged lines. Clasping his +hands more firmly over the top of his cane, he exclaimed: "Now look +here, Bud Hines, I'm going to give you a proverb that was made on +purpose for such a poor, weak-kneed Mr. Ready-to-halt as you are: 'Never +be discouraged, and never be a discourager!' If you can't live up to the +first part, you certainly can to the second. No matter how hard things +go with you, you've no right to run around throwing cold water on other +people. What if your horse has gone lame? You've got a span of mules +that can outpull my yoke of oxen any day. One heifer oughtn't to send a +man into mourning the rest of his days, and it would be more fitting to +be thankful over your good tobacco crop than to groan over the failure +of your wheat. More fitting to the season. As for the rest of the things +you're worrying over, why, man, they haven't happened yet, and maybe +never will. My old grandad used to say to me when I was a lad, 'Never +cross your bridge till you come to it, Asa,' and I've proved the wisdom +of that saying many a time. Suppose'n you put that in your pipe and +smoke it." + +If Perkins's oldest learns no other lesson this year than to put those +two proverbs into practice, he will have had a valuable education. How +many Thanksgivings they will help to make for him! How many problems and +perplexities they will solve! + +"Never be discouraged; never be a discourager! Don't cross your bridge +until you come to it!" It is a philosophy that will do away with half +the ills which flesh imagines it is heir to. + +Thanksgiving Day! How much more it means to the old miller than to the +little fellow beside him on the soap box! To the child it is only a +feast day; to the old man it is a festival that links him to a lifetime +of sacred memories. + +"Five and eighty years," he says, musingly, resting his chin on the +wrinkled hands that clasp the head of his cane. A silence falls on the +group around the stove, and through the cracked door the red firelight +shines out on thoughtful faces. + +"It's a long time; five and eighty years," he repeats, "and every one of +them crowned with a Thanksgiving. Boys," lifting his head and looking +around him, "you've got a good bit of pike to travel over yet before you +get as far as I've gone, and some of you are already half fagged out and +beginning to wonder if it's all worth while--Bud, here, for instance. +I'd like to give you all a word of encouragement. + +"Looking back, I can see that I've had as many ups and downs as any of +you, and more than your share of work and trouble, for I've lived +longer, and nearly all the years are marked with graves. Seems to me +that lately I've had to leave a new grave behind me at every mile-stone, +till now I'm jogging on all alone. Family gone, old neighbours gone, old +friends--I'm the last of the old set. But, still, when all is said and +done, I haven't lost heart, for 'I've lived, seen God's hand through a +lifetime, and all was for best.' + +"When I was milling down there on Bear Creek you'd 'a' thought I was a +fool if I hadn't taken my rightful toll out of every bushel of grist +that ran through my hopper, and sometimes I think that the Almighty must +feel that way about us when we go on grinding and grinding, and never +stopping to count up our share of the profit and pleasure and be +thankful over it. I believe that no matter what life pours into our +hopper, we are to grind some toll of good out of it for ourselves, and +as long as a man does his part toward producing something for the +world's good, some kind of bread for its various needs, he will never go +hungry himself. + +"And I believe more than that. You've heard people compare old age to a +harvest field, and talk about the autumn of life with its ripened corn +waiting for the reaper Death, and all that, and speak about the 'harvest +home,' as if it were the glorious end of everything. But it never did +strike me that way, boys. The best comes after the harvesting, when the +wheat is turned into flour and the flour into bread, and the full, +wholesome loaves go to make up blood and muscle and brain. That's giving +it a sort of immortality, you might say, raising it into a higher order +of life. And it's the same with a man. His old age is just a ripening +for something better a little further on. All that we go through with +here isn't for nothing, and at eighty-five, when it looks as if a man +had come to the stepping-off place, I've come to believe that 'the best +is yet to be.'" + +There is a stir around the door, and the old miller looks around +inquiringly. The mail has come in, and he rises slowly to get his weekly +paper. Perkins's oldest, waiting his turn in front of the little case of +pigeonholes, eyes the old man with wondering side glances. He has not +understood more than half of what he has heard, but he is vaguely +conscious that something is speaking to him now, as he looks into the +tranquil old face. It is the miller's past that is calling to him; all +those honest, hard-working years that show themselves in the bent form +and wrinkled hands; the serene peacefulness that bespeaks a clear +conscience; the big, sunny nature that looks out of those aged eyes; and +above all the great hopefulness that makes his days a perpetual +Thanksgiving. + +The mute eloquence of an unspoken invitation thrills the child's heart, +he knows not why: + + "Grow old along with me; + The best is yet to be!" + +It is the greatest lesson that Perkins's oldest can ever learn. + + + + +Chapter II + + +ONE would have known that it was the day before Christmas at the +Cross-Roads store, even if the big life insurance calendar over the desk +had not proclaimed the fact in bold red figures. An unwonted bustle +pervaded the place. Rows of plump, dressed turkeys hung outside the +door, and on the end of the counter where the pyramid of canned tomatoes +was usually stacked, a little evergreen tree stood in a brave array of +tinsel and tiny Christmas tapers. + +It was only an advertisement. No one might hope to be the proud +possessor of the Noah's ark lodged in its branches, or of the cheap toys +and candy rings dangling from every limb, unless he had the necessary +pennies. Still, every child who passed it eyed it with such wistful +glances that the little rubber Santa Claus at the base must have felt +his elastic heart stretch almost to bursting. + +Above the familiar odour of coal-oil and mackerel, new leather, roasted +coffee and pickle brine, rose the holiday fragrance of cedar and +oranges. + +"Makes me think of when I was a kid," said a drummer who had been +joking with the men around the stove, trying to kill time while he +waited for the train that was to take him home for Christmas. "There's +nothing like that smell of cedar and oranges to resurrect the boy in a +man. It puts me straight back into knickerbockers again, among a whole +grove of early Christmas trees. I'll never forget the way I felt when I +picked my first pair of skates off one of them. A house and lot wouldn't +give me such a thrill now." + +"Aw, I don't believe Christmas is at all what it's cracked up to be," +said a voice from behind the stove, in such a gloomy tone that a knowing +smile passed around the circle. + +"Bet on you, Bud Hines, for findin' trouble, every time," laughed the +storekeeper. "Why, Bud, there ain't no screw loose in Christmas, is +there?" + +"Well, there just is!" snapped the man, resenting the laugh. "It comes +too often for one thing. I just wish it had happened on leap-year, the +twenty-ninth of February. It would be a heap less expensive having it +just once in four years. Seems to me we're always treading on its heels. +My old woman hardly gets done knitting tidies for one Christmas till +she's hard at it for another. + +"Anyhow, Christmas never measures up to what you think it's a-going +to--not by a jug-full. Sure as you get your heart set on a patent +nail-puller or a pair of fur gloves--something that'll do _you_ some +good--your wife gives you a carpet sweeper, or an alarm-clock that +rattles you out an hour too early every morning." + +The drummer led the uproarious laughter that followed. They were ready +to laugh at anything in this season of good cheer, and the drummer's +vociferous merriment was irresistible. He slapped the speaker on the +back, adding jokingly, "That's one thing Job never had to put up, did +he, partner! He nearly lost his reputation for politeness over the +misfit advice he didn't want. But there's no telling what he'd have done +with misfit Christmas gifts. It would take a star actor to play the +grateful for some of the things people find in their stockings. For +instance, to have a fond female relative give you a shaving outfit, when +you wear a full beard." + +"You bet your life," answered the storekeeper feelingly. "Now, if Santa +Claus wasn't a fake--" + +"Hist!" said the drummer, with a significant glance toward a small boy, +perched on a soap-box in their midst, listening open-mouthed to every +word. "I've children myself, and I'd punch anybody's head who would +shake their faith in Santy. It's one of the rosy backgrounds of +childhood, in my opinion, and I've got a heap of happiness out of it +since I was a kid, too, looking back and recollecting." + +It was very little happiness that the boy on the soap-box was getting +out of anything, that gray December afternoon. He was weighed down with +a feeling of age and responsibility that bore heavily on his +eight-year-old shoulders. He had long felt the strain of his position, +as pattern to the house of Perkins, being the oldest of five. Now there +was another one, and to be counted as the oldest of six pushed him +almost to the verge of gray hairs. + +There was another reason for his tear-stained face. He had been +disillusioned. Only that noon, his own mother had done that for which +the drummer would have punched any one's head, had it been done to his +children. "We're too poor, Sammy. There can't be any Christmas at our +house this year," she had said, fretfully, as she stopped the noisy +driving of nails into the chimney, on which he contemplated hanging the +fraternal stockings. To his astonished "Why?" she had replied with a few +blunt truths that sent him out from her presence, shorn of all his +childish hopefulness as completely as Samson was shorn of his strength. + +There had been a sorry half-hour in the hay-mow, where he snuffled over +his shattered faith alone, and from whence he went out, a hardened +little skeptic, to readjust himself to a cold and Santa Clausless world. +The only glimmer of comfort he had had since was when the drummer, with +a friendly wink, slipped a nickel into his hand. But even that added to +his weight of responsibility. He dropped it back and forth from one +little red mitten to another, with two impulses strong upon him. The +first was to spend it for six striped sticks of peppermint candy, one +for each stocking, and thus compel Christmas to come to the house of +Perkins. The other was to buy one orange and go off in a corner and suck +it all by himself. He felt that fate owed him that much of a reparation +for his disappointment. He was in the midst of this inward debate when a +new voice joined the discussion around the stove. It came from Cy Akers. + +"Well, _I_ think it's downright sinful to stuff a child with such +notions. You may call 'em fairy-tales all you like, but it's nothing +more or less than a pack of lies. The idea of a Christian payrent +sitting up and telling his immortal child that a big fat man in furs +will drive through the air to-night in a reindeer sleigh right over the +roofs and squeeze himself down a lot of sooty chimneys, with a bag of +gimcracks on his back--it's all fol-de-rol! I never could see how any +intelligent young one could believe it. I never did. But that's one +thing about me, as the poet says, 'If I've one pecooliar feature it's a +nose that won't be led.' I never could be made to take stock in any such +nonsense, even as a boy. I'll leave it to Mr. Asa Holmes, here, if it +isn't wrong to be putting such ideas into the youth of our land." + +The old miller ran his fingers through his short white hair and looked +around. His smile was wholesome as it was genial. He was used to being +called in judgment on these neighbourhood discussions, and he spoke with +the air of one who felt that his words carried weight: + +"You're putting it pretty strong, Cy," he said, with a laugh, and then a +tender, reminiscent light gleamed in his old eyes. + +"You see it's this way with me, boys. We never heard any of these +things when I was a lad. It's plain facts in a pioneer cabin, you know. +Father taught us about Christmas in the plain words that he found set +down in the Gospels, and I told it the same way to my boys. When my +first little grandson came back to the old house to spend Christmas, I +thought it was almost heathenish for his mother to have him send letters +up the chimney and talk as if Santa Claus was some real person. I told +her so one day, and asked what was going to happen when the little +fellow outgrew such beliefs. + +"'Why, Father Holmes,' said she,--I can hear her now, words and tones, +for it set me to thinking,--'don't you see that he is all the time +growing into a broader belief? It's this way.' She picked up a big apple +from the table. 'Once this apple was only a tiny seed-pod in the heart +of a pink blossom. The beauty of the blossom was all that the world saw, +at first, but gradually, as the fruit swelled and developed, the pink +petals fell off, naturally and easily, and the growing fruit was left. +My little son's idea of Christmas is in the blossom time now. This rosy +glamour of old customs and traditions that makes it so beautiful to him +is taking the part of the pink petals. They will fall away by and by, of +their own accord, for underneath a beautiful truth is beginning to swell +to fruitage. Santa Claus is the Spirit of Christmas love and giving, +personified. It is because I want to make it real and vital, something +that my baby's mind can grasp and enjoy, that I incarnate it in the form +of the good old Saint Nicholas, but I never let him lose sight of the +Star. It was the Spirit of Christmas that started the wise men on their +search, and they followed the Star and they found the Child, and laid +gifts at his feet. And when the Child was grown, he, too, went out in +the world and followed the Star and scattered his gifts of love and +healing for all the children of men. And so it has gone on ever since, +that Spirit of Christmas, impelling us to follow and to find and to +give, wherever there is a need for our gold and frankincense and myrrh. +That is the larger belief my boy is growing into, from the smaller.' + +"And she is right," said the old man, after an impressive pause. "She +raised that boy to be an own brother to Santa Claus, as far as good-will +to men goes. It's Christmas all the year round wherever _he_ is. And now +when he brings his boys back to the old home and hangs their stockings +up by the fire, I never say a word. Sometimes when the little chaps are +hunting for the marks of the reindeer hoofs in the ashes, I kneel down +on the old hearthstone and hunt, too. + + * * * * * + +"A brother to Santa Claus!" The phrase still echoed in the heart of +Perkins's oldest when the group around the stove dispersed. It was that +which decided the fate of the nickel, and filled the little red mittens +with sticks of striped delight for six, instead of the lone orange for +one. Out of a conversation but dimly understood he had gathered a vague +comfort. It made less difference that his patron saint was a myth, since +he had learned there might be brothers in the Claus family for him to +fall back upon. Then his fingers closed over the paper bag of +peppermints, and, suddenly, with a little thrill, he felt that in some +queer way he belonged to that same brotherhood. + +As he fumbled at the latch, the old miller, who always saw his own +boyhood rise before him in that small tow-headed figure, and who somehow +had divined the cause of the tear-streaks on the dirty little face, +called him. "Here, sonny!" It was a pair of shining new skates that +dangled from the miller's hands into his. + +One look of rapturous delight, and two little feet were flying homeward +down the frozen pike, beating time to a joy that only the overflowing +heart of a child can know, when its troubles are all healed, and faith +in mankind restored. And the old man, going home in the frosty twilight +of the Christmas eve, saw before him all the way the light of a shining +star. + + + + +Chapter III + + +IT was an hour past the usual time for closing the Cross-Roads store, +but no one made a move to go. Listening in the comfortable glow of the +red-hot stove, to the wind whistling down the long pipe, was far +pleasanter than facing its icy blasts on the way home. Besides, it was +the last night of the old year, and hints of forthcoming cider had been +dropped by Jim Bowser, the storekeeper. Also an odour of frying +doughnuts came in from the kitchen, whenever Mrs. Bowser opened the door +into the entry. + +Added to the usual group of loungers was the drummer who had spent +Christmas eve with them. He had come in on an accommodation train, and +was waiting for the midnight express. He had had the floor for some time +with his stories, when suddenly in the midst of the laughter which +followed one of his jokes, Bud Hines made himself heard. + +"I say, Jim," he exclaimed, turning to the storekeeper, "why don't you +tear off the last leaf of that calendar? We've come to the end of +everything now; end of the day, end of the year, end of the century! +Something none of _us_ will ever experience again. It's always a mighty +solemn thought to me that I'm doing a thing for the la-ast time!" + +Jim laughed cheerfully, tilting his chair back against the counter, and +thrusting his thumbs into the armholes of his vest. + +"I don't know as I feel any call to mourn over takin' down an old +calendar when I have a prettier one to put in its place, and it's the +same way with the century. There'll be a better one to begin on in the +morning." + +"That's so," asserted Cy Akers. "But some people come bang up against a +New Year as if it was a stone wall, and down they set and count up their +sins, and turn over new leaves, and load 'emselves down with so many +good resolutions that they stick in the mud by the end of the first +week. Now I hold that if it wasn't for the almanacs, steppin' from one +year to another, or from one century to another, wouldn't jar you no +more than steppin' over the equator. They're only imaginary lines, and +nobody would ever know where he was at, either in months or meridians, +if he didn't have almanacs and the like to keep him posted. Fourth of +July is just as good a time to take stock and turn over a new leaf as +the first of January." + +"Maybe you take stock like a man I used to sell to down in Henderson +County," said the drummer. "He never kept any books, so he never knew +exactly where he was 'at,' as you say. Once a year he'd walk around the +store with his hands in his pockets, and size up things in a general +sort of way. 'Bill,' he'd say to his clerk, cocking his eyes up at the +shelves, 'we've got a right smart chance of canned goods left over. I +reckon there's a half shelf full more than we had left last year. I know +there's more bottles of ketchup.' Then he'd take another turn around the +room. 'Bill, I disremember how many pitchforks we had in this rack. +There's only two left now. Nearly all the calico is sold, and (thumping +the molasses barrel), this here bar'l sounds like it's purty nigh empty. +Take it all around, Bill, we've done first-rate this year, so I don't +know as it's worth while botherin' about weighin' and measurin' what's +left over, so long as we're satisfied.' And maybe that's why Cy makes so +little of New Year," added the drummer, with a sly wink at the others. +"He thinks it's not worth while to weigh and measure his shortcomings +when he can take stock of himself in a general sort of a way, and always +be perfectly satisfied with himself." + +There was a laugh at Cy's expense, and Bud Hines began again. + +"What worries me is, what's been prophesied about the new century. One +would think we've had enough famines and plagues and wars and rumours of +wars in this here old one to do for awhile, but from what folks say, it +ain't goin' to hold a candle to the trouble we'll see in the next one." + +"Troubles is seasonin'. ''Simmons ain't good till they are frostbit,'" +quoted Cy. + +"Then accordin' to Bud's tell, he ought to be the best seasoned +persimmon on the bough," chuckled the storekeeper. + +"No, that fellow that was here this afternoon goes ahead of Bud," +insisted Cy, turning to the drummer. "I wish you could have heard him, +pardner. He came in to get a postal order for some money he wanted to +send in a letter, and he nearly wiped up the earth with poor old Bowser, +because there was a two-cent war tax to pay on it. + +"'Whose war?' says he. ''Tain't none of _my_ makin',' says he, 'and +I'll be switched if I'll pay taxes on a thing I've been dead set against +from the start. It's highway robbery,' says he, 'to load the country +down with a war debt in times like these. It's kill yourself to keep +yourself these days, and as my Uncle Josh used to say after the Mexican +war, "it's tough luck when people are savin' and scrimpin' at the spigot +for the government to be drawin' off at the bung."' + +"Bowser here just looked him over as if he'd been a freak at a +side-show, and said Bowser, in a dry sort of way, he guessed, 'when it +came to the pinch, the spigot wouldn't feel that a two-cent stamp was a +killin' big leakage.' + +"The fellow at that threw the coppers down on the counter, mad as a +hornet. 'It's the principle of the thing,' says he. 'Uncle Sam had no +business to bite off more'n he could chew and then call on me to help. +What's the war done for this country, anyhow?' + +"He was swinging his arms like a stump speaker at a barbecue, by this +time. 'What's it done?' says he. 'Why it's sent the soldiers back from +Cuba with an itch as bad as the smallpox, and as ketchin' to them +citizens that wanted peace, as to them that clamoured for war. I know +what I'm talkin' about, for my hired man like to 'uv died with it, and +he hadn't favoured the war any more than a spring lamb. And what's it +doin' for us, now?' says he. 'Sendin' the poor fellows back from the +Philippines by the ship-load, crazy as June-bugs. I know what I'm +talkin' about. That happened to one of my wife's cousins. What was it +ever begun for,' says he, 'tell me that!' + +"Peck here, behind the stove, sung out like a fog-horn, '_Remember the +Maine!_' Peck knew what a blow the fellow had made at an indignation +meeting when the news first came. No tellin' what would have happened +then if a little darky hadn't put his head in at the door and yelled, +'Say, mistah, yo' mules is done backed yo' wagon in de ditch!' He tore +out to tend to them, or we might have had another Spanish war right here +among Bowser's goods and chattels." + +"No danger," said Peck, dryly, "he isn't the kind of a fellow to fight +for principle. It's only when his pocketbook is touched he wants to lick +somebody. He's the stingiest man I ever knew, and I've known some mighty +mean men in my time." + +"What's the matter with you all to-night?" said the drummer. "You're +the most pessimistic crowd I've struck in an age. This is the tune +you've been giving me from the minute I lifted the latch." And beating +time with foot and hands in old plantation style, the drummer began +forthwith to sing in a deep bass voice that wakened the little Bowsers +above: + + "Ole Satan is loose an' a-bummin'! + De wheels er distruckshin is a-hummin.' + Oh, come 'long, sinner, ef you comin'!" + +The door into the entry opened a crack and Mrs. Bowser's forefinger +beckoned. + +"Here's good-bye to the old and good luck to the new," cried Jim, +jumping up to take the big pitcher of cider that she passed through the +opening. + +"And here's to Mrs. Bowser," cried the drummer, taking the new tin cup +filled for him with the sparkling cider, and helping himself to a hot +doughnut from the huge panful which she brought in. "It's a pretty good +sort of world, after all, that gives you cakes as crisp and sugary as +these. 'Speak well of the bridge that carries you over' is my motto, so +don't let another fellow cheep to-night, unless he can say something +good of the poor old century or the men who've lived in it!" + +"Mr. Holmes! Mr. Asa Holmes!" cried several voices. + +The old miller, who had been silent all evening, straightened himself up +in his chair and drew his hand over his eyes. + +"I feel as if I were parting with an old comrade, to-night," he said. +"The century had only fifteen years the start of me, and it's a long way +we've travelled together. I've been sitting here, thinking how much +we've lived through. Listen, boys." + +It was a brief series of pictures he drew for them, against the +background of his early pioneer days. They saw him, a little lad, +trudging more than a mile on a winter morning to borrow a kettle of hot +coals, because the fire had gone out on his own hearthstone, and it was +before the days of matches. They saw him huddled with the other little +ones around his mother's knee when the wolves howled in the night +outside the door, and only the light of a tallow-dip flickered through +the darkness of the little cabin. They saw the struggle of a strong life +against the limitations of the wilderness, and realised what the battle +must have been oftentimes, against sudden disease and accident and +death, with the nearest doctor a three days' journey distant, and no +smoke from any neighbour's chimney rising anywhere on all the wide +horizon. + +While he talked, a heavy freight train rumbled by outside; the wind +whistled through the telegraph wires. The jingle of a telephone bell +interrupted his reminiscences. The old man looked up with a smile. "See +what we have come to," he said, "from such a past to a time when I can +say 'hello,' across a continent. Cables and cross-ties and telegraph +poles have annihilated distance. The century and I came in on an +ox-cart; we are going out on a streak of lightning. + +"But that's not the greatest thing," he said, pausing, while the +listening faces grew still more thoughtful. "Think of the hospitals! The +homes! The universities! The social settlements! The free libraries! The +humane efforts everywhere to give humanity an uplift! When I think of +all this century has accomplished, of the heroic lives it has produced, +I haven't a word to say about its mistakes and failures. After all, how +do we know that the things we cry out against _are_ mistakes? + +"This war may be a Samson's riddle that we are not wise enough to read. +Those who shall come after us may be able to say '_Out of the eater came +forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweetness!_'" + +Somewhere in an upper room a clock struck twelve, and deep silence +fell on the little company as they waited for the solemn passing of the +century. It was no going out as of some decrepit Lear tottering from his +throne. Perhaps no man there could have put it in words, but each one +felt that its majestic leave-taking was like the hoary old apostle's: "I +have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the +faith." + + + + +Chapter IV + + +FOR some occult reason, the successful merchant in small towns and +villages is the confidant, if not father-confessor, of a large number of +his patronesses. It may be that his flattering air of personal interest, +assumed for purely business purposes, loosens not only the purse-strings +but the spring that works the panorama of private affairs. Or it may be +an idiosyncrasy of some classes of the mind feminine, to make no +distinction between a bargain counter and a confessional. Whatever the +cause, many an honest merchant can testify that it is no uncommon thing +for a woman to air her domestic troubles while she buys a skirt braid, +or to drag out her family skeleton with the sample of sewing silk she +wishes to match. + +The Cross-Roads had had its share of confidences, although as a rule the +women who disposed of their butter and eggs in trade to Bowser were of +the patient sort, grown silent under the repressing influence of +secluded farm life. Still, Bowser, quick to see and keen to judge, had +gained a remarkable insight into neighbourhood affairs in fifteen years' +dealings with his public. "All things come to him who waits" if he wears +an air of habitual interest and has a sympathetic way of saying "Ah! +indeed!" + +It was with almost the certainty of foreknowledge that Bowser counted +his probable patrons as he spread out his valentines on the morning of +the fourteenth of February. He had selected his comic ones with a view +to the feud that existed between the Hillock and Bond families, well +knowing that a heavy cross-fire of ugly caricatures and insulting rhymes +would be kept up all day by the younger members of those warring +households. It was with professional satisfaction he smiled over the +picture of a fat man with a donkey's head, which he was as sure would be +sent by Pete Hillock to old man Bond, as if he had heard Pete's penny +dropping into the cash-drawer. + +"Nothing like supplying the demand," he chuckled. + +It was with more than professional interest that he arranged the +lace-paper valentines in the show-case, for the little embossed Cupids +had a strong ally in this rustic haberdasher, whose match-making +propensities had helped many a little romance to a happy issue. Drawing +on his fund of private information, acquired in his role of confidant to +the neighbourhood gossips, he set out his stock of plump red hearts, +forget-me-nots, and doves; and with each addition to the festal array he +nodded his head knowingly over the particular courtship it was designed +to speed, or the lovers' quarrel that he hoped might be ended thereby. + + * * * * * + +There had been two weeks of "February thaw." Melting snow had made the +mud hub-deep in places. There was a velvety balminess in the touch of +the warm wind, and faint, elusive odours, prophetic of spring, rose from +the moist earth and sap-quickened trees. + +The door of the Cross-Road store stood open, and behind it, at the +post-office desk, sat Marion Holmes, the old miller's granddaughter. +Just out of college and just into society, she had come to spend Lent in +the old place that had welcomed her every summer during her childhood. +The group around the stove stared covertly at the pretty girl in the +tailor-made gown, failing to recognise in the tall, stylish figure any +trace of the miller's "little Polly," who used to dangle her feet from +the counter and munch peppermint drops, while she lisped nursery rhymes +for their edification. + +She had come for the letters herself, she told Bowser, because she was +expecting a whole bag full, and her grandfather's rheumatism kept him at +home. Installed in the post-office chair, behind the railing that +enclosed the sanctum of pigeon-holes, she amused herself by watching the +customers while she waited for the mail-train. + +"It's like looking into a kaleidoscope," she told Bowser in one of the +pauses of trade. "Every one who comes in gives me a different point of +view and combination of opinions. Now, those valentines! I was thinking +what old-fashioned things those little lace-paper affairs are, and +wondering how anybody could possibly get up any thrills over them, when +in walked Miss Anastasia Dill. Prim and gentle as ever, isn't she? Still +getting her styles from _Godey's Lady's Books_ of the early sixties; she +must draw on their antiquated love stories for her sentiment, too, for +she seemed lost in admiration of those hearts and darts. What _do_ you +suppose is Miss Anastasia's idea of a lover?" + +Marion rattled on with all of a debutante's reckless enthusiasm for any +subject under discussion. "Wouldn't he be as odd and old-fashioned as +the lace valentines themselves? She'd call him a _suitor_, wouldn't she? +I wonder if she ever had one." + +Then Bowser, piecing together the fragmentary gossip of fifteen years, +told Marion all he knew of Miss Anastasia's gentle romance; and Marion, +idly clasping and unclasping the little Yale pin on her jacket, gained +another peep into the kaleidoscope of human experiences. + +"I have read of such devotion to a memory," she said when the story was +done, "but I never met it in the flesh. What a pity he died while he was +on such a high pedestal in her imagination. If he had lived she would +have discovered that there are no such paragons, and all the other sons +of Adam needn't have suffered by comparison. So she's an old maid simply +because she put her ideal of a lover so high in the clouds nobody could +live up to it! Dear old Miss Anastasia!" + +Bowser pulled his beard. "Such couples make me think of these here lamps +with double wicks," he said. "They hardly ever burn along together +evenly. One wick is sure to flare up higher than the other; you either +have to keep turning it down and get along with a half light or let it +smoke the chimney--maybe crack it--and make things generally +uncomfortable. But here comes somebody, Miss Marion, who's burned along +pretty steady, and that through three administrations. It's her brag +that she's had three husbands and treated them just alike, even to the +matter of tombstones. 'Not a pound difference in the weight nor a dollar +in the price,' she always says." + +The newcomer was a fat, wheezy woman, spattered with mud from the hem +of her skirt to the crown of her big crape bonnet, which had tipped on +one side with the jolting of the wagon. + +"Well, Jim Bowser!" she exclaimed, catching sight of the valentines. "Ef +you ain't got out them silly, sentimental fol-de-rols again! My nephew, +Jason Potter,--that's my second husband's sister's son, you know,--spent +seventy-five cents last year to buy one of them silly things to send to +his girl; and I says to him, 'Jason,' says I, 'ef _I'd_ been Lib +Meadows, that would 'uv cooked your goose with _me_! Any man simple +enough to waste his substance so, wouldn't make a good provider.' I +ought to know--I've been a wife three times." + +This, like all other of Mrs. Power's conversational roads, led back to +the three tombstones, and started a flow of good-natured badinage on the +subject of matrimony, which continued long after she had taken her noisy +departure. "Well!" exclaimed Bud Hines, as the big crape bonnet went +jolting down the road, "I guess there's three good men gone that could +tell why heaven is heaven." + +"Why?" asked Cy Akers. + +"Because there's no marryin' or givin' in marriage there." + +"Bud speaks feelingly!" said Cy, winking at the others. "He'd better get +a job on a newspaper to write Side Talks with Henpecked Husbands." + +"Shouldn't think _you'd_ want to hear any extrys or supplements," +retorted Bud. "You get enough in your own daily editions." + + * * * * * + +"St. Valentine has been generous with my little Polly," said the old +miller, looking up fondly at the tall, graceful girl, coming into his +room, her face aglow and her arms full of packages. + +"But what's the good of it all, grandfather?" answered Marion. "I've +been looking into Cupid's kaleidoscope through other people's eyes this +afternoon, and nothing is rose-coloured as I thought. Everything is +horrid. 'Marriage is a failure,' and sentiment is a silly thing that +people make flippant jokes about, or else break their hearts with, like +Mr. Bowser's double-wick lamps, that flare up and crack their chimneys. +I've come to the conclusion that St. Valentine has outlived his +generation." + +She broke the string which bound one of the boxes that she had dropped +on the table, and took out a great dewy bunch of sweet violets. As their +fragrance filled the room, the old man looked around as if half +expecting to see some familiar presence; then dropped his white head +with a sigh, and gazed into the embers on the hearth, lost in a tender +reverie. + +Presently he said, "I wish you would hand me that box on my wardrobe +shelf, little girl." As Marion opened the wardrobe door, something +hanging there made her give a little start of surprise. It was an old +familiar gray dress, with the creases still in the bent sleeves just as +they had been left when the tired arms last slipped out of them. That +was ten years ago; and Marion, standing there with a mist gathering in +her eyes, recalled the day her grandfather had refused to let any one +fold it away. It had hung there all those years, the tangible reminder +of the strong, sweet presence that had left its imprint on every part of +the household. + +"It is like my life since she slipped out of it," the old man had +whispered, smoothing the empty sleeve with his stiff old fingers. "Like +my heart--set to her ways at every turn, and left just as she rounded it +out--but now--so empty!" + +He lifted an old dog-eared school-book from the box that Marion brought +him, a queer little "Geography and Atlas of the Heavens," in use over +fifty years ago. Inside was a tiny slip of paper, time-yellowed and +worn. The ink was faded, until the words written in an unformed girlish +hand were barely legible: + + "True as grapes grow on a vine, + I will be your Valentine." + +"I had put a letter into her Murray's grammar," he explained, holding +up another little book. "Here is the page, just at the conjugation of +the verb 'to love.' You see I was a big, shy, overgrown boy that lost my +tongue whenever I looked at her, although she wasn't fifteen then, and +only reached my shoulder. This valentine was the answer that she slipped +into my atlas of the heavens. I thought the sky itself had never held +such a star. We walked home across the woodland together that day, never +saying a word. It was the last of the February thaw, and the birds were +twittering as if it were really spring. Just such a day as this. All of +a sudden, right at my feet, I saw something smiling up at me, blue as +the blue of my Polly's eyes. I stooped and brushed away the leaves, and +there were two little violets. + +"As I gave them to her I wanted to say, 'There will always be violets +in my heart for you, my Polly,' but I couldn't speak a word. I know she +understood, for long years after--when she was dead--I found them here. +She had pinned them on the page where my letter had lain, here on the +conjugation that says, 'we love,' and she had added the word '_for +ever_.'" + +A tear dropped on the dead violets as the old man reverently closed the +book, and sat gazing again into the dying embers. There was a tremulous +smile on his face. Was it backward over the hills of their youth he was +wandering, or ahead to those heights of Hope, where love shall "put on +immortality?" + +Marion laid her warm cheek against her violets, still fragrant with the +sweetness of their fresh, unfaded youth. Then taking a cluster from the +great dewy bunch, she fastened it at her throat with the little Yale +pin. + + + + +Chapter V + + +TRADE was dull at the Cross-Roads. Jim Bowser, his hands thrust into his +pockets and his lips puckered to a whistle, stood looking through the +dingy glass of his front door. March was coming in with a snow-storm, +and all he could see in any direction was a blinding fall of white +flakes. There were only three men behind the stove that afternoon, and +one of them was absorbed in a newspaper. Conversation flagged, and from +time to time Bud Hines yawned audibly. + +"This is getting to be mighty monotonous," remarked the storekeeper, +glancing from the falling snow to the silent group by the stove. + +"March always is," answered Bud Hines. "The other months have some +holiday in 'em; something to brighten 'em up, if it's no more than a +family birthday. But to me, March is as dull and uninteresting as a mud +road." + +"There's the inauguration this year," suggested Cy Akers, looking up +from his newspaper. "That's a big event. This paper is full of it." + +"Well, now you've hit it!" exclaimed Bud, with withering scorn, as he +bit off another chew of tobacco. "That is exciting! Just about as +interesting as watching a man take his second helping of pie. I wouldn't +go across the road to see it. Now in a monarchy, where death makes the +changes, it can't get to be a cut and dried affair that takes place +every four years. They make a grand occasion of it, too, with their pomp +and ceremony. Look at what England's just seen. It's the sight of a +lifetime to bury a queen and crown a king. But what do we see when we +change Presidents? One man sliding into a chair and another sliding out, +same as when the barber calls 'Next!' Humph!" + +Cy Akers rubbed his chin. "Fuss and feathers! That's all it amounts +to," he exclaimed. "I'm down on monopolies, and in my opinion it's the +worst kind of monopoly to let one family crowd out everybody else in the +king business. I like a country where every man in it has a show. Not +that I'd _be_ President, if they offered me double the salary, but it is +worth a whole lot to me to feel that in case I did want the office, I've +as good a right to it as any man living. And talk about sights--I say +it's the sight of a lifetime to see a man step out from his place among +the people, anywhere he happens to be when they call his name, take his +turn at ruling as if he'd been born to it, and then step back as if +nothing had happened." + +Bud smiled derisively. "You only see that on paper, my boy. Men don't +step quietly into offices in this country. They run for 'em till they +are red in the face, and it's the best runner that gets there, not the +best man. Monopoly in the king business keeps out the rabble, any how, +and it gives a country a good deal more dignity to be ruled by a dynasty +than by Tom, Dick, and Harry." + +"Well, there's no strings tied to you," said Cy, testily, taking up his +newspaper again. "When people don't like the way things are run on this +side of the water, there's nothing to hinder emigration." + +There was a stamping of snowy feet outside the door, and a big, burly +fellow blustered in, whom they hailed as Henry Bicking. He was not +popular at the Cross-Roads, having the unenviable reputation of being a +"born tease," but any diversion was welcome on such a dull day. + +In the catalogue of queer characters which every neighbourhood +possesses, the Autocrat, Bore, and Crank may take precedence of all +others alphabetically, but the one that heads the list in +disagreeableness is that infliction on society known as the "born +tease." One can forgive the teasing propensity universally found in +boys, as he would condone the playful destructiveness of puppyhood; +something requiring only temporary forbearance. But when that trait +refuses to be put away with childish things it makes of the man it +dominates a sort of human mosquito. He regards every one in reach his +lawful prey, from babies to octogenarians, and while he does not always +sting, the persistency of his annoying attacks becomes exasperating +beyond endurance. + +The same motive that made Henry Bicking pull cats' whiskers out by the +roots when he was a boy, led him to keep his children in a turmoil, and +his sensitive little wife in tears half the time. He had scarcely seated +himself by the stove when he was afforded opportunity for his usual +pastime by the entrance of half a dozen children, who came tumbling in +on their way home from school to warm. + +He began with a series of those inane questions by which grown people +have made themselves largely responsible for the pertness of the younger +generation. If children of this day have departed from that delectable +state wherein they were seen and not heard, the fault is due far more to +their elders than to them. Often they have been made self-conscious, and +forced into saucy self-assertion by the teasing questions that are asked +merely to provoke amusing replies. + +Henry Bicking's quizzing had an element of cruelty in it. His was the +kind that pinches his victims' ears, that tickles to the verge of agony, +that threatens all sorts of disagreeable things, for the sake of seeing +little faces blanch with fright, or eyes fill with tears of pain. + +"Come here, Woodpecker," he began, reaching for a child whose red hair +was the grief of his existence. But the boy deftly eluded him, and the +little fellow standing next in line, drying his snowball-soaked mittens, +became the victim. He was dragged unwillingly to his tormentor's knee. + +"What are you going to be when you're a man?" was demanded, when the +first questions had elicited the fact that the child's name was Sammy +Perkins, and that he was eight years old. But Perkins's oldest, having +no knowledge of the grammar of life beyond its present tense indicative, +hung his head and held his tongue at mention of its future potential. + +"If you don't tell me you sha'n't have your mittens!" Bicking dangled +them tantalisingly out of reach, until, after an agonising and +unsuccessful scramble, the child was forced into a tearful reply. + +Then he began again: "Which are you for, Democrats or Republicans?" + +"Ain't for neither." + +"Well, you're the littlest mugwump I ever did see. Mugwumps ain't got +any right to wear mittens. I've a notion to pitch 'em in the stove." + +"Oh, _don't_!" begged the child. "_Please_, mister! I'm not a mugwump!" + +The tragic earnestness of the child as he disclaimed all right to the +term of reproach which he could not understand, yet repudiated because +of its obnoxious sound, amused the man hugely. He threw back his head +and laughed. + +"Tell me who you holler for!" he continued, catching him up and holding +him head downward a moment. Then goaded by more teasing questions and a +threatening swing of his red mittens toward the stove door, Perkins's +oldest was at last led to take a bold stand on his party platform, and +publicly declare his political preference. But it was in a shaking voice +and between frightened sobs. + +"M-ma, she's for McKinley, an' p-pap, he's for B-Bryan, so I jus' holler +for Uncle Sam!" + +"Good enough for you, sonny," laughed the storekeeper. "That's true blue +Americanism. Stick to Uncle Sam and never mind the parties. They've had +new blades put on their old handles, and new handles put on those old +blades again, till none of 'em are what we started out with. We keep on +calling them 'genuine Barlows,' but it's precious little of the original +Barlows we're hanging on to nowadays." + + * * * * * + +It was a woman's voice that interrupted the conversation. Mrs. Teddy +Mahone had come in for some tea. + +"Arrah, Misther Bicking! Give the bye his mitts! You're worrse than a +cat with a mouse." + +The loud voice with its rich Irish brogue drew Cy Akers's attention from +his newspaper. "By the way, Bud," he exclaimed, raising his voice so +that Mrs. Mahone could not fail to hear, "you were complaining about +March being so dull and commonplace without any holidays. You've +forgotten St. Patrick's Day." + +"No, I haven't. St. Patrick is nothing to me. There's no reason I should +take any interest in him." + +"And did you hear that, Mrs. Mahone," asked Henry Bicking, anxious to +start a war of words. + +"Oh, Oi heard it, indade Oi did!" she answered with a solemn shake of +the head. "It grieves the hearrt of me to hear such ingratichude. +There's niver a sowl in all Ameriky but has cause to be grateful for +what he's done for this counthry." + +"What's he ever done?" asked Bud, skeptically. There was a twinkle in +Mrs. Mahone's eyes as she answered: + +"It was this way. A gude while back whin it was at the beginnin' iv +things, Ameriky said to herself wan day, 'It's a graand pudding Oi'll be +afther makin' meself, by a new resait Oi've just thought iv.' So she +dips into this counthry for wan set iv immygrants, an' into another +counthry for another batch, and after a bit a foine mess she had iv 'em. +Dutch an' Frinch an' Eyetalian, Rooshian, Spaniards an' haythen Chinee, +all stirred up in wan an' the same pudding-bag. + +"'Somethin's lackin',' siz she, afther awhile, makin' a wry face. + +"'It's the spice,' siz St. Pathrick, 'ye lift out iv it, an' the +leaven. Ye'll have to make parsinal application to meself for it, for +Oi'm the only wan knowin' the saicret of where it's to be found.' + +"'Then give me some,' siz she, an' St. Pathrick, not loikin' to lave a +leddy in trouble, reached out from the auld sod and handed her a fair +shprinklin' of them as would act as both spice an' leaven. + +"'They'll saison the whole lot,' siz he, 'an' there's light-heartedness +enough among them to raise the entoire heavy mass in your whole united +pudding-bag.' + +"'Thanks,' siz she, stirrin' us in. 'It's the makin' of the dish, sorr, +and Oi'm etarnally obliged to ye, sorr. Oi'll be afther puttin' the name +of St. Pathrick in me own family calendar, and ivery year on that day, +it's the pick iv the land that'll take pride in addin' to me own shtars +an' shtripes the wearin' o' the green.' + +"Ye see, Misther Hines, ye may think ye're under no parsinal obligation +to him, but down-hearted as ye are by nature, what wud ye have been had +ye niver coom in conthact with the leaven of St. Pathrick at all, sorr? +Oi ask ye that." + + * * * * * + +Late that night Bowser pushed his ledger aside with a yawn, and got +down from his high stool to close the store. As he counted the meagre +contents of the cash drawer, he reviewed the day, whose minutes had been +as monotonous in passing as the falling of the snowflakes outside. It +had left nothing behind it to distinguish it from a hundred other days. +The same old faces! The same kind of jokes! The same round of +commonplace duties! A spirit of unrest seized him, that made him chafe +against such dreary monotony. + +When he went to the door to put up the shutters, the beauty of the night +held him a moment, and he stood looking across the wide fields, lying +white in moonlight and snow. Far down the road a lamp gleamed from the +window of an upper room in the old miller's house, where anxious vigil +had been kept beside him for hours. The crisis was passed now. Only a +little while before, the doctor had stopped by to say that their old +friend would live. Down the track a gleaming switch-light marked the +place where a wreck had been narrowly averted that morning. + +"And no telling how many other misfortunes we've escaped to-day," +mused Bowser. "Maybe if a light could be swung out for each one, folks +would see that the dull gray days when nothing happens are the ones to +be most thankful for, after all." + + + + +Chapter VI + + +APRIL sunshine of mid-afternoon poured in through the open door of the +Cross-Roads. The usual group of loungers had gathered around the rusty +stove. There was no fire in it; the day was too warm for that, but force +of habit made them draw their chairs about it in a circle, as if this +common centre were the hub, from which radiated the spokes of all +neighbourly intercourse. + +The little schoolmistress was under discussion. Her short reign in +District No. 3 had furnished a topic of conversation as inexhaustible as +the weather, for her regime was attended by startling changes. Luckily +for her, the young ideas enjoyed being taught to shoot at wide variance +from the targets set up by parental practice and tradition, else the +tales told out of school might have aroused more adverse criticism than +they did. + +"You can't take much stock in her new-fangled notions," was the +unanimous opinion at the Cross-Roads. She had "put the cart before the +horse" when she laid the time-honoured alphabet on the shelf, and gave +the primer class a whole word at a mouthful, before it had cut a single +orthographic tooth on such primeval syllables as a-b ab. + +"Look at my Willie," exclaimed one of the district fathers. "Beating +around the bush with talk about a picture cow, and a real cow, and a +word cow, and not knowing whether B comes after W or X. At his age I +could say the alphabet forwards or backwards as fast as tongue could go +without a slip." + +"She's done _one_ sensible thing," admitted Cy Akers. "They tell me +she's put her foot down on the scholars playing April fool tricks this +year." + +"I don't see why," said Henry Bicking. "It has been one of the customs +in this district since the schoolhouse was built. What's the harm if the +children do take one day in the year for a little foolishness? Let them +have their fun, I say." + +"But they've carried it too far," was the answer. "It's scandalous they +should be allowed to abuse people's rights and feelings and property as +they have done the last few years. First of April doesn't justify such +cutting up any more than the first of August." + +"She's got Scripture on her side," said Squire Dobbs. "You know Solomon +says, 'As a mad man who casteth firebrands, arrows, and death, so is the +man that deceiveth his neighbour and saith, am I not in sport?'" + +"She can't stamp out such a deep-rooted custom in one day," protested +Bicking. + +"You can bet on the little school-ma'am every time," laughed Bowser. "My +daughter Milly says they didn't have regular lessons yesterday +afternoon. She had them put their books in their desks. + +"Said they'd been studying about wise men all their lives, now they'd +study about fools awhile; the fools of Proverbs and the fools of +history. + +"She read some stories, too, about a cruel disappointment and the +troubles brought about by some thoughtless jokes on the first of April. +Mighty interesting stories, Milly said. You could have heard a pin drop, +and some of the girls cried. Then she drew a picture on the blackboard +of a court jester, in cap and bells, and asked if they wouldn't like a +change this year. Instead of everybody acting the fool and doing silly +things they'd all be ashamed of if they'd only stop to think, wouldn't +they rather she'd appoint just one scholar to play the fool for all of +them, as the old kings used to do. + +"They agreed to that, quick enough, thinking what fun they'd have +teasing the one chosen to be it. Then she said she'd appoint the first +one this morning who showed himself most deserving of the office. Milly +says from the way she smiled when she said it, they're all sure she +means to choose the first one who plays an April Fool joke. She'd put it +so strong to 'em how silly it was, that there ain't a child in school +you could hire to run the risk of being appointed fool for the day. So I +think she's coming out ahead as usual." + +"After all," said Bud Hines, "there's some lessons to be got out of +those old tricks we used to play. For instance, the pocketbook tied to a +string. Seems to me that everything in life worth having has a string +tied to it, and just as I am about to pick it up, Fate snatches it out +of my hands." + +"Don't you believe it, Buddy," said Bowser, cheerfully; "you take notice +those pocketbooks on strings are always empty ones, and they don't +belong to us, so we have no business grabbing for them or feeling +disappointed because we can't get something for nothing." + +But Bud waved aside the interruption mechanically. + +"Then there's the _gifts_ with strings tied to 'em," he continued. "My +wife has a rich aunt who is always sending her presents, and writing, +'Understand this is for _you_, Louisy. You're too generous, and I don't +want anybody but your own deserving self to wear this.' Now out in the +country here, my wife doesn't have occasion to wear handsome clothes +like them once a year, while they'd be the very thing for Clara May, off +at Normal School. But not a feather or a ribbon can the child touch +because her great-aunt bought them expressly for her ma. Goodness knows +she'd have a thousand times more pleasure in seeing Clara May enjoy +them, than knowing they were lying away in bureau drawers doing nobody +any good. When she takes 'em out at house-cleaning times I say, 'Ma,' +says I, 'deliver me from gifts with strings tied to 'em. I'd rather have +a ten-cent bandanna, all mine, to have and to hold or to give away as +pleased me most, than the finest things your Aunt Honigford's money +could buy, if I had to account to her every time I turned around in +them.' + +"When I give anything I _give_ it, and don't expect to come back, spying +around ten years afterward to see if it's worn out, or cracked, or +faded, or broken. That's my doctrine." + + * * * * * + +Marion Holmes, driving along the country road in the old miller's +antiquated chaise, drew rein in front of a low picket gate, overhung by +mammoth snowball bushes. Down the path, between the rows of budding +lilacs and japonicas, came an old gentleman in a quaintly cut, +long-tailed coat. He was stepping along nimbly, although he leaned hard +on his gold-headed cane. + +"'A man he was to all the country dear,'" quoted Marion softly to +herself as the minister's benign face smiled a greeting through his big +square-bowed spectacles. "I know he must have been Goldsmith's friend, +and I wish I dared ask him how long he lived in the Deserted Village." +But all she called out to him as he stopped with a courtly bow, under +the snowball bushes, was a cheery good morning and an invitation to take +a seat beside her if he wanted to drive to the Cross-Roads store. + +"Thank you, Miss Polly," he answered, "that is my destination. I am on +my way there for a text." + +"For a what?" exclaimed Marion in surprise, turning the wheel for him to +step in beside her. + +"For a text for my Easter sermon," he explained as they drove on in the +warm April sunshine. "Ah, I see, Miss Polly, you have not discovered the +school of philosophers that centres around the Cross-Roads store. Well, +it's not to be wondered at; few people do. I spent a winter in Rome, +when I was younger, and one of my favourite walks was up on the Pincian +Hill. The band plays in the afternoons, you know, and tourists flock to +see the queen drive by. There is a charming view from the summit--the +dome of St. Peters against the blue Italian sky, the old yellow Tiber +crawling along under its bridges from ruin to ruin, and the immortal +city itself, climbing up its historic hills. And on the Pincio one meets +everybody,--soldiers and courtiers, flower girls and friars, monks in +robes of every order, and pilgrims from all parts of the world. + +"The first time I was on the hill, as I wandered among the shrubbery +and flowers, I noticed a row of moss-grown pedestals set along each side +of the drive for quite a distance. Each pedestal bore the weather-beaten +bust of some old sage or philosopher or hero. + +"They made no more impression on my mind then, than so many +fence-posts, but later I found a workman repairing the statuary one day. +He had put a new nose on the mutilated face of an old philosopher, and +that fresh white nasal appendage, standing out jauntily in the middle of +the ancient gray visage, was so ludicrous I could not help smiling +whenever I passed it. I began to feel acquainted with the old fellow, as +day after day that nose forced my attention. Sometimes, coming upon him +suddenly, the only familiar face in a city full of strangers, I felt +that he was an old friend to whom I should take off my hat. Then it +became so that I rarely passed him without recalling some of his wise +sayings that I had read at college. Many a time he and his row of +stony-eyed companions were an inspiration to me in that way. + +"It was so that I met these men at the Cross-Roads. They scarcely +claimed my attention at first. Then one day I heard one of them give +utterance to a time-worn truth in such an original way that I stopped to +talk to him. + +"Trite as it was, he had hewn it himself out of the actual experiences +of his own life. It was the result of his own keen observation of human +nature. Set as it was in his homely, uncouth dialect, it impressed me +with startling force. Then I listened to his companions, and found that +they, too, were sometimes worthy of pedestals. Unconsciously to +themselves they have often given me suggestions for my sermons. Ah, it's +a pity that the backwoods has no Pincio on which to give its +philosophers to posterity!" + + * * * * * + +Half an hour later as they drove homeward, Marion glanced at her +companion. "No text this time," she laughed, breaking the reverie into +which the old minister had fallen. "Your sages said nothing but 'good +morning, sir,' and there wasn't a single suggestion of Easter in the +whole store, except the packages of egg dyes, and some impossible little +chocolate rabbits. Oh, yes,--those two little boys playing on the +doorstep. Tommy Bowser had evidently taken time by the forelock and +sampled his father's dyes, for he had a whole hatful of coloured eggs, +and was teaching that little Perkins boy how to play 'bust.' He was an +apt scholar, for while I watched he won five of Tommy's eggs and never +cracked his own. You should have seen them." + +"Oh, I saw them," said the minister, with a smile. "It was those same +little lads who suggested the text for my Easter sermon." + +Marion gave a gasp of astonishment. "Would you mind telling me _how_?" +she exclaimed. + +"It came about very naturally. There they stood with their hands full +of the Easter eggs, with never a thought of what they symbolised--the +breaking shell--the rising of this little embryo earth-existence to the +free full-winged life of the Resurrection. They were too intent on their +little game, on their small winnings and losings, to have a thought for +higher things. As I watched them it occurred to me how typical it was of +all the children of men, and instantly that text from Luke flashed into +my mind: '_Their eyes were holden._' Do you remember? It was when the +two disciples went down to Emmaus. I often picture it," mused the old +man after a little pause. "The green of the olive groves, the red and +white of the blossoming almond-trees, the late afternoon sunshine, and +those two discouraged fishermen trudging along the dusty road. They were +turning away from a lost cause and a buried hope, too absorbed in their +overwhelming grief to see that it was the risen Lord Himself who walked +beside them. Not till the end of their journey did they know why it was +that their hearts had burned within them as He talked with them by the +way. Their eyes were holden. + +"How typical that is, too, Miss Polly. Sometimes we go on to the end of +life, missing the comfort and help that we might have had at every step, +because we look up at our Lord only through eyes of clay, and hold +communion with him as with a stranger. Yes, I shall certainly make that +the subject of my Easter sermon, Miss Polly. Thank you for helping me +discover it." + +That next Sunday as Marion sat in church beside the old miller, her +gaze wandered from the lilies in the chancel to the faces of the waiting +congregation. Bud Hines was there and Bowser, Cy Akers, and even +Perkins's oldest, whose game of "bust" had suggested the helpful sermon +of the morning. Marion studied the serious, weather-beaten faces with +new interest. "It is not in spiritual things alone that our eyes are +holden," she said to herself. "I have been looking at only the +commonplace exterior of these people. It takes a man like the old +minister to recognise unpedestalled virtues and to set them on the +Pincio they deserve." + + + + +Chapter VII + + +THE old saying that "there are always two sides to a story" has worn a +deep rut into the popular mind. It has been handed down to us so often +with an air of virtuous rebuke, that we have come to regard the +individual who insists on his two-sided theory as the acme of all that +is broad-minded and tolerant. But in point of fact, if two sides is all +he sees, he is only one remove from the bigot whose mental myopia limits +him to a single narrow facet. + +Even such a thing as a May-day picnic is polyhedral. The little +schoolmistress, who was the chief promoter of the one at the +Cross-Roads, would have called it a parallelopiped, if she had been +there that morning, to have seen the different expressions portrayed on +the faces of six people who were interested in it. + +The business side of the picnic appealed to Bowser. As he bustled +around, dusting off cases of tinned goods that he had long doubted his +ability to dispose of, and climbed to the top shelves for last summer's +shop-worn cans of sardines and salmon, as he sliced cheese, and counted +out the little leathery lemons that time had shrivelled, his smile was +as bland as the May morning itself. One could plainly see that he +regarded this picnic as a special dispensation of Providence, to help +him work off his old stock. + +There were no loungers in the store. Field and garden claimed even the +idlest, and only the old miller, who had long ago earned his holiday, +sat in the sun on the porch outside, with his chair tipped back against +the wall. At intervals a warm breath from the apple orchard, in bloom +across the road, touched his white hair in passing, and stirred his +memory until he sat oblivious of his surroundings. He was wholly +unmindful of the gala stir about him, save when Polly recalled his +wandering thoughts. She, keenly alive to every sensation of the present, +stood beside him with her hand on his shoulder, while she waited for her +picnic basket to be filled. + +"Isn't it an ideal May-day, grandfather?" she exclaimed. "It gives me a +real Englishy feeling of skylarks and cuckoos and cowslips, of primroses +and village greens. I think it is dear of the little school-ma'am to +resurrect the old May-pole dance, and give the children some idea of +'Merrie old England' other than the dates and dust of its ancient +history." Unconsciously beating time with light fingertips on the old +man's shoulder, she began to hum half under her breath: + + "'And then my heart with rapture thrills, + And dances with the daffodills-o-dills-- + And dances with the daffodils!'" + +Suddenly she broke off with a girlish giggle of enjoyment. "Listen, +grandfather. There's little Cora Bowser up-stairs, rehearsing her speech +while she dresses. Isn't it delicious to be behind the scenes!" + +Through an open bedroom window, a high-pitched, affected little voice +came shrilly down to them: "'If you're _wa_-king, call me _early_! Call +me _early_, mother dear!'" + +"Now, Cora," interrupted the maternal critic, "you went and forgot to +make your bow; and how many times have I told you about turning your +toes out? You'll have to begin all over again." Then followed several +beginnings, each brought to a stop by other impatient criticisms. There +were so many pauses in the rehearsal and reminders to pay attention to +manners, commas, and refractory ribbons, that when Cora was finally +allowed to proceed, it was in a tearful voice punctuated with sobs, that +she declared, "'To-morrow will be the ha-happiest day of all the g-glad +new year.'" + +"'Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,'" quoted the old miller +with a smile, as Mrs. Bowser's parting injunction reached their ears. + +"Now, Cora, for goodness' sake, don't you forget for one minute this +whole enduring day, that them daisies on your crown came off your +teacher's best hat, and have to be put back on. If you move around much +to the picnic you might lose some of 'em. Best keep pretty quiet anyway, +or your sash will come unpinned, and the crimp will all get out of your +hair. Wish I'd thought to iron them plaits before I unbraided 'em. +They'd have been lots frizzier." + +It was a very stiffly starched, precise little Queen o' the May who +came down the steep back stairs into the store. She stepped like a +careful peacock, fearing to ruffle a feather of her unrivalled +splendour. Her straight flaxen hair, usually as limp as a string, stood +out in much crimped profusion from under her gilt paper crown. Polly +could not decide whether the pucker on the little forehead came from +anxiety concerning the borrowed daisies which starred her crown, or the +fact that it was too tightly skewered to the royal head by a relentless +hat-pin. + +One of the picnic wagons was waiting at the door, and as Bowser lifted +her in among her envious and admiring schoolmates, Polly saw with +sympathetic insight which of its many sides the picnic parallelopiped +was presenting to the child in that proud moment. The feeling of supreme +importance that it bestowed is a joy not permitted to all, and rarely +does it come to any mortal more than once in a lifetime. + +But for every Haman, no matter how resplendent, sits an unmoved +Mordecai in the king's gate. So to this little Sheba of the Cross-Roads +there was one who bowed not down. Perkins's oldest, on the front seat +beside the driver, had no eyes for her. He scarcely looked in her +direction. His glances were all centred on the baskets which Bowser was +packing in around his feet. He smelled pickles and pies and ham +sandwiches. He knew of sundry tarts and dressed eggs in his own basket, +and wild rumours had reached his ears that Miss Polly intended to stand +treat to the extent of Bowser's entire stock of bananas and candy. Aside +from hopes of a surreptitious swim in the creek and a wild day in the +woods, his ideas of a picnic were purely prandial. + +Across the road, Miss Anastasia Dill, peeping through the blinds, +watched the wagon rattle off with its merry load. Long after the +laughing voices had passed beyond her hearing, she still stood there, +one slender hand holding back the curtain, and the other shading her +faded blue eyes, as she gazed absently after them. It was the sunshine +of another May-day she was looking into. Presently with a little start +she realised that she was not out in the cool green woods with a +May-basket in her hands, brimming over with anemones. She was all alone +in her stuffy little parlour, with its hair-cloth furniture and +depressing crayon portraits. And the canary was chirping loudly for +water, and the breakfast cups were still unwashed. But for once, +heedless of her duties, even unmindful of the fact that she had left the +shutters open, and the hot sun was streaming across her cherished store +carpet, she drew a chair up to the marble-topped centre table, and +deliberately sat down. There was a pile of old-fashioned daguerreotypes +in front of her. She opened them one by one, and then took up another +that lay by itself on a blue beaded mat. So the face it dimly pictured +held a sacred place, apart, in her memory. When her eyes had grown misty +with long gazing, she lifted a book from its place beside the family +Bible. It was bound in red leather, and it had a quaint wreath of +embossed roses around the gilt letters of its title, "The Album of the +Heart." It was an autograph album, and as she slowly turned the pages +she remembered that every hand that had traced a sentiment or a +signature therein had once upon a time gathered anemones with her in +some one of those other May-days. + +Then she turned through the pages again. Of all that circle of early +friends not one was left to give her a hand-clasp. She had friends in +plenty, but the old ones--the early ones--the roots of whose growth had +twined with hers in the intimacy known only to childhood, were all gone. +The May-day picnic brought only a throb of pain to gentle Miss +Anastasia, for to her it was but the lonely echo of a "voice that was +still." + +Bud Hines watched the wagon drive away with far different emotions. He +had happened to come into the store for a new hoe, as the gay party +started. "It's all foolishness," he grumbled to the miller, "to lose a +whole day's schooling while they go gallivanting around the country for +nothing. They'll ride ten miles to find a place to eat their dinner in, +and pass by twenty on the way nicer than the one they finally pick out. +They'd better be doing sums in school, or grubbing weeds out of the +garden, instead of playing 'frog in the meadow' around a fool British +May-pole." + +He looked around inquiringly as if he expected his practical listener +to agree with him. But all the sympathy he got from the old miller was +one of the innumerable proverbs he seemed to keep continually on tap. +"'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,' Bud. Life is apt to be +little but sums and grubbing for the youngsters by and by, so let them +make the most of their May-days now." + + * * * * * + +The sequels of picnics are also polyhedral. Miss Anastasia, lingering +at her front gate in the early twilight, that she might enjoy to the +last moment the orchard odours that filled all the balcony outdoors, +heard the rattle of returning wheels. She had had a pleasant day, +despite the tearful retrospection of the morning, for she had attended +the great social function of the neighbourhood, the monthly missionary +tea. It had brought immeasurable cheer, and now she was returning with a +comfortable conviction that she was to be envied far above any of her +neighbours. The consciousness of having on her best gown, of being the +mistress of the trim little home to which she was going, of freedom from +a hundred harassing cares that she had heard discussed that afternoon, +all combined to make her supremely contented with her lot. + +"Poor children," she sighed, as the tired, dirty little picnickers were +lifted from the wagon across the road. "They look as if the game hadn't +been worth the candle. I'm glad that I've outgrown such things." + +Perkins's oldest, having soaked long in the cold creek, and sampled +every dinner-basket with reckless abandon till he could sample no more, +sat doubled up in the straw of the wagon-bed. He was white about the +mouth, and had he been called upon to debate the time-worn question, +"Resolved, that there is more pleasure in pursuit than in possession," +the tarts and sandwiches of that day's picnic would have furnished +several dozen indisputable arguments for the affirmative. + +The dishevelled little queen sat beside him, tired out by her day's wild +frolic, with starch and frizzes all gone. + +As she was lifted over the wheel, and put down on the doorstep, a limp +little bunch of woe, Miss Anastasia heard her bewailing her fate. She +had lost the stars from her crown, the borrowed daisies that must be +reckoned for on the morrow. The amused listener smiled to herself under +cover of the twilight, as she heard Bowser's awkward attempts at +consolation, for all the comfort that he could muster was an old saw +learned from the miller: "Never mind, Cora, pa's mighty sorry for his +little girl. But you know: + + "'When a man buys meat he buys bone, + And when he buys land he buys stone. + You must take the bad with the good.'" + + + + +Chapter VIII + + +THERE is something in the air of June that stirs even insentient things +with a longing to blossom. Staid old universities blaze out with the +gala colours of commencement week, when the month of roses is ushered +in, and on every college campus the social life of the student year +comes to flower in the crowning exercises of class-day. + +One wonders sometimes if the roots, burrowing underground in order to +fill the bush overhead with myriads of roses, have any share in the +thrill of success at having produced such a wealth of sweetness and +beauty. But there need be no surmise about college florescence. +Faculties may beam with complacency on their yearly cluster of +full-blown graduates, the very walls of the gray old universities may +thrill as they echo the applause of admiring audiences, but the greatest +pride is not felt within the college town itself where the student life +centres. It is back in the roots that have made college life possible. +Back in some parental existence that daily sinks itself farther into the +commonplace in order that some son or daughter may blossom into the +culture of arts and belles-lettres. The Jacqueminot that flaunts its +glory over the garden wall may not sweeten life for the fibres that lift +it, but the valedictorian who flaunts his diploma and degree in the +classic halls of some sea-board college may be glorifying the air of +some little backwoods village a thousand miles inland. Even the +Cross-Roads are bound with a network of such far-reaching roots to the +commencements of Harvard and Yale. + +It was Cy Akers's boy who came home this June, a little lifted up, +perhaps, by the honours he had won; thoroughly impressed with the +magnitude of his own knowledge and the meagreness of other peoples', but +honestly glad at first to get back to the old home and neighbours. + +The family pride in him was colossal. Old Cy encouraged his visits to +the Cross-Roads store, inventing excuses for going which he considered +the acme of subtle diplomacy. But his motives were as transparent as a +child's. Illiterate himself, he wanted his neighbours to see what +college had done for his boy in the way of raising him head and +shoulders above them all. And the boy was good-naturedly compliant. He +was as willing to show off mentally as he had been to lend a hand in the +wheat harvest, and demonstrate what football training had done for him +in the way of developing muscle. + +Like Perkins's oldest, his education had begun with the primer of the +Cross-Roads. He could remember the time when he, too, had ignorantly +believed this to be the only store in the universe, and wondered if +there were enough people living to consume all its contents. Now he +smiled to himself when he looked around the stuffy little room and saw +the same old butter firkins crowding the--apparently--same old calico +and crockery, and looked up at the half-dozen hams still swinging +sociably from the low rafters. + +Time had been, too, when he thought the men who gossiped around its +rusty stove on Saturday afternoons knew everything. Like Perkins's +oldest, he had unquestioningly formulated the creed of his boyhood from +their conversations, and he smiled again when he recalled how he had +been warped in those early days by their prejudices and short-sighted +opinions. + +The smile extended outwardly when he walked into their midst to find +them repeating the same old saws about the weather, and the way the +country was going to the dogs. Yet in his salad days these time-honoured +prognostications had seemed to him the wisdom of seers and sages. + +Probably it was the thought that he had travelled far beyond the +narrow confines of the Cross-Roads that gave his conversation a +patronising tone. But the Cross-Roads refused to be patronised. He +learned that on the day of his arrival. It was the first lesson of a +valuable post-graduate course. That a man away from home may be Mister +Robert Harrison Hamilton Akers, with all the A. B.'s and LL. D.'s after +his name that an educational institution can bestow; but as soon as he +sets foot again on his native heath, where he has gone through the +vicissitudes of boyhood, he is shorn of titles and degrees as completely +as Samson was shorn of his locks, and his strength straightway falls +from him. He is nobody but Bobby Akers, and everybody remembers when he +robbed birds' nests, and stole grapes, and played hooky, and was a +little freckle-faced, snub-nosed neighbourhood terror. A man cannot +maintain his importance long in the face of such reminiscences. No +amount of university culture is going to lay the ghost of youthful +indiscretions, and he might as well put his patronising proclivities in +his pocket. They will not be tolerated by those who have patted him on +the head when he wore roundabouts. + + * * * * * + +It was Saturday afternoon, but it was also the and of the wheat-harvest, +and the men were afield who usually gathered on the Cross-Roads porch to +round up the week over their pipes and plugs of chewing tobacco. Only +three chairs were tilted back against the wall, and on these, with their +heels caught over the front rungs, sat Bowser, the old miller, and +Robert Akers. + +The whirr of reaping machines came faintly up from the fields and near +by, where several acres of waving yellow grain still stood uncut, a +bob-white whistled cheerily. No one was talking. "Knee-deep in June" +would have voiced the thoughts of the trio, for they were "Jes' a sort +o' lazein' there," with their hats pulled over their eyes, enjoying to +the utmost the perfect afternoon. Every breeze was redolent with red +clover and wild honeysuckle, and vibrant with soothing country sounds. + +"Who is that coming up the road?" asked the miller, as a team and wagon +appeared over the brow of the hill. + +"They wabble along like Duncan Smith's horses," answered the +storekeeper, squinting his eyes for a better view. "Yes, that's who it +is. That's Dunk on the top of the load. Moving again, bless Pete!" + +As the wagon creaked slowly nearer, a feather bed came into view, +surmounting a motley collection of household goods, and perched upon it, +high above the jangle of her jolting tins and crockery, sat Mrs. Duncan +Smith. A clock and a looking-glass lay in her lap, and, like a wise +virgin, in her hands she carefully bore the family lamp. From frequent +and anxious turnings of her black sunbonnet, it was evident that she was +keeping her weather eye upon the chicken-coop, which was bound to the +tail-board of the wagon by an ancient clothes-line. + +A flop-eared dog trotted along under the wagon. Squeezed in between a +bureau and the feather bed, two shock-headed children sat on a flour +barrel, clutching each other at every lurch of the crowded van to keep +from losing their balance. + +"Howdy, Dunk!" called the storekeeper, as the dusty pilgrims halted in +front of the porch. "Where are you bound now?" + +"Over to the old Neal place," answered the man, handing the reins to +his wife, and climbing stiffly down over the wheel. Going around to the +back of the wagon, he unstrapped a kerosene can which swung from the +pole underneath. + +"Gimme a gallon of coal-ile, Jim," he said. "I don't want to be left in +the dark the first night, anyway. It takes awhile to git your bearings +in a strange place, and it's mighty confusing to butt agin a half-open +door where you've always been used to a plain wall, and it hurts like +fire to bark your shins on a rocking-chair when you're steering straight +for bed, and hain't no idee it's in the road. This time it'll be a +little more so than usual," he added, handing over the can. "The house +backs up agin a graveyard, you know. Sort o' spooky till you git used to +it." + +"What on earth did you move there for?" asked Bowser. "They say the +place is ha'nted." + +"To my mind the dead make better neighbours than the living," came the +tart reply from the depths of the black sunbonnet. "At any rate, they +mind their own business." + +"Oh, come now, Mrs. Smith," began Bowser, good-naturedly. "Maybe you've +been unfortunate in your choice of neighbours." + +"I've had a dozen different kinds," came the emphatic answer. "This'll +make the twelfth move in eight years, so you can't say that I'm speaking +from hearsay." + +"Twelve moves in eight years!" exclaimed Bowser, as the wagon went +lurching and creaking on through the dust. "There's gipsy blood in that +Dunk Smith, sure as you live. Seems like that family can't be satisfied +anywhere; always thinking they can better themselves by changing, and +always getting out of the frying-pan into the fire. There wa'n't no well +in the place where they settled when they was first married, and they +had to carry water from a spring. The muscle put into packing that water +up-hill those six months would have dug a cistern, but they were too +short-sighted to see that. They jest played Jack and Jill as long as +they could stand it, and then moved to a place where there was a cistern +already dug. But there wa'n't any fruit on that place. If they'd have +set out trees right away they'd have been eating from orchards of their +own planting by this time. But they thought it was easier to move to +where one was already set out. + +"Then when they got to a place where they had both fruit and water, it +was low, and needed draining. The water settled around the house, and +they all had typhoid that summer. Oh, they've spent enough energy +packing up and moving on and settling down again in new places to have +fixed the first one up to a queen's taste. They seem to be running a +perpetual Home-seeker's Excursion. Well, such a life might suit some +people, but it would never do for me." + +"But such a life has some things in its favour," put in Rob Akers, +always ready to debate any question that offered, for the mere pleasure +of arguing. "It keeps a man from getting into a rut, and develops his +ability to adapt himself to any circumstance. A man who hangs his hat on +the same peg for fifty or sixty years gets to be so dependent on that +peg that he would be uncomfortable if it were suddenly denied him. Now +Dunk Smith can never become such a slave to habit. Then, too, moving +tends to leave a man more unhampered. He gradually gets rid of +everything in his possessions but the essentials. He hasn't a garret +full of old claptraps, as most people have who never move from under +their ancestral roof-trees. You saw for yourself, one wagon holds all +his household goods and gods. + +"It is the same way with a man mentally. If he stays in the spot where +his forefathers lived, in the same social conditions, he is apt to let +his upper story accumulate a lot of worn-out theories that he has no +earthly use for; all their old dusty dogmas and cob-webbed beliefs. He +will hang on to them as on to the old furniture, because he happened to +inherit them. If he would move once in awhile, keep up with the times, +you know, he'd get rid of a lot of rubbish. It is especially true in +regard to his religion. All those old superstitions, for instance, about +Jonah and the whale, and Noah's ark and the like. + +"He hangs on to them, not because he cares for them himself, but +because they were his father's beliefs, and he doesn't like to throw out +anything the old man had a sentiment for. Now, as I say, if he'd move +once in awhile--do some scientific thinking and investigating on his own +account--he'd throw out over half of what he holds on to now. He'd cut +the most of Genesis out of his Bible, and let Job slide as a myth. One +of the finest bits of literature, to be sure, that can be found +anywhere, but undoubtedly fiction. The sooner a man moves on +untrammelled, I say, by those old heirlooms of opinion, the better +progress he will make." + +"Toward what?" asked the old miller, laconically. "Dunk's moving next +door to the graveyard." There was a twinkle in his eye, and the young +collegian, who flattered himself that his speech was making a profound +impression, paused with the embarrassing consciousness that he was +affording amusement instead. + +"The last time I went East to visit my grandson," said the old man, +meditatively, "his wife showed me a mahogany table in her dining-room +which she said was making all her friends break the tenth commandment. +It was a handsome piece of furniture, worth a small fortune. It was +polished till you could see your face in it, and I thought it was the +newest thing out in tables till she told me she'd rummaged it out of her +great-grandmother's attic, and had it 'done over' as she called it. It +had been hidden away in the dust and cobwebs for a lifetime because it +had been pronounced too time-worn and battered and scratched for longer +use; yet there it stood, just as beautiful and useful for this +generation to spread its feasts on as it was the day it was made. Every +whit as substantial, and aside from any question of sentiment, a +thousand times more valuable than the one that Dunk Smith drove past +with just now. His table is modern, to be sure, but it's of cheap pine, +too rickety to serve even Dunk through his one short lifetime of +movings. + +"I heard several lectures while I was there, too. One was by a man who +has made a name for himself on both sides of the water as a scientist +and a liberal thinker. He took up Genesis, all scratched and battered as +it is by critics, and showed us how it had been misunderstood and +misconstrued. And by the time he'd polished up the meaning here and +there, so that we could see the original grain of the wood, what it was +first intended to be, it seemed like a new book, and fitted in with all +the modern scientific ideas as if it had been made only yesterday. + +"There it stood, like the mahogany table that had been restored after +people thought they had stowed it away in the attic to stay. Just as +firm on its legs, and as substantial for this generation to put its +faith on, as it was in the days of the Judges. + +"Take an old man's word for it, Robert, who has lived a long time and +seen many a restless Dunk Smith fling out his father's old heirlooms, in +his fever to move on to something new. Solid mahogany, with all its dust +and scratches, is better than the modern flimsy stuff, either in faith +or furniture, that he is apt to pick up in its stead." + + + + +Chapter IX + + +THE booming of distant cannon had been sounding at intervals since +midnight, ushering in the Fourth, but Bowser, although disturbed in his +slumbers by each reverberation, did not rouse himself to any personal +demonstration until dawn. Then his patriotism manifested itself in a +noisy tattoo with a hammer, as he made the front of his store gay with +bunting, and nailed the word _Welcome_ over the door, in gigantic +letters of red, white, and blue. + +When he was done, each window wore a bristling eyebrow of stiff little +flags, that gave the store an air of mild surprise. The effect was +wholly unintentional on Bowser's part, and, unconscious of the likeness +to human eyes he had given his windows, he gazed at his work with deep +satisfaction. + +But the expression was an appropriate one, considering all the +astonishing sights the old store was to look upon that day. In the +woodland across the railroad track, just beyond Miss Anastasia Dill's +little cottage, preparations were already begun for a grand barbecue. +Even before Bowser had finished tacking up his flags, the digging of the +trench had begun across the way, and the erection of a platform for the +speakers. In one corner of the woodland a primitive merry-go-round had +already been set in place, and the first passenger train from the city +deposited an enterprising hoky-poky man, a peanut and pop-corn vender, +and a lank black-bearded man with an outfit for taking tin-types. + +By ten o'clock the wood-lot fence was a hitching-place for all varieties +of vehicles, from narrow sulkies to cavernous old carryalls. A haze of +thick yellow dust, extending along the pike as far as one could see, was +a constant accompaniment of fresh arrivals. Each newcomer emerged from +it, his Sunday hat and coat powdered as thickly as the wayside weeds. +Smart side-bar buggies dashed up, their shining new tops completely +covered with it. There was a great shaking of skirts as the girls +alighted, and a great flapping of highly perfumed handkerchiefs, as the +young country beaux made themselves presentable, before joining the +other picnickers. + +Slow-going farm wagons rattled along, the occupants of their jolting +chairs often representing several generations, for the drawing power of +a Fourth of July barbecue reaches from the cradle to the grave. + +The unusual sight of such a crowd, scattered through the grove in gala +attire, was enough of itself to produce a holiday thrill, and added to +this was the smell of gunpowder from occasional outbursts of +firecrackers, the chant of the hoky-poky man, and the hysterical +laughter of the couples patronising the merry-go-round, as they clung +giddily to the necks of the wooden ostriches and camels in the first +delights of its dizzy whirl. + +"Good as a circus, isn't it?" exclaimed Robert Akers, pausing beside +the bench where the old miller and the minister sat watching the gay +scene. "I'm having my fun walking around and taking notes. It is amusing +to see how differently the affair impresses people, and what seems to +make each fellow happiest. Little Tommy Bowser, for instance, is in the +seventh heaven following the hoky-poky man. He gets all that people +leave in their dishes for helping to drum up a crowd of patrons. +Perkins's boy sticks by the merry-go-round. He has spent every cent of +his own money, and had so many treats that he's spun around till he's so +dizzy he's cross-eyed. One old fellow I saw back there is simply sitting +on the fence grinning at everything that goes by. He's getting his +enjoyment in job lots." + +"Sit down," said the minister, sociably moving along the bench to make +room beside him for the young man. "Mr. Holmes and I are finding our +amusement in the same way, only we are not going around in search of it. +We are catching at it as it drifts by." + +"What has happened to Mrs. Teddy Mahone?" exclaimed Rob, as a red-faced +woman with an important self-conscious air hurried by. "She seems +ubiquitous this morning, and as proud as a peacock over something. One +would think she were the mistress of ceremonies from her manner." + +"Or hostess, rather," said the miller. "She met me down by the fence on +my arrival, and held out her hand as graciously as if she were a duchess +in her own drawing-room, and I an invited guest. + +"'Gude marnin' to yez, Mr. Holmes,' she said. 'I hope ye'll be afther +enjyin' yerself the day. If anything intherferes wid yer comfort ye've +but to shpake to Mahone about it. He's been appinted _constable_ for the +occasion, ye understhand. If I do say it as oughtn't, he can carry the +title wid the best av 'im; him six fut two in his stockin's, an' the +shtar shinin' on his wes'cut loike he'd been barn to the job.' + +"Then she turned to greet some strangers from Morristown, and I heard +her introducing herself as Mrs. _Constable_ Mahone, and repeating the +same instructions she had given me, to report to her husband, in case +everything was not to their liking." + +Both listeners laughed at the miller's imitation of her brogue, and the +minister quoted, with an amused smile: + + "'For never title yet so mean could prove, + But there was eke a mind, which did that title love.' + +It is a pity we cannot dress more of them in 'a little brief +authority.' It seems to be a means of grace to a certain class of +Hibernians. It has Americanised the Mahones, for instance. You'll find +no patriots on the ground to-day more enthusiastic than Mr. and Mrs. +Constable Mahone. Fourth of July will be an honoured feast-day +henceforth in their calendar. It is often surprising how quickly a +policeman's buttons and billy will make a good citizen out of the +wildest bog-trotter that ever brandished a shillalah." + + * * * * * + +Later, in subsequent wanderings around the grounds, the young collegian +spied the little schoolmistress helping to keep guard over the +cake-table. He immediately crossed over and joined her. She was looking +unusually pretty, and there was an amused gleam in her eyes as she +watched the crowds, which made him feel that she was viewing the scene +from his standpoint; that he had found a kindred spirit. + +"What incentive to patriotism do you see in all this, Miss Helen?" he +asked, when he had induced her to turn over her guardianship of the +cake-table to some one else, and join him in his tour among the +boisterous picnickers. + +"None at all--yet," she answered. "I suppose that will come by and by +with the songs and speeches. But all this foolishness seems a legitimate +part of the celebration to me. You remember Lowell says, 'If I put on +the cap and bells, and made myself one of the court fools of King Demos, +it was less to make his Majesty laugh than to win a passage to his royal +ears for certain serious things which I had deeply at heart.' It takes a +barbecue and its attendant attractions to draw a crowd like this. See +what a hotch-potch it is of all nationalities. Now that Schneidmacher +family never would have driven ten miles in this heat and dust simply to +hear the band play 'Hail, Columbia,' and Judge Jackson make one of his +spread-eagle speeches on the Duty of the American Citizen. Neither would +the O'Gradys or any of the others who represent the foreign element in +the neighbourhood. Even Young America himself, the type we see here, is +more willing to come and bring his best girl on account of the +diversions offered." + +"Well, that may be so," was the reluctant assent, "but if this is a +sample of the Fourth of July observances all over the country I can't +help feeling sorry for Uncle Sam. Patriotism has sadly degenerated from +the pace that Patrick Henry set for it." + +"The old miller says not," answered the little schoolmistress. "I made +that same complaint last Washington's Birthday, when I was trying to +work my school up to proper enthusiasm for the occasion. He recalled the +drouth of the summer before when nearly every well and creek and pond in +the township went dry. Cattle died of thirst, gardens dried up like +brick-kilns, and people around here were almost justified in thinking +that the universe would soon be entirely devoid of water. The skies were +like brass, and there was no indication of rain for weeks. But one day +there was a terrific earthquake shock. It started all the old springs, +and opened new ones all over this part of the country, and the water +gushed out of the earth where it had been pent up all the time, only +waiting for some such touch to call it forth. 'And you're afraid that +patriotism is going dry in this generation,' he said to me. 'But it only +takes some shock like the sinking of the _Maine_, or some sudden menace +to the public safety, to start a spring that will gush from Plymouth +Rock to the Golden Gate. There is a deep underground vein in the +American heart that no drouth can ever dry. Maybe it does not come to +the surface often, but it can always be depended on in time of need.'" + +The speakers for the day began to arrive, and Rob, seeing the crowds +gravitating toward the grand stand, took the little schoolmistress to +the bench where the miller had stationed himself. + +"Watch that old Scotchman just in front of us," whispered the girl, +"Mr. Sandy McPherson. Last Thanksgiving there was a union service in the +schoolhouse. After the sermon 'America' was sung, and that old heathen +stood up and roared out through it all, at the top of his voice, every +word of 'God Save the Queen!' Wasn't that flaunting the thistle in our +faces with a vengeance? I am sure that he will repeat the performance +to-day. Think of the dogged persistence that refuses to succumb to the +fact that we have thrown off the British yoke! The very day we are +celebrating that event, he'll dare to mix up our national hymn with 'God +Save the King.'" + +It was as she had predicted. As the band started with a great clash of +brazen instruments, and the whole company rose to the notes of +"America," Sandy McPherson's big voice, with its broad Scotch burr, +rolled out like a bass drum: + + "'Thy choicest gifts in store, + On _him_ be pleased to pour. + Long may _he_ reign.'" + +It drowned out every voice around him. "He ought to be choked," +exclaimed Rob, in righteous indignation, as they resumed their seats. +"To-day of all days! The old Tory has been living in this country for +forty-five years, and a good living he's gotten out of it, too, for +himself and family. Nobody cares what he sings on his own premises, but +he might have the decency to keep his mouth shut on occasions of this +kind, if he can't join with us." + +There was a gleam of laughter in the little schoolmistress's eyes as +she replied: "If the truth were known I have no doubt but that this +Fourth of July celebration is very like the pie in Mother Goose's song +of sixpence, when her four and twenty blackbirds were baked in a pie. If +this pie could be opened, and the birds begin to sing according to their +sentiments, there would be a wonderful diversity of tunes. One would be +twittering the 'Marseillaise,' and another 'Die Wacht am Rhein,' and +another echoing old Sandy's tune. America was in too big a hurry to +serve her national pie, I am afraid. Consequently she put it in half +prepared, and turned it out half baked. The blackbirds should have had +their voices tuned to the same key before they were allowed to become +vital ingredients of such an important dish." + +"In other words," laughed Rob, "you'd reconstruct the enfranchisement +laws. Make the term of probationary citizenship so long that the +blackbird would have time to change his vocal chords, or even the +leopard his anarchistic spots, before he would be considered fit to be +incorporated in the national dish. By the way, Miss Helen, have you +heard Mrs. Mahone's allegory of the United Pudding bag? You and she +ought to collaborate. Get the storekeeper to repeat it to you sometime." + +"You needn't laugh," responded the little schoolmistress, a trifle +tartly. "You know yourself that scores of emigrants are given the ballot +before they can distinguish 'Yankee Doodle' from 'Dixie,' and that is +only typical of their ignorance in all matters regarding governmental +affairs. Too many people's idea of good citizenship is like the man's +'who kept his private pan just where 'twould catch most public +drippings.' There is another mistaken idea loose in the land," she +continued, after a moment. "That is, that a great hero must be a man who +has a reputation as a great soldier. I wish I had the rewriting of all +the school histories. They are better now than when I studied them, but +there is still vast room for improvement. I had to learn page after page +of wars. Really, war and history were synonyms then as it was taught in +the schools. Every chapter was gory, and we were required to memorise +the numbers killed, wounded, and captured in every battle, from the +French and Indian massacres, down to the last cannon-shot of the +sixties. That is all right for government records and reference +libraries, but when we give a text-book to the rising generation, the +accounts of battles and the glorifying thereof would be better relegated +to the foot-notes. It is loyal statesmanship that ought to be exalted in +our school histories. We ought to make our heroes out of the legislators +who cannot be bribed and public men who cannot be bought, and the honest +private citizen who _lives_ for his country instead of dying for it." + +The old miller beside her applauded softly, leaning over to say, as the +overture by the band came to a close with a grand clash, "If ever the +blackbirds are tuned to one key, Miss Helen, America will know whom to +thank. Not the legislators, but the patriotic little schoolma'ams all +over their land who are serving their country in a way her greatest +generals cannot do." + + * * * * * + +All day the Cross-Roads store raised its bristling eyebrows of little +flags, till the celebration came to a close. Savoury whiffs of the +barbecued meats floated across to it, vigorous hand-clapping and hearty +cheers rang out to it between the impassioned words of excited orators. +Later there were the fireworks, and more rag-time music by the band, and +renewed callings of the hoky-poky man. But before the moon came up there +was a great backing of teams and scraping of turning wheels, and a +gathering together of picnic-baskets and stray children. + +"Well, it's over for another year," said Bowser, welcoming the old +miller, who had crossed the road and taken a chair on the porch to wait +until the crowds were out of the way. + +"Those were fine speeches we had this afternoon, but seemed to me as if +they were plumb wasted on the majority of that crowd. They applauded +them while they were going off, same as they did the rockets, but they +forget in the next breath." As Bowser spoke, a rocket whizzed up through +the tree tops, and the old miller, looking up to watch the shining trail +fade out, saw that the sky was full of stars. + +"That's the good of those speeches, Bowser," he said. "'_To leave a +wake, men's hearts and faces skyward turning._' I hadn't noticed that +the stars were out till that rocket made me look up. The speeches may be +forgotten, but they will leave a memory in their wake that give men an +uplook anyhow." + + + + +Chapter X + + +"GUESS who's come to board at the Widder Powers's for the month of +August?" It was Bowser who asked the question, and who immediately +answered it himself, as every man on the porch looked up expectantly. + +"Nobody more nor less than a _multimillionaire_! The big boot and shoe +man, William A. Maxwell. Mrs. Powers bought a bill of goods this morning +as long as your arm. It's a windfall for _her_. He offered to pay +regular summer-resort-hotel prices, because she's living on the old farm +where he was born and raised, and he fancied getting back to it for a +spell." + +"Family coming with him?" queried Cy Akers, after a moment's meditation +over the surprising fact that a millionaire with the world before him +should elect such a place as the Cross-Roads in which to spend his +vacation. + +"No, you can bet your bottom dollar they're not. And they're all abroad +this summer or _he'd_ never got here. They'd had him dragged off to some +fashionable watering-place with them. But when the cat's away the +mice'll play, you know. Mrs. Powers says it is his first visit here +since his mother's funeral twenty years ago, and he seems as tickled as +a boy to get back. + +"Yesterday evening he followed the man all around the place while she +was getting supper. She left him setting up in the parlour, but when she +went in to ask him out to the table, he was nowhere to be seen. Pretty +soon he came walking around the corner of the house with a pail of milk +in each hand, sloshing it all over his store clothes. He'd done the +milking himself, and seemed mightily set up over it." + +"Lawzee! Billy Maxwell! Don't I remember him?" exclaimed Bud Hines. +"Seems like 'twas only yesterday we used to sit on the same bench at +school doin' our sums out of the same old book. The year old man Prosser +taught, we got into so much devilment that it got to be a regular thing +for him to say, regular as clock-work, almost, 'I'll whip Bud Hines and +Billy Maxwell after the first arithmetic class this morning.' I don't +s'pose he ever thinks of those old times since he's got to be one of the +Four Hundred. Somehow I can hardly sense it, his bein' so rich. He never +seemed any smarter than the rest of us. That's the way of the world, +though, seesaw, one up and the other down. Of course it's my luck to be +the one that's down. Luck always was against me." + +"There he is now," exclaimed the storekeeper, and every head turned to +see the stranger stepping briskly along the platform in front of the +depot, on his way to the telegraph office. + +He had the alertness of glance and motion that comes from daily contact +with city corners. If there was a slight stoop in his broad shoulders, +and if his closely cut hair and beard were iron gray, that seemed more +the result of bearing heavy responsibilities than the token of advancing +years. His immaculate linen, polished low-cut shoes, and light gray +business suit would have passed unnoticed in the metropolis, but in this +place, where coats and collars were in evidence only on Sunday, they +gave him the appearance of being on dress parade. + +Perkins's oldest eyed him as he would a zebra or a giraffe, or some +equally interesting curiosity escaped from a Zoo. He had heard that his +pockets were lined with gold, and that he had been known to pay as much +as five dollars for a single lunch. Five dollars would board a man two +weeks at the Cross-Roads. + +With his mouth agape, the boy stood watching the stranger, who +presently came over to the group on the porch with smiling face and +cordial outstretched hand. Despite his gray hair there was something +almost boyish in the eagerness with which he recognised old faces and +claimed old friendships. Bowser's store had been built since his +departure from the neighbourhood, so few of the congenial spirits +accustomed to gather there were familiar to him. But Bud Hines and Cy +Akers were old schoolfellows. When he would have gone up to them with +old-time familiarity, he found a certain restraint in their greeting +which checked his advances. + +If he thought he was coming back to them the same freckle-faced, +unconventional country lad they had known as Billy Maxwell, he was +mistaken. He might feel that he was the same at heart; but they looked +on the outward appearance. They saw the successful man of the world who +had outstripped them in the race and passed out of their lives long ago. +They could not conceive of such a change as had metamorphosed the boy +they remembered into the man who stood before them, without feeling that +a corresponding change must have taken place in his attitude toward +them. + +They were not conscious that this feeling was expressed in their +reception of him. They laughed at his jokes, and indulged in some +reminiscences, but he felt, in a dim subconscious way, that there was a +barrier between them, and he could never get back to the old familiar +footing. + +He turned away, vaguely disappointed. Had he dared to dream that he +would find his lost youth just as he had left it? The fields and hills +were unchanged. The very trees were the same, except that they had added +a few more rings to their girth, and threw a larger circling shade. But +the old chums he had counted on finding had not followed the same law of +growth as the trees. The shade of their sympathies had narrowed, not +expanded, with the passing years, and left him outside their contracted +circle. + +Perkins's oldest, awed by reports of his fabulous wealth, could hardly +find his tongue when the distinguished visitor laid a friendly hand on +his embarrassed tow head, and inquired about the old swimming-hole, and +the mill-dam where he used to fish. But the boy's interest grew stronger +every minute as he watched him turning over the limited assortment of +fishing tackle. The men he knew had outlived such frivolous sports. It +was a sight to justify one's gazing open-mouthed,--a grown man +deliberately preparing for a month's idleness. + +If the boy could have seen the jointed rods, the reels, the flies, all +the expensive angler's outfit left behind in the Maxwell mansion; if he +could have known of the tarpon this man had caught in Florida bays, and +the fishing he had enjoyed in northern waters, he would have wondered +still more; wondered how a man could be considered in his right mind who +deliberately renounced such privileges to come and drop a common hook, +on a pole of his own cutting, into the shallow pools of the Cross-Roads +creek. + +After his purchases no one saw him at the store for several days, but +the boy, dodging across lots, encountered him often,--a solitary figure +wandering by the mill stream, or crashing through the woods with long +eager strides; lying on the orchard grass sometimes with his hat pulled +over his eyes; leaning over the pasture bars in the twilight, and +following with wistful glance the little foot-path stretching white +across the meadows. A pathetic sight to eyes wise enough to see the +pathos,--a world-weary, middle-aged man in vain quest of his lost +boyhood. + +On Sunday, Polly, looking across the church from her place in the +miller's pew, recognised the stranger in their midst, and straightway +lost the thread of the sermon in wondering at his presence. She had gone +to school with his daughter, Maud Maxwell. She had danced many a german +with his son Claude. They lived on the same avenue, and passed each +other daily; but this was the first time she had seen him away from the +shadow of the family presence, that seemed to blot out his +individuality. + +She had thought of him only as Maud's father, a simple, good-natured +nonentity in his own household. A good business man, but one who could +talk nothing but leather, and whose only part in the family affairs was +to furnish the funds for his wife and children to shine socially. + +"Oh, your father's opinion doesn't count," she had heard Mrs. Maxwell +say on more than one occasion, and the children had grown up, +unconsciously copying her patronising attitude toward him. As Polly +studied his face now in the light of other surroundings, she saw that it +was a strong, kindly one; that it was not weakness which made him yield +habitually, until he had become a mere figurehead in his own +establishment. It was only that his peace-loving nature hated domestic +scenes, and his generosity amounted to complete self-effacement when the +happiness of his family was concerned. + +His eyes were fixed on the chancel with a wistful reminiscent gaze, and +Polly read something in the careworn face that touched her sympathy. +"Grandfather," she said, at the close of the service, "let's be +neighbourly and ask Mr. Maxwell home to dinner with us. He looks +lonesome." + +She was glad afterward that she had suggested it, when she recalled his +evident pleasure in the old man's company. There were chairs out under +the great oak-trees in the yard, and the two sat talking all afternoon +of old times, until the evening shadows began to grow long across the +grass. Then Polly joined them again, and sat with them till the tinkle +of home-going cowbells broke on the restful stillness of the country +Sabbath. + +"All the orchestras in all the operas in the world can't make music +that sounds as sweet to me as that does," said Mr. Maxwell, raising his +head from the big armchair to listen. Then he dropped it again with a +sigh. + +"It rests me so after the racket of the city. If Julia would only +consent, I'd sell out and come back to-morrow. But she's lost all +interest in the old place. I'm country to the core, but she never was. +She took to city ways like a duck to water, just as soon as she got away +from the farm, and she laughs at me for preferring katydids to the whirr +of electric cars." + +A vision rose before the old miller of a little country girl in a pink +cotton gown, who long ago used to wait, bright-eyed and blushing, at the +pasture bars, for Billy to drive home the cows. Many a time he had +passed them at their trysting-place. Then he recalled the superficial, +ambitious woman he had met years afterward when he visited his son. He +shook his head when he thought of her renouncing her social position for +the simple pastoral life her husband longed to find the way back to. +Presently he broke the silence of their several reveries by turning to +Polly. + +"What's that piece you recited to me the other night, little girl, about +old times? Say it for Mr. Maxwell." And Polly, clasping her hands in her +lap, and looking away across the August meadows, purple with the royal +pennons of the ironweed, began the musical old poem: + + "'Ko-ling, ko-lang, ko-linglelingle, + Way down the darkening dingle + The cows come slowly home. + (And old-time friends and twilight plays + And starry nights and sunny days + Come trooping up the misty ways, + When the cows come home.) + + "'And over there on Merlin Hill + Hear the plaintive cry of the whippoorwill. + And the dewdrops lie on the tangled vines, + And over the poplars Venus shines, + And over the silent mill. + + "'Ko-ling, ko-lang, ko-linglelingle, + With ting-aling and jingle + The cows come slowly home. + (Let down the bars, let in the train + Of long-gone songs and flowers and rain, + For dear old times come back again, + When the cows come home.)'" + +Once as Polly went on, she saw the tears spring to his eyes at the line +"and mother-songs of long-gone years," and she knew that the + + "same sweet sound of wordless psalm, + The same sweet smell of buds and balm," + +that had been his delight in the past, were his again as he listened. +But, much to her surprise, as she finished, he rose abruptly, and began +a hurried leave-taking. She understood his manner, however, when his +mood was revealed to her a little later. + +At her grandfather's suggestion she walked down to the gate with him, to +point out a short cut across the fields to Mrs. Powers's. Outside the +gate he paused, hat in hand. + +"Miss Polly," he began, as if unconsciously taking her into his +confidence, "old times never come back again. Seems as if the bottom had +dropped out of everything. I've done my best to resurrect them, but I +can't do it. I thought if I could once get back to the old place I could +rest as I've not been able to rest for twenty years--that I'd have a +month of perfect enjoyment. But something's the matter. + +"Many a time when I've been off at some fashionable resort I've thought +I'd give a fortune to be able to drop my hook in your grandfather's +mill-stream, and feel the old thrill that I used to feel when I was a +boy. I tried it the day I came--caught a little speckled trout, the kind +that used to make me tingle to my finger ends, but somehow it didn't +bring back the old sensation. I just looked at it a minute and put it +back in the water, and threw my pole away. + +"Even the swimming-hole down by the mill didn't measure up to the way I +had remembered it. I've fairly ached for a dip into it sometimes, in the +years I've been gone. Seemed as if I could just get into it once, I +could wash myself clear of all the cares and worries of business that +pester a man so. That was a disappointment, too. The change is in me, I +guess, but nothing seems the same." + +Polly knew the reason. He had tried so long to mould his habits to fit +his wife's exacting tastes, that he had succeeded better than he +realised. He could not analyse his feelings enough to know that it was +the absence of long accustomed comforts that made him vaguely +dissatisfied with his surroundings; his luxuriously appointed bathroom, +for instance; the perfect service of his carefully trained footmen. Mrs. +Powers's noisy table, where with great clatter she urged every one "to +fall to and help himself," jarred on him, although he was unconscious of +what caused the irritation. As for the rank tobacco Bowser furnished him +when he had exhausted his own special brand of cigars with which he had +stocked his satchel, it was more than flesh and blood could endure. That +is, flesh and blood that had acquired the pampered taste of a +millionaire whose wife is fastidious, and only allows first-class aromas +in the way of the weed. + +But Polly knew another reason that his vacation had been a failure. She +divined it as the little Yale pin, stuck jauntily into the front of her +white dress, met the touch of her caressing fingers. The girl in the +pink cotton gown was long dead, and the woman who had grown up in her +stead had no part in the old scenes that he still fondly clung to, with +a sentiment she ridiculed because she could not understand. _There must +always be two when you turn back searching for your lost Eldorado, and +even the two cannot find it, unless they go hand in hand._ + + * * * * * + +Next day Bowser had another piece of news to impart. "Mr. Maxwell went +home this morning. He told Mrs. Powers it was like taking a vacation in +a graveyard, and he'd had enough. He'd have to get back to work again. +So he paid her for the full month, and took the first train back to the +city." + +"Well, I'll be switched!" was Bud Hines's comment. "If I had as much +money as he's got, I'd never bother my head about work. I'd sit down and +take it easy all the rest of my born days." + +"I don't know," answered Bowser, meditatively. "I reckon a man who's +worked the way Mr. Maxwell has, gets such a big momentum on to himself +that he can't stop, no matter how bad he wants a vacation." + +"He's a fool for coming back here for it," said Bud Hines, looking out +across the fields that stretched away on every side in unbroken +monotony. + +But miles away, in his city office, the busy millionaire was still +haunted by an unsatisfied longing for those same level meadows. Glimpses +of the old mill-stream and the willows still rose before him in +tantalising freshness, and whenever he closed his tired eyes, down +twilight paths, where tinkling cowbells called, there came again the +glimmer of a little pink gown, to wait for him as it had waited through +all the years, beside the pasture bars. + + + + +Chapter XII + + +THE seat was an empty starch-box on the Cross-Roads porch, its occupant +a barefoot boy with a torn straw hat pulled far down over his eyes. To +the casual observer one of the most ordinary of sights, but to one +possessed of sympathetic powers of penetration into a boy's inner +consciousness there was a suggestion of the tragic. Perkins's oldest had +that afternoon in school been told to write a composition on September. +It was to be handed in next morning. It was the hopelessness of +accomplishing the fact even in aeons, not to mention the limited time of +a dozen short hours, that had bound him, a little Prometheus, to the +starch-box, with the vulture of absolute despair tearing at his vitals. + +Two other boys had been assigned the same subject, and the three had +kicked the dust up wrathfully all the way from the schoolhouse, echoing +an old cry that had gone up ages before from the sons of Jacob, under +the lash of the Egyptian, "How can we make bricks without straw?" + +"Ain't nothin' to say 'bout September," declared Riley Hines, gloomily, +"and I'll be dogged if I say it. I'm goin' to get my sister to write +mine fer me. She'll do it ef I tease long enough, and give her something +to boot." + +"I'll ask paw what to say," declared Tommy Bowser. "He won't write it +for me, but he'll sort o' boost me along. Then if it ain't what she +wants, _I_ won't be to blame. I'll tell her paw said 'twas all right." + +This shifting of responsibility to paternal shoulders restored the +habitual expression of cheerfulness to Tommy's smudgy face, but there +was no corresponding smile on Sammy's. There was no help to be had in +the household of Perkins. + +That was why he was waiting on the starch-box while Tommy was sent on an +errand. It was in the vain hope that Tommy would return and apply for +his "boost" and share it with him before darkness fell. He was a +practical child, not given to whimsical reflections, but as he sat there +in desperate silence, he began wondering what the different customers +would have to say if they were suddenly called upon, as he had been that +afternoon, to write about September. + +Mrs. Powers, for instance, in her big crape bonnet, with its long wispy +veil trailing down her back. He was almost startled, when, as if in +answer to his thought, she uttered the word that was at the bottom of +his present trouble, the subject assigned him for composition. + +"Yes, Mr. Bowser, September is a month that I'm never sorry to say +good-bye to. What with the onion pickle and peach preserves and the +house-cleaning to tend to, I'm nearly broke down when it's over. There's +so many odds and ends to see to on a farm this time of year, first in +doors and then out. I tell Jane it's like piecing a crazy quilt. You +can't never count on what a day's going to bring forth in September. You +may get a carpet up and beat, and have your stove settin' out waiting to +be put up, and your furniture in a heap in the yard, and the hired man +will have to go off and leave it all while he takes the cider-mill to be +mended. And you in a stew all day long for fear it'll rain before he +gets things under shelter. + +"Then it's a sad time to me, too," she exclaimed with a mournful shake +of the head in the black bonnet. "It was in September I lost my first +and third husbands, two of the best that ever had tombstones raised to +their memory, if I do say it as oughtn't. One died on the sixteenth, and +his funeral was preached on the eighteenth, and the other died fifteen +years later on the twenty-third, and we kept him three days, on account +of waiting till his brother could get here from Missouri. So you see +that makes nearly a week altogether of mournful anniversaries for me +every September." + +Another breath and she had reached the three tombstones, and talking +volubly on her favourite subject, she completed her purchases and went +out. But her conversation had not lightened the woes of the little +Prometheus on the starch-box. Despair still gnawed on. House-cleaning +worries and onion pickle, and reminiscences of two out of three departed +husbands, might furnish material for Mrs. Powers's composition, should +the fates compel her to write one, but there was no straw of a +suggestion for Sammy Perkins, and again he cried out inwardly as +bitterly as the oppressed of old had cried out against Pharaoh. + +A man in a long, sagging linen duster was the next comer. He squeaked +back and forth in front of the counter in new high-heeled boots, and +talked incessantly while he made his purchases, with a clumsy attempt at +facetiousness. + +"Put in a cake of shaving-soap, too, Jim," he called, passing his hand +over the black stubble on his chin. "County court begins to-morrer. +Reckon the lawyers will shave everything in sight when it comes to their +bills, but I want to be as slick as them. I'll be settin' on the jury +all week. Did you ever think of it, Jim, that's a mighty interesting way +to earn your salt? Jest set back and be entertained with the history of +all the old feuds and fusses in the county, and collect your two bucks a +day without ever turning your hand over. Good as a show, and dead easy. + +"Only one thing, it sort o' spiles your faith in human nature. The +court stenographer said last year that in the shorthand he writes, the +same mark that stands for lawyer stands for liar, too. He! he! he! isn't +that a good one? You can only tell which one is meant by what comes +before it, and this fellow said he'd come to believe that one always fit +in the sentence as good as the other. Either word was generally +appropriate. You miss a lot of fun, Jim, by not getting on the jury. I +always look forrard to fall on that account." + +No help for Perkins's oldest in _that_ conversation. He waited awhile +longer. Presently an old gentleman in a long-tailed, quaintly cut black +coat, stepped up on the porch. He had a gold-headed cane under his arm, +and the eyes behind the square-bowed spectacles beamed kindly on the +little fellow. He stopped beside the starch-box a moment with a friendly +question about school and the health of the Perkins household. The boy's +heart gave a jump up into his throat. The old minister knew everything. +The minister could even tell him what to write in his composition if he +dared but ask him. He opened his mouth to form the question, but his +tongue seemed glued in its place, and the head under the torn hat +drooped lower in embarrassed silence. His troubled face flushed to the +roots of his tow hair, and he let the Angel of Opportunity pass him by +unchallenged. + +"Will you kindly give me one of those advertising almanacs, Mr. Bowser?" +inquired the parson, when his packages of tea and sugar had been +secured. "I've misplaced mine, and I want to ascertain at what hour +to-morrow the moon changes." + +"Certainly, certainly!" responded the storekeeper with obliging +alacrity, rubbing his hands together, and stepping up on a chair to +reach the pile on a shelf overhead. "Help yourself, sir. I must answer +the telephone." + +The parson, slowly studying the moon's phases as he stepped out of the +store, did not notice that he had taken two almanacs until one fell at +his feet. The boy sprang up to return it, but he waved it aside with a +courtly sweep of his hand. + +"No, my son, I intended to take but one. Keep it. They are for general +distribution. You will find it full of useful information. Have you ever +learned anything about the signs of the Zodiac? Here is Leo. I always +take an especial interest in this sign, because I happened to be born +under it. I'm the seventh son of a seventh son, born in the seventh +month, and I always take it as a good omen, seven being the perfect +number. You know the ancients believed a man's star largely affected his +destiny. You will find some interesting historical events enumerated +under each month. A good almanac is almost as interesting to study as a +good dictionary, my boy. I would advise you to form a habit of referring +to both of them frequently." + +With one of his rare, childlike smiles the good man passed on, and +Perkins's oldest was left with the almanac in his hands. For awhile he +studied the signs of the Zodiac, in puzzled awe, trying to establish a +relationship between them and the man they surrounded, whose vital +organs were obligingly laid open to public inspection, regardless of any +personal inconvenience the display might cause him. + +Then he turned to the historical events. There was one for each day in +the month. On Sunday, the first, eighteen hundred and ninety-nine, had +occurred the Japanese typhoon. Friday, the sixth, sixteen hundred and +twenty, the _Mayflower_ had sailed. Mahomet's birth had set apart the +eleventh in five hundred and seventy. The founding of Mormonism, +Washington's Farewell, and the battle of Marathon were further down the +list, but it was all Greek to Perkins's oldest. Any one of these items +would have been straw for the parson. Out of the _Mayflower_, Mahomet, +Mormonism, or Marathon, each one of them the outgrowth of some +September, he could have pressed enough literary brick to build a fair +sky-scraping structure that would have been the wonder of all who gazed +upon it. This time the boy looked his Angel of Opportunity in the face +and did not recognise it as such. + +The gate clicked across the road and he turned his head. Miss Anastasia +Dill was going up the path, her arms full of goldenrod and white and +purple asters. September was a poem to Miss Anastasia, but the boy +looked upon goldenrod and the starry asters simply as meadow weeds. The +armful of bloom brought no suggestion to him. On the morrow Riley Hines +would hand in two pages of allusions to them, beginning with a quotation +from Whittier's "Autumn Thoughts," and ending with a couplet from Pope, +carefully copied by Maria Hines from the "Exercises for Parsing" in the +back of her grammar. + +Somebody's supper-horn blew in the distance, and, grown desperate by +Tommy's long absence and the lateness of the hour, he took his little +cracked slate from the strap of books on the floor beside him, and laid +it across his knees. Then with a stubby pencil that squeaked dismally in +its passage across the slate, he began copying bodily from the almanac +the list of historical events enumerated therein, just as they stood, +beginning with the Japanese typhoon on the first, and ending +"_Volunteer_ beat _Thistle_" on the thirtieth, eighteen hundred and +eighty-seven. + +Then he began to copy a few agricultural notes, inserted as side remarks +for those who relied on their almanacs as guide-posts to gardening. +"Gather winter squashes now. They keep better when stored in a warm dry +place. Harvest sugar beets when the leaves turn yellowish green, etc." + +He was bending painfully over this task when a shadow fell across his +slate, and, looking up, he saw the old miller looking over his shoulder. + +"Doing your sums?" he asked, with a friendly smile. "Let's see if you +do them the way I was taught when I was a lad." He held out his hand for +the slate. There had been a bond of sympathy between the two ever since +Christmas eve, when a certain pair of skates had changed owners, and +now, although the boy's voice trembled almost out of his control, he +managed to stammer out the reply that he was trying to write a +composition. + +The old man looked from the straggling lines on the slate, then at the +open almanac, then down at the boy's troubled face, and understood. +Drawing a chair across the porch he sat down beside him, and, catching +the furtive, scared side-glance cast in his direction, he plunged at +once into a story. + +It was about a shepherd boy who went out to fight a giant, and the king +insisted on lending him his armour. But he couldn't fight in the heavy +helmet and the coat of mail. The shield was in his way, and the spear +more than he could lift. So he threw it aside, and going down to a +little brook, chose five small pebbles, worn smooth by the running +water. And with these in his hand, and only the simple sling he was +accustomed to use every day, he went out against the Philistine giant, +and slew him in the first round. + +Perkins's oldest wondered what the story had to do with his +composition. He wasn't looking for a personal application. He had not +been brought up at Sunday schools and kindergartens. But all of a sudden +he realised that the miller meant him; that his depending on Tommy, or +the customers, or the almanac, to furnish him ideas, was like going out +in Saul's armour, and that he could only come to failure in that, +because it wouldn't fit him; that he could hit the mark the little +schoolmistress had in mind for him, only with the familiar sling-shot of +his own common every-day personal experiences. + +Maybe the old miller recognised that it was a crisis in the little +fellow's life, for he stayed beside him with helpful hints and +questions, until the slate was full. When he carried it home in the +gloaming it no longer bore the items from the almanac. There were other +remarks straggling across it, not so well expressed, perhaps, but +plainly original. They were to the effect that September is the month +you've got to go back to school when you don't want to, 'cos it's the +nicest time of all to stay out-doors, neither too hot nor too cold. +There's lots of apples then, and it's the minister's birthday. He's the +seventh son of a seventh son, and Dick Wiggins says if you're that you +can pick Wahoo berries in the dark of the moon and make med'cine out of +them, that will cure the bone-break fever every time, when nothing else +in the world will. Then followed several items of information that he +had discovered for himself, in his prowls through the September woods, +about snakes and tree-toads, as to their habits at that season of the +year. It closed with a suggestive allusion to the delights of sucking +cider from the bung of a barrel through a straw. + +Next day the little schoolmistress shook her head over the composition +that Riley Hines handed in, and laid it aside with a hopeless sigh. She +recognised too plainly the hand of Maria in its construction. The +sentiments expressed therein were as foreign to Riley's nature as they +would have been to a woodchuck's. She took up Tommy Bowser's. Alas, +four-syllabled words were not in Tommy's daily vocabulary, nor were the +elegant sentences under his name within the power of his composition. +Plainly it was the work of a plagiarist. + +She went through the pile slowly, and then wrote on the blackboard as +she had promised, the names of the ten whose work was the best and most +original. It was then that Perkins's oldest had the surprise of his +life, for lo! his name, like Abou-ben-Adhem's, "led all the rest." + +Again the Cross-Roads had taught him more than the school,--to depend +on the resources to which nature had adapted him, and never again to +attempt to sally forth in borrowed armour, even though it be a king's. + + + + +Chapter XII + + +IT was Cy Akers who carried the news to the schoolhouse, galloping his +old sorrel up to the open door just before the bell tapped for afternoon +dismissal. He did not dismount, but drawing rein, leaned forward in his +saddle, waiting for the little schoolmistress to step down from the desk +to the doorstep. The rows of waiting children craned their necks +anxiously, but only those nearest the door heard his message. + +"Mr. Asa Holmes died this morning," he said. "The funeral is set for +to-morrow afternoon at four, and you can announce to the children that +there won't be any school. The trustees thought it would be only proper +to close out of respect for him, as he was on the school board over +thirty years, and has done so much for the community. He's one of the +old landmarks, you might say, about the last of the old pioneers, and +everybody will want to go." + +Before she could recover from the suddenness of the announcement the +rider was gone, and she was left looking out across the October fields +with a lonely sense of personal loss, although her acquaintance with the +old miller had extended over only two short school terms. + +A few minutes later the measured tramp of feet over the worn door-sill +began, and forty children passed out into the mellow sunshine of the +late autumn afternoon. They went quietly at first, awed by the tender, +reverent words in which the little schoolmistress had given them the +message to carry home. But once outside, the pent-up enthusiasm over +their unexpected holiday, and the mere joy of being alive and free on +such a day sent them rushing down the road pell-mell, shouting and +swinging their dinner-pails as they ran. + +A shade of annoyance crossed the teacher's face as she stood watching +from the doorstep. She wished she had cautioned them not to be so noisy, +for she knew that their shouts could be plainly heard in the old house +whose gables she could see through a clump of cedars, farther down the +road. It was standing with closed blinds now, and she had a feeling that +the laughing voices floating across to it must strike harshly across its +profound silence. + +But presently her face brightened as she watched the children running +on in the sunshine, in the joy of their emancipation. Part of a poem she +had read that morning came to her. She had thought when she read it that +it was a beautiful way to look upon death, and now it bore a new +significance, and she whispered it to herself: + + "'Why should it be a wrench to leave this wooden bench? + Why not with happy shout, run home when school is out?' + +"That's the way the old miller has gone," she said, softly. "His lessons +all learned and his tasks all done--so well done, too, that he has +nothing to regret. I'm glad that I didn't stop the children. I am sure +that's the way he would want them to go. Dear old man! He was always a +boy at heart." + +She turned the key in the door behind her presently, and started down +the road to Mrs. Powers's, where she boarded. In every fence corner the +sumachs flamed blood-red, and across the fields, where purple shadows +trailed their royal lengths behind every shock of corn, the autumn +woodlands massed their gold and crimson against the sunset sky. She +walked slowly, loath to reach the place where she must go indoors. + +The Perkins home lay in her way, and as she passed, Mrs. Perkins with a +baby on her hip, and a child clinging to her skirts, leaned over the +gate to speak to her. + +"Isn't it sad," the woman exclaimed, grasping eagerly at this chance to +discuss every incident of the death and illness, with that love for +detail always to be found in country districts where happenings are few +and interests are strong. + +"They sent for the family Tuesday when he had the stroke, but he +couldn't speak to them when they got here. They said he seemed to +recognise Miss Polly, and smiled when she took his hand. She seemed to +be his favourite, and they say she's taking it mighty hard--harder than +any of the rest. It's a pity he couldn't have left 'em all some last +message. I think it's always a comfort to remember one's dying words +when as good a person as Mr. Holmes goes. And it's always so nice when +they happen to be appropriate, so's they can be put on the tombstone +afterward. I remember my Aunt Maria worked my grandfather's last words +into a sampler, with an urn and weeping-willow-tree. She had it framed +in black and hung in the parlour, and everybody who came to the house +admired it. It's a pity that the miller couldn't have left some last +word to each of 'em." + +"I don't think it was necessary," said the girl, turning away with a +choke in her voice, as the eloquent face of the old man seemed to rise +up before her. "His whole life speaks for him." + +Mrs. Perkins looked after the retreating figure regretfully, as the +jaunty sailor hat disappeared behind a tall hedge. "I wish she hadn't +been in such a hurry," she sighed, shifting the baby to the other hip. +"I would have liked to ask her if she's heard who the pall-bearers are +to be." + +At the turn in the road the little schoolmistress looked up to see Miss +Anastasia Dill leaning over her gate. She had just heard the news, and +there were tears in her pale blue eyes. + +"And Polly's wedding cards were to have been sent out this next week!" +she exclaimed after their first words of greeting. "The poor child told +me so herself when she was here in August on a visit. 'Miss Anastasia,' +she said to me, 'I'm not going abroad for my honeymoon, as all my family +want me to do. I'm going to bring Jack back here to the old homestead +where grandfather's married life began. Somehow it was so ideal, so +nearly perfect, that I have a feeling that maybe the mantle of that old +romance will fall on our shoulders. Besides, Jack has never seen +grandfather, and I tell him it's as much of an education to know such a +grand old man as it is to go through Yale. So we're coming in October. +The woods will have on all their gala colours then, and I'll be the +happiest bride the sun ever shone on, unless it was my grandmother +Polly.' And now to think," added Miss Anastasia, tearfully, "none of +those plans can come to pass. It's bad luck to put off a wedding. Oh, I +feel so sorry for her!" + + * * * * * + +There is an undefined note of pathos in a country funeral that is never +reached in any other. The little schoolmistress felt it as she walked up +the path to the old house behind the cedars. The front porch was full of +men, who, dressed in their unaccustomed best, had the uneasy appearance +of having come upon a Sunday in the middle of the week. Their heavy +boots tiptoed clumsily through the hall, with a painful effort to go +silently, as one by one the neighbours passed into the old sitting-room +and out again. The room across the hall had been filled with rows of +chairs, and the women who came first were sitting there in a deep +silence, broken only by a cough now and then, a hoarse whisper or a +rustle, as some one moved to make room for a newcomer. + +It was a sombre assembly, for every one wore whatever black her wardrobe +afforded, and many funeral occasions had left an accumulation of +mourning millinery in every house in the neighbourhood. But the limp +crape veils and black gloves and pall-like cashmere shawls were all +congregated in the dimly lighted parlour. In the old sitting-room it was +as cheerful and homelike as ever, save for the still form in the centre. + +Through an open window the western sun streamed into the big, +hospitable room, across the bright home-made rag carpet. The old clock +in the corner ticked with the placid, steady stroke that had never +failed or faltered, in any vicissitude of the generations for which it +had marked the changes. No fire blazed on the old hearthstone that had +warmed the hearts as well as the hands of the whole countryside on many +a cheerful occasion. But a great bough of dogwood, laid across the +shining andirons, filled the space with coral berries that glowed like +live embers as the sun stole athwart them. + +"Oh, if the old room could only speak!" thought Miss Anastasia, when her +turn came to pass reverently in for a last look at the peaceful face. +"There would be no need of man's eulogy." + +But man's eulogy was added presently, when the old minister came in and +took his place beside the coffin of his lifelong friend and neighbour. +The men outside the porch closed in around the windows to listen. The +women in the back rows of chairs in the adjoining room leaned forward +eagerly. Those farthest away caught only a faltering sentence now and +then. + +"A hospitality as warm as his own hearthstone, as wide as his broad +acres.... No man can point to him and say he ever knowingly hurt or +hindered a fellow creature.... He never measured out to any man a scant +bushel. Be it grain or good-will, it was ever an overflowing +measure...." But those who could not hear all that was said could make +the silent places eloquent with their own recollections, for he had +taken a father's interest in them all, and manifested it by a score of +kindly deeds, too kindly to ever be forgotten. + +It was a perfect autumn day, sunny and golden and still, save for the +patter of dropping nuts and the dry rustle of fallen leaves. A purple +haze rested on the distant horizon like the bloom on a ripened grape. +Down through the orchard, when the simple service was over, they carried +their old friend to the family burying-ground, and, although voices had +choked, and eyes overflowed before, there was neither sob nor tear, when +the light of the sunset struck across the low mound, heaped with its +covering of glowing autumn leaves. For if grief has no part in the +sunset glory that ends the day, or in the perfect fulness of the autumn +time, then it must indeed stand hushed, when a life comes both to its +sunset and its harvest, in such royal fashion. + + * * * * * + +That evening at the Cross-Roads, Bowser lighted the first fire of the +season in the rusty old stove, for the night was chilly. One by one the +men accustomed to gather around it dropped in and took their usual +places. The event of the day was all that was spoken of. + +"Do you remember what he said last Thanksgiving, nearly a year ago?" +asked Bowser. "It came back to me as I stood and looked at him to-day, +and if I'd never believed in immortality before, I'd 'a' had to have +believed in it then. The words seemed to fairly shine out of his face. +He said '_The best comes after the harvest, when the wheat goes to make +up blood and muscle and brain; when it's raised to a higher order of +life in man. And it's the same with me. At eighty-five, when it looks as +if I'd about reached the end, I've come to believe that "the best is yet +to be._"'" + +There was a long pause, and Cy Akers said, slowly, "Somehow I can't +feel that he is dead. Seems as if he'd just gone away a while. But Lord! +how we're going to miss him here at the store." + +"No, don't say that!" exclaimed Bud Hines, with more emotion than he had +ever been known to show before. "Say, how we're going to feel him! I +can't get him out of my mind. Every time I turn around, most, seems to +me I can hear him laugh, and say, 'Don't cross your bridge till you come +to it, Bud.' That saying of his rings in my ears every time I get in the +dumps. Seems like he could set the calendar straight for us, all the +year around. The winters wasn't so cold or the summers so hard to pull +through, looking at life through his eyes." + +Perkins's oldest crept up unnoticed. He added no word, but deep in his +heart lay an impression that all the years to come could never erase; +the remembrance of a kindly old man who had given him a new gospel, in +that one phrase, "A brother to Santa Claus;" who had taught him to go +out against his Philistines with simple directness of aim and whatever +lay at hand; who had left behind him the philosophy of a cheerful +optimist, and the example of a sweet simple life, unswerving in its +loyalty to duty and to truth. + + * * * * * + +Over in the old homestead, Polly, standing in the firelight, fair and +slender in her black gown, looked up at the tall young fellow beside +her, and placed two little books in his hands. The old house was not her +only heritage. The little atlas of the heavens was hers also. Standing +there in the room where the beloved presence seemed to have left its +benediction, Polly told the story of the love that had outlived Death. +Then across the yellowed page of the old grammar where the faded violets +lay, two hands met in the same sure clasp that had joined the souls of +those older lovers, who somewhere beyond the stars were still repeating +the old conjugation--"we love--_for ever_!" + + +THE END. + + + + + L. C. Page & Company's + Announcement List + of New Fiction + + + =Haunters of the Silences.= BY CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS, + author of "Red Fox," "The Watchers of the Trails," + etc. + + Cloth, one volume, with many drawings by Charles Livingston + Bull, four of which are in full color $2.00 + +The stories in Mr. Roberts's new collection are the strongest and best +he has ever written. + +He has largely taken for his subjects those animals rarely met with in +books, whose lives are spent "In the Silences," where they are the +supreme rulers. Mr. Roberts has written of them sympathetically, as +always, but with fine regard for the scientific truth. + + "As a writer about animals, Mr. Roberts occupies an + enviable place. He is the most literary, as well as + the most imaginative and vivid of all the nature + writers."--_Brooklyn Eagle._ + + "His animal stories are marvels of sympathetic + science and literary exactness."--_New York World._ + + + =The Lady of the Blue Motor.= BY G. SIDNEY + PATERNOSTER, author of "The Cruise of the Motor-Boat + Conqueror," "The Motor Pirate," etc. + + Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by John C. Frohn $1.50 + +The Lady of the Blue Motor is an audacious heroine who drove her +mysterious car at breakneck speed. Her plea for assistance in an +adventure promising more than a spice of danger could not of course be +disregarded by any gallant fellow motorist. Mr. Paternoster's hero rose +promptly to the occasion. Across France they tore and across the English +Channel. There, the escapade past, he lost her. + +Mr. Paternoster, however, is generous, and allows the reader to follow +their separate adventures until the Lady of the Blue Motor is found +again and properly vindicated of all save womanly courage and affection. +A unique romance, one continuous exciting series of adventure. + + + =Clementina's Highwayman.= BY ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS, + author of "The Flight of Georgiana," "An Enemy to the + King," etc. + + Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +Mr. Stephens has put into his new book, "Clementina's Highwayman," the +finest qualities of plot, construction, and literary finish. + +The story is laid in the mid-Georgian period. 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It possesses the +same qualities as "Castel del Monte," of which the _Chicago Record +Herald_ said: "There is color, there is sumptuous word-painting in these +pages; the action is terrific at times; vividness and life are in every +part; brilliant descriptions entertain the reader; mystic scenes and +prophecies give a singular fascination to the tale, which is strong and +forceful in its portrayal." + + + =Hester of the Hills.= BY GILDER CLAY. + + Cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50 + +"Hester of the Hills" has a motif unusual in life, and new in fiction. +Its hero, who has only acquired his own strength and resourcefulness by +a lifelong struggle against constitutional frailty, has come to make the +question of bodily soundness his dominant thought. He resolves to ensure +strong constitutions to his children by marrying a physically perfect +woman. After long search, he finds this ideal in Hester, the daughter of +a "cracker squatter," of the Ozark Mountains of Missouri. But,--he +forgot to take into consideration that very vital emotion, love, which +played havoc with his well-laid plans. + +It is an ingenious combination of practical realism and imaginative +fiction worked out to a thoroughly delightful and satisfying climax. + + + =Prisoners of Fortune.= A TALE OF THE MASSACHUSETTS + BAY COLONY. BY RUEL PERLEY SMITH, author of "The Rival + Campers," etc. + + Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by Frank T. Merrill $1.50 + +The period of Mr. Smith's story is the beginning of the eighteenth +century, when the shores of the American colonies were harassed and the +seas patrolled by pirates and buccaneers. These robbed and spoiled, and +often seized and put to death, the sailors and fishers and other humbler +folk, while their leaders claimed friendship alike with Southern +planters and New England merchants,--with whom it is said they +frequently divided their spoils. + +The times were stern and the colonists were hardy, but they loved as +truly and tenderly as in more peaceful days. Thus, while the hero's +adventures with pirates and his search for their hidden treasure is a +record of desperate encounters and daring deeds, his love-story and his +winning of sweet Mary Vane is in delightful contrast. + + + =The Rome Express.= BY MAJOR ARTHUR GRIFFITHS, author + of "The Passenger from Calais," etc. + + Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by A. O. Scott $1.25 + +A mysterious murder on a flying express train, a wily Italian, a +charming woman caught in the meshes of circumstantial evidence, a +chivalrous Englishman, and a police force with a keen nose for the wrong +clue, are the ingredients from which Major Griffiths has concocted a +clever, up-to-date detective story. The book is bright and spirited, +with rapid action, and consistent development which brings the story to +a logical and dramatic ending. + + + =The Morning Glory Club.= BY GEORGE A. KYLE. + + Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece by A. O. Scott. $1.25 + +The doings of the Morning Glory Club will furnish genuine amusement to +the reader. Originally formed to "elevate" the village, it quickly +develops into an exchange for town gossip. It has a saving grace, +however, in the person of motherly Mrs. Stout, the uncultured but +sweet-natured and pure-minded village philosopher, who pours the oil of +her saneness and charity on the troubled waters of discussion and +condemnation. + +It is a series of clear and interesting pictures of the humor of village +life. + + + =The Chronicles of Martin Hewitt, Detective.= NEW + ILLUSTRATED EDITION. BY ARTHUR MORRISON, author of + "The Green Diamond," "The Red Triangle," etc. + + Cloth decorative, with six full-page drawings by W. Kirkpatrick $1.50 + +The success of Mr. Morrison's recent books, "The Green Diamond" and "The +Red Triangle," has led to an imperative demand for the reissue of "The +Chronicles of Martin Hewitt," which has been out of print for a number +of years. + +It will be remembered that Martin Hewitt is the detective in "The Red +Triangle," of whom the _New York Tribune_ said: "Better than Sherlock +Holmes." His adventures in the London slums were of such a nature that +the _Philadelphia North American_ said: "The reader who has a grain of +fancy or imagination may be defied to lay this book down once he has +begun it until the last word is reached." + + + =Mystery Island.= BY EDWARD H. HURST. + + Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece $1.50 + +A hunting camp on a swampy island in the Florida Everglades furnishes +the background for this present-day tale. + +By the murder of one of their number, the secret of egress from the +island is lost, and the campers find themselves marooned. + +Cut off from civilization, conventional veneer soon wears away. Love, +hate, and revenge spring up, and after the sterner passions have had +their sway the man and the woman are left alone to fulfil their own +destiny. + +While there is much that is unusual in the plot and its development, Mr. +Hurst has handled his subject with fine delicacy, and the tale of their +love on the beautiful little island is told with deep sympathy and +feeling. + + + =The Flying Cloud.= BY MORLEY ROBERTS, author of "The + Promotion of the Admiral," "Rachel Marr," "The + Idlers," etc. + + Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece $1.50 + +Mr. Roberts's new book is much more than a ripping good sea story such +as might be expected from the author of "The Promotion of the Admiral." +In "The Flying Cloud" the waters and the winds are gods personified. +Their every mood and phase are described in words of telling force. +There is no world but the waste of waters. + +Mr. Roberts glories and exults in the mystery, the passion, the +strength of the elements, as did the Viking chroniclers of old. He +understands them and loves them and interprets them as no other writer +has heretofore done. The book is too big for conventional phrases. It +needs Mr. Roberts's own richness of imagery and masterly expression to +describe adequately the word-pictures in this epic of wind and waves. + + + + +Selections from L. C. Page and Company's List of Fiction + + +WORKS OF ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS + + _Each one vol., library 12mo, cloth decorative_ $1.50 + + +=The Flight of Georgiana= + +A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF THE YOUNG PRETENDER. Illustrated by H. C. +Edwards. + +"A love-story in the highest degree, a dashing story, and a remarkably +well finished piece of work."--_Chicago Record-Herald._ + + +=The Bright Face of Danger= + +Being an account of some adventures of Henri de Launay, son of the Sieur +de la Tournoire. Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. + +"Mr. Stephens has fairly outdone himself. We thank him heartily. The +story is nothing if not spirited and entertaining, rational and +convincing."--_Boston Transcript._ + + +=The Mystery of Murray Davenport= + +(40th thousand.) + +"This is easily the best thing that Mr. Stephens has yet done. Those +familiar with his other novels can best judge the measure of this +praise, which is generous."--_Buffalo News._ + + +=Captain Ravenshaw= + +OR, THE MAID OF CHEAPSIDE. (52d thousand.) A romance of Elizabethan +London. Illustrations by Howard Pyle and other artists. + +Not since the absorbing adventures of D'Artagnan have we had anything so +good in the blended vein of romance and comedy. + + +=The Continental Dragoon= + +A ROMANCE OF PHILIPSE MANOR HOUSE IN 1778. (53d thousand.) Illustrated +by H. C. Edwards. + +A stirring romance of the Revolution, with its scene laid on neutral +territory. + + +=Philip Winwood= + +(70th thousand.) A Sketch of the Domestic History of an American Captain +in the War of Independence, embracing events that occurred between and +during the years 1763 and 1785 in New York and London. Illustrated by E. +W. D. Hamilton. + + +=An Enemy to the King= + +(70th thousand.) From the "Recently Discovered Memoirs of the Sieur de +la Tournoire." Illustrated by H. De M. Young. + +An historical romance of the sixteenth century, describing the +adventures of a young French nobleman at the court of Henry III., and on +the field with Henry IV. + + +=The Road to Paris= + +A STORY OF ADVENTURE. (35th thousand.) Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. + +An historical romance of the eighteenth century, being an account of the +life of an American gentleman adventurer of Jacobite ancestry. + + +=A Gentleman Player= + +HIS ADVENTURES ON A SECRET MISSION FOR QUEEN ELIZABETH. (48th thousand.) +Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. + +The story of a young gentleman who joins Shakespeare's company of +players, and becomes a friend and protege of the great poet. + + + + +WORKS OF CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS + + +=Red Fox= + +THE STORY OF HIS ADVENTUROUS CAREER IN THE RINGWAAK WILDS, AND OF HIS +FINAL TRIUMPH OVER THE ENEMIES OF HIS KIND. With fifty illustrations, +including frontispiece in color and cover design by Charles Livingston +Bull. + + Square quarto, cloth decorative $2.00 + + "Infinitely more wholesome reading than the average + tale of sport, since it gives a glimpse of the hunt + from the point of view of the hunted."--_Boston + Transcript._ + + "True in substance but fascinating as fiction. It will + interest old and young, city-bound and free-footed, + those who know animals and those who do + not."--_Chicago Record-Herald._ + + "A brilliant chapter in natural + history."--_Philadelphia North American._ + + +=The Kindred of the Wild= + +A BOOK OF ANIMAL LIFE. With fifty-one full-page plates and many +decorations from drawings by Charles Livingston Bull. + + Square quarto, decorative cover $2.00 + + "Is in many ways the most brilliant collection of + animal stories that has appeared; well named and well + done."--_John Burroughs._ + + +=The Watchers of the Trails= + +A companion volume to "The Kindred of the Wild." With forty-eight +full-page plates and many decorations from drawings by Charles +Livingston Bull. + + Square quarto, decorative cover $2.00 + + "Mr. Roberts has written a most interesting series of + tales free from the vices of the stories regarding + animals of many other writers, accurate in their facts + and admirably and dramatically told."--_Chicago News._ + + "These stories are exquisite in their refinement, and + yet robust in their appreciation of some of the + rougher phases of woodcraft. Among the many writers + about animals, Mr. Roberts occupies an enviable + place."--_The Outlook._ + + "This is a book full of delight. An additional charm + lies in Mr. Bull's faithful and graphic illustrations, + which in fashion all their own tell the story of the + wild life, illuminating and supplementing the pen + pictures of the author."--_Literary Digest._ + + +=Earth's Enigmas= + +A new edition of Mr. Roberts's first volume of fiction, published in +1892, and out of print for several years, with the addition of three new +stories, and ten illustrations by Charles Livingston Bull. + + Library 12mo, cloth, decorative cover $1.50 + + "It will rank high among collections of short stories. + In 'Earth's Enigmas' is a wider range of subject than + in the 'Kindred of the Wild.'"--_Review from advance + sheets of the illustrated edition by Tiffany Blake in + the Chicago Evening Post._ + + +=Barbara Ladd= + +With four illustrations by Frank Verbeck. + + Library 12mo, gilt top $1.50 + + "From the opening chapter to the final page Mr. + Roberts lures us on by his rapt devotion to the + changing aspects of Nature and by his keen and + sympathetic analysis of human character"--_Boston + Transcript._ + + +=Cameron of Lochiel= + +Translated from the French of Philippe Aubert de Gaspe, with +frontispiece in color by H. C. Edwards. + + Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50 + + "Professor Roberts deserves the thanks of his reader + for giving a wider audience an opportunity to enjoy + this striking bit of French Canadian + literature."--_Brooklyn Eagle._ + + "It is not often in these days of sensational and + philosophical novels that one picks up a book that so + touches the heart."--_Boston Transcript._ + + +=The Prisoner of Mademoiselle= + +With frontispiece by Frank T. Merrill. + + Library 12mo, cloth decorative, gilt top $1.50 + +A tale of Acadia,--a land which is the author's heart's delight,--of a +valiant young lieutenant and a winsome maiden, who first captures and +then captivates. + + "This is the kind of a story that makes one grow + younger, more innocent, more light-hearted. Its + literary quality is impeccable. It is not every day + that such a heroine blossoms into even temporary + existence, and the very name of the story bears a + breath of charm."--_Chicago Record-Herald._ + + +=The Heart of the Ancient Wood= + +With six illustrations by James L. Weston. + + Library 12mo, decorative cover $1.50 + + "One of the most fascinating novels of recent + days."--_Boston Journal._ + + "A classic twentieth-century romance."--_New York + Commercial Advertiser._ + + +=The Forge In the Forest= + +Being the Narrative of the Acadian Ranger, Jean de Mer, Seigneur de +Briart, and how he crossed the Black Abbe, and of his adventures in a +strange fellowship. Illustrated by Henry Sandham, R. C. A. + + Library 12mo, cloth, gilt top $1.50 + +A story of pure love and heroic adventure. + + + +=By the Marshes of Minas= + + Library 12mo, cloth, gilt top, illustrated $1.50 + +Most of these romances are in the author's lighter and more playful +vein; each is a unit of absorbing interest and exquisite workmanship. + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes: + + +Obvious punctuation errors repaired. + + +Page 80, "threatenin" changed to "threatening" (and a threatening swing) + + +Page 177, "fastidous" changed to "fastidious" (is fastidious, and only) + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Asa Holmes, by Annie Fellows Johnston + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASA HOLMES *** + +***** This file should be named 39598.txt or 39598.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/5/9/39598/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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