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diff --git a/old/50271-8.txt b/old/50271-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8e8ed13..0000000 --- a/old/50271-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4713 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tioba and Other Tales, by Arthur Colton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Tioba and Other Tales - -Author: Arthur Colton - -Illustrator: A. B. Frost - -Release Date: October 21, 2015 [EBook #50271] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIOBA AND OTHER TALES *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - - - - - - -TIOBA - -AND OTHER TALES - -By Arthur Colton - -With a Frontispiece by A. B. Frost - -New York - -Henry Holt And Company - -1903 - - -[Illustration: 0002] - - -[Illustration: 0009] - - -[Illustration: 0010] - - - -DEDICATED TO - -A. G. BRINSMADE - - - - -TIOBA - -FROM among the birches and pines, where we pitched our moving tent, you -looked over the flat meadow-lands; and through these went a river, -slow and almost noiseless, wandering in the valley as if there were -no necessity of arriving anywhere at appointed times. "What is the -necessity?" it said softly to any that would listen. And there was none; -so that for many days the white tent stood among the trees, overlooking -the haycocks in the meadows. It was enough business in hand to study the -philosophy and the subtle rhetoric of Still River. - -Opposite rose a strangely ruined mountain-side. There was a nobly-poised -head and plenteous chest, the head three thousand feet nearer the -stars--which was little enough from their point of view, no doubt, but -to us it seemed a symbol of something higher than the stars, something -beyond them forever waiting and watching. - -From its feet upward half a mile the mountain was one raw wound. The -shivered roots and tree-trunks stuck out helplessly from reddish soil, -boulders were crushed and piled in angry heaps, veins of granite ripped -open--the skin and flesh of the mountain tom off with a curse, and the -bones made a mockery. The wall of the precipice rose far above this -desolation, and, beyond, the hazy forests went up a mile or more clear -to the sky-line. The peak stood over all, not with triumph or with -shame, but with the clouds and stars. - -It was a cloudy day, with rifts of sunlight. An acre of light crept -down the mountain: so you have seen, on the river-boats at night, the -search-light feeling, fingering along the shore. - -In the evening an Arcadian, an elderly man and garrulous, came up to see -what it might be that glimmered among his pulp-trees. He was a surprise, -and not as Arcadian as at first one might presume, for he sold milk and -eggs and blueberries at a price to make one suddenly rich. His name was -Fargus, and he it was whose hay-cutter clicked like a locust all day -in the meadow-lands. He came and made himself amiable beside us, and -confided anything we might care to know which experience had left with -him. - -"That's Tioba," he said. "That's the name of that mountain." And he -told us the story of one whom he called "Jim Hawks," and of the fall of -Tioba. - -She's a skinned mountain [he said]. She got wet inside and slid. Still -River used to run ten rods further in, and there was a cemetery, -too, and Jim Hawks's place; and the cemetery's there yet, six rods -underground, but the creek shied off and went through my plough-land -scandalous. - -Now, Jim Hawks was a get-there kind, with a clawed face--by a wildcat, -yes, sir. Tioba got there; and Jim he was a wicked one. I've been -forty years in this valley, with the Petersons and the Storrses and the -Merimys at Canada Center, all good, quiet folk. And nothing happened to -us, for we did nothing to blame, till Jim came, and Tioba ups and drops -on him. - -Now look at it, this valley! There've been landslides over beyond in -Helder's valley, but there's only one in mine. Looks as if the devil -gone spit on it. It's Jim Hawks's trail. - -He come one day with a buckboard and a yellow horse, and he says: - -"Sell me that land from here up the mountain." - -"Who be you?" says I. - -"Jim Hawks," says he, and that's all he appeared to know about it. And -he bought the land, and put up a house close to the mountain, so you -could throw a cat down his chimney if you wanted to, or two cats if you -had 'em. - -He was a long, swing-shouldered man, with a light-colored mustache and a -kind of flat gray eye that you couldn't see into. You look into a man's -eye naturally to see what his intentions are. Well, Jim Hawks's eye -appeared to have nothing to say on the subject. And as to that, I told -my wife it was none of our business if he didn't bring into the valley -anything but his name and a bit of money sufficient. - -He got his face clawed by a wildcat by being reckless with it; and he -ran a deer into Helder's back yard once and shot it, and licked Helder -for claiming the deer. He was the recklessest chap! He swings his fist -into Helder's face, and he says: - -"Shoot, if you got a gun. If you hain't, get out!" - -I told Jim that was no place to put a house, on account of Tioba -dropping rocks off herself whenever it rained hard and the soil got -mushy. I told him Tioba'd as soon drop a rock on his head as into his -gridiron. - -You can't see Canada Center from here. There's a post-office there, and -three houses, the Petersons', the Storrses' and the Merimys'. Merimy's -house got a peaked roof on it. I see Jeaney Merimy climb it after her -kitten a-yowling on the ridge. She wasn't but six years old then, and -she was gritty the day she was born. Her mother--she's old Peterson's -daughter--she whooped, and I fetched Jeaney down with Peterson's ladder. -Jeaney Merimy grew up, and she was a tidy little thing. The Storrs boys -calculated to marry her, one of 'em, only they weren't enterprising; and -Jeaney ups and goes over to Eastport one day with Jim Hawks--cuts out -early in the morning, and asks nobody. Pretty goings on in this valley! -Then they come back when they were ready, and Jim says: - -"What you got to say about it, Merimy?" - -Merimy hadn't nothing to say about it, nor his wife hadn't nothing -to say, nor Peterson, nor the Storrs boys. Dog-gone it! Nobody hadn't -nothing to say; that is, they didn't say it to Jim. - -That was five years ago, the spring they put up the Redman Hotel at -Helder's. People's come into these parts now thicker'n bugs. They have -a band that plays music at the Redman Hotel. But in my time I've seen -sights. The bears used to scoop my chickens. You could hear wildcats -'most any night crying in the brush. I see a black bear come down -Jumping Brook over there, slapping his toes in the water and grunting -like a pig. Me, I was ploughing for buckwheat. - -Jeaney Merimy went over to Eastport with her hair in a braid, and came -back with it put up like a crow's nest on top of her head. She was a -nice-looking girl, Jeaney, and born gritty, and it didn't do her any -good. - -I says to Jim: "Now, you're always looking for fighting," says I. "Now, -me, I'm for peaceable doings. If you're looking for fighting any time, -you start in beyond me. - -"You!" says Jim. "I'd as soon scrap with a haystack." - -I do know how it would be, doing with a haystack that way, but you take -it from Jim's point of view, and you see it wouldn't be what he'd care -for; and you take it from my point of view, and you see I didn't poke -into Jim's business. That's natural good sense. Only I'm free to say -he was a wicked one, 'stilling whiskey on the back side of Tioba, and -filling up the Storrs boys with it, and them gone to the devil off East -where the railroads are. And laying Peterson to his front door, drunk. -My, he didn't know any more'n his front door! "He's my grandfather," -says Jim. "That's the humor of it"--meaning he was Jeaney's grandfather. -And mixing the singularest drinks, and putting 'em into an old man named -Fargus, as ought to known better. My wife she said so, and she knew. I -do' know what Jeaney Merimy thought, but I had my point of view on that. -Jim got drunk himself on and off, and went wilder'n a wildcat, and -slid over the mountains the Lord knows where. Pretty goings on in this -valley! - -This is a good climate if you add it all up and take the average. But -sometimes it won't rain till you're gray waiting for it, and sometimes -it will snow so the only way to get home is to stay inside, and -sometimes it will rain like the bottom fallen out of a tub. The way of -it is that when you've lived with it forty years you know how to add up -and take the average. - -That summer Tioba kept her head out of sight from June to September -mainly. She kept it done up in cotton, as you might say, and she leaked -in her joints surprising. She's a queer mountain that way. Every now and -then she busts out a spring and dribbles down into Still River from a -new place. - -In September they were all dark days and drizzly nights, and there was -often the two sounds of the wind on Tioba that you hear on a bad night. -One of 'em is a kind of steady grumble and hiss that's made with the -pine-needles and maybe the tons of leaves shaking and falling. The other -is the toot of the wind in the gullies on edges of rock. But if you -stand in the open on a bad night and listen, you'd think Tioba was -talking to you. Maybe she is. - -It come along the middle of September, and it was a bad night, drizzly, -and Tioba talking double. I went over to the Hawkses' place early to -borrow lantern-oil, and I saw Jeaney Merimy sitting over the fire -alone, and the wind singing in the chimney. "Jim hasn't come," she says, -speaking quiet; and she gets me the lantern-oil. After, when I went -away, she didn't seem to notice; and what with the wind in the chimney, -and Jeaney sitting alone with her big black eyes staring, and Tioba -talking double, and the rain drizzling, and the night falling, I felt -queer enough to expect a ghost to be standing at my gate. And I came -along the road, and there _was_ one! - -Yes, sir; she was a woman in a gray, wet cloak, standing at my gate, and -a horse and buggy in the middle of the road. - -"'Mighty!" says I, and drops my oil-can smack in the mud. - -"Does Mr. Hawks live here?" she says, seeing me standing like a tomfool -in the mud. - -"No, ma'am," says I. "That's his place across the flat half a mile. He -ain't at home, but his wife is." - -The wind blew her cloak around her sharp, and I could see her face, -though it was more or less dark. She was some big and tall, and her face -was white and wet with the rain. After a while she says: - -"He's married?" - -"Yes, ma'am. You'd better not--'Mighty, ma'am!" says I, "where you -going?" - -She swung herself into the buggy quicker'n women are apt to do, and she -whops the horse around and hits him a lick, and off he goes, splashing -and galloping. Me, I was beat. But I got so far as to think if she -wasn't a ghost, maybe Jim Hawks would as lief she would be, and if -she didn't drive more careful she'd be liable to oblige him that way. -Because it stands to reason a woman don't come looking for a man on a -bad night, and cut away like that, unless she has something uncommon -on her mind. I heard the buggy-wheels and the splash of the horse dying -away; and then there was nothing in the night but the drip of the rain -and Tioba talking double--_um-hiss, toot-toot._ - -Then I went into the house, and didn't tell my wife about it, she -disliking Jim on account of his singular drinks, which had a tidy taste, -but affecting a man sudden and surprising. My wife she went off to bed, -and I sat by the fire, feeling like there was more wrong in the world -than common. And I kept thinking of Jeaney Merimy sitting by herself off -there beyond the rain, with the wind singing in the chimney, and Tioba -groaning and tooting over her. Then there was the extra woman looking -for Jim; and it seemed to me if I was looking for Jim on a dark night, -I'd want to let him know beforehand it was all peaceable, so there -wouldn't be a mistake, Jim being a sudden man and not particular. I had -the extra woman on my mind, so that after some while it seemed to me she -had come back and was driving _splish-splash_ around my house, though it -was only the wind. I was that foolish I kept counting how many times she -went round the house, and it was more than forty; and sometimes she came -so close to the front door I thought she'd come through it--_bang!_ - -Then somebody rapped sudden at the door, and I jumped, and my chair went -slap under the table, and I says, "Come in," though I'd rather it would -have stayed out, and in walks Jim Hawks. "'Mighty!" says I. "I thought -you was a horse and buggy." - -He picked up my chair and sat in it himself, rather cool, and began to -dry off. - -"Horse and buggy?" says he. "Looking for me?" - -I just nodded, seeing he appeared to know all about it. - -"Saw 'em in Eastport," says he. "I suppose she's over there"--meaning -his place. "Gone down the road! You don't say! Now, I might have known -she wouldn't do what you might call a rational thing. Never could bet -on that woman. If there was one of two things she'd be likely to do, she -wouldn't do either of 'em." - -"Well," says I, "speaking generally, what might she want of you?" - -Jim looks at me kind of absent minded, rubbing his hair the wrong way. - -"Now, look at it, Fargus," he says. "It ain't reasonable. Now, she and -me, we got married about five years ago. And she had a brother named Tom -Cheever, and Tom and I didn't agree, and naturally he got hurt; not -but that he got well again--that is, partly. And she appeared to have -different ideas from me, and she appeared to think she'd had enough of -me, and I took that to be reasonable. Now, here she wants me to come -back and behave myself, cool as you please. And me inquiring why, she -acts like the country was too small for us both. I don't see it that way -myself." And he shook his head, stretching his hands out over the fire. - -"I don't see either end of it," says I. "You're a bad one, Jim, a -downright bad one." - -"That's so. It's Jeaney you mean," he says, looking kind of interested. -"It'll be hell for Jeaney, won't it?" - -The wind and rain was whooping round the house so we could hardly hear -each other. It was like a wild thing trying to get in, which didn't know -how to do it, and wouldn't give up; and then you'd hear like something -whimpering, and little fingers tapping at the window-glass. - -My opinion of Jim Hawks was that I didn't seem to get on to him, and -that's my opinion up to now; and it appeared to me then that Jim might -be the proper explanation himself of anything the extra woman did which -seemed unreasonable; but I didn't tell him that, because I didn't see -rightly what it would mean if I said it. - -Jim got up and stretched his legs. "Now, I tell you, Fargus," says he, -"I'm going to put the thing to Jeaney, being a clipper little woman, -not to say sharp. If it comes to the worst, I daresay Canada Center will -give us a burying; or if she wants to slide over the mountains with me, -there's no trouble about it; or if she'd rather go her own way, and me -mine, that's reasonable; or if she says to do nothing but hold the fort, -why, that's all right, too, only Canada Center would be likely to take a -hand, and then there'd surely be trouble, on account of me getting mad. -Now, I have to say to you, Fargus, that you've been as friendly as a man -could be, as things are; and maybe you've seen the last of me, and maybe -you wouldn't mind if you had." - -"Speaking generally," says I, "you're about right, Jim." - -With that he laughed, and went out, pulling the door to hard against the -storm. - -Next day the rain came streaming down, and my cellar was flooded, and -the valley was full of the noise of the flood brooks. I kept looking -toward the Hawkses' place, having a kind of notion something would blow -up there. It appeared to me there was too much gunpowder in that family -for the house to stay quiet. Besides, I saw Tioba had been dropping -rocks in the night, and there were new boulders around. One had ploughed -through Jim's yard, and the road was cut up frightful. The boulder in -Jim's yard looked as if it might be eight feet high. I told my wife the -Hawkses ought to get out of there, and she said she didn't care, she -being down on Jim on account of his mixed drinks, which had a way of -getting under a man, I'm free to say, and heaving him up. - -About four o'clock in the afternoon it come off misty, and I started -over to tell Jim he'd better get out; and sudden I stops and looks, -for there was a crowd coming from Canada Center--the Storrses and the -Petersons and the Merimys, and the extra woman in a buggy with Henry -Hall, who was county sheriff then. "Well, 'Mighty!" says I. - -They pulled up in front of Jim's place, and I took it they were going to -walk in and settle things prompt. But you see, when I got there, it was -Jim a-standing by his door with his rifle, and the sheriff and Canada -Center was squeezing themselves through the gate and Jim shooting off -sideways at the pickets on his fence. And the sheriff ups and yelled: - -"Here, you Jim Hawks! That ain't any way to do." - -Then Jim walks down the road with his rifle over his arm, and Jeaney -Merimy comes to the door. She looked some mad and some crying, a little -of both. - -"Hall," says he, "you turn your horse and go back where you come from. -Maybe I'll see you by and by. The rest of you go back to Canada Center, -and if Jeaney wants anything of you she'll come and say so. You go, -now!" - -And they went. The extra woman drove off with the sheriff, hanging her -head, and the sheriff saying, "You'll have to come to time, Jim Hawks, -soon or late." Jeaney Merimy sat in the door with her head hung down, -too; and the only one as ought to have been ashamed, he was walking -around uppish, like he meant to call down Tioba for throwing rocks into -his yard. Then Jeaney sees me, and she says: - -"You're all down on Jim. There's no one but me to stand up for Jim." - -She began to cry, while Jim cocked his head and looked at her curious. -And she kept saying, "There's no one but me to stand up for Jim." - -That was a queer way for her to look at it. - -Now, that night set in, like the one before, with a drizzling rain. It -was the longest wet weather I ever knew. I kept going to the window to -look at the light over at the Hawkses' and wonder what would come of -it, till it made my wife nervous, and she's apt to be sharp when she's -nervous, so I quit. And the way Tioba talked double that night was -terrible--_um-hiss, toot-toot_, hour after hour; and no sleep for me and -my wife, being nervous. - -I do' know what time it was, or what we heard. All I know is, my wife -jumps up with a yell, and I jumps up too, and I know we were terrible -afraid and stood listening maybe a minute. It seemed like there was -almost dead silence in the night, only the um-m went on, but no hissing -and no tooting, and if there was any sound of the rain or wind I -don't recollect it. And then, "Um!" says Tioba, louder and louder and -_louder!_ till there was no top nor bottom to it, and the whole infernal -world went to pieces, and pitched me and my wife flat on the floor. - -The first I knew, there was dead silence again; or maybe my hearing was -upset, for soon after I began to hear the rain buzzing away quietly. -Then I got up and took a lantern, and my wife grabs me. - -"You ain't going a step!" says she, and the upshot was we both went, two -old folks that was badly scared and bound to find out why. We went along -the road, looking about us cautious; and of a sudden, where the road -ought to be, we ran into a bank of mud that went up out of seeing in the -night. Then my wife sat down square in the road and began a-crying, and -I knew Tioba had fallen down. - -Now, there's Tioba, and that's how she looked next morning, only -worse--more mushy and generally clawed up, with the rain still falling -dismal, and running little gullies in the mud like a million snakes. - -According to my guess, Jim and Jeaney and the cemetery were about ten -rods in, or maybe not more than eight. Anyway, I says to Peterson, and -he agreed with me, that there wasn't any use for a funeral. I says: "God -A'mighty buried 'em to suit himself." It looked like he didn't think -much of the way Canada Center did its burying, seeing the cemetery was -took in and buried over again. Peterson and me thought the same on that -point. And we put up the white stone, sort of on top of things, that -maybe you've noticed, and lumped the folk in the cemetery together, and -put their names on it, and a general epitaph; but not being strong -on the dates, we left them out mostly. We put Jeaney Merimy with her -family, but Canada Center was singularly united against letting Jim in. - -"You puts his name on no stone with me or mine," says Merimy, and -I'm not saying but what he was right. Yes, sir; Merimy had feelings, -naturally. But it seemed to me when a man was a hundred and fifty feet -underground, more or less, there ought to be some charity; and maybe I -had a weakness for Jim, though my wife wouldn't hear of him, on account -of his drinks, which were slippery things. Anyway, I takes a chisel -and a mallet, and I picks out a boulder on the slide a decent ways from -Canada Center's monument, and I cuts in it, "Jim Hawks"; and then I cuts -in it an epitaph that I made myself, and it's there yet: - - - HERE LIES JIM HAWKS, KILLED BY ROCKS. - - HE DIDN'T ACT THE WAY HE OUGHT. - - THAT'S ALL I'll SAY OF JIM. - - HERE HE LIES, WHAT'S LEFT OF HIM. - - -And I thought that stated the facts, though the second line didn't -rhyme really even. Speaking generally, Tioba appeared to have dropped -on things about the right time, and that being so, why not let it pass, -granting Merimy had a right to his feelings? - -Now, neither Sheriff Hall nor the extra woman showed up in the valley -any more, so it seemed likely they had heard of Tioba falling, and -agreed Jim wouldn't be any good, if they could find him. It was two -weeks more before I saw the sheriff, him driving through, going over to -Helder's. I saw him get out of his buggy to see the monument, and I went -up after, and led him over to show Jim's epitaph, which I took to be a -good epitaph, except the second line. - -Now, what do you think he did? Why, he busted out a-haw-hawing -ridiculous, and it made me mad. - -"Shut up!" says I. "What's ailing you?" - -"Haw-haw!" says he. "Jim ain't there! He's gone down the road." - -"I believe you're a blamed liar," says I; and the sheriff sobered up, -being mad himself, and he told me this. - -"Jim Hawks," says he, "came into East-port that night, meaning business. -He routed me out near twelve o'clock, and the lady staying at my house -she came into it, too, and there we had it in the kitchen at twelve -o'clock, the lady uncommon hot, and Jim steaming wet in his clothes and -rather cool. He says: 'I'm backing Jeaney now, and she tells me to come -in and settle it to let us alone, and she says we'll hand over all we've -got and leave. That appears to be her idea, and being hers, I'll put it -as my own.' Now, the lady, if you'd believe it, she took on fearful, and -wouldn't hear to reason unless he'd go with her, though what her idea -was of a happy time with Jim Hawks, the way he was likely to act, I give -it up. But she cried and talked foolish, till I see Jim was awful bored, -but I didn't see there was much for me to do. Then Jim got up at last, -and laughed very unpleasant, and he says: 'It's too much bother. I'll go -with you, Annie, but I think you're a fool.' And they left next morning, -going south by train." - -That's what Sheriff Hall said to me then and there. Well, now, I'm an -old man, and I don't know as I'm particular clever, but it looks to me -as if God A'mighty and Tioba had made a mistake between 'em. Else how -come they hit at Jim Hawks so close as that and missed him? And what was -the use of burying Jeaney Merimy eight rods deep, who was a good girl -all her life, and was for standing up for Jim, and him leaving her -because the extra woman got him disgusted? Maybe she'd rather Tioba -would light on her, that being the case--maybe she would have; but she -never knew what the case was. - -That epitaph is there yet, as you might say, waiting for him to come -and get under it; but it don't seem to have the right point now, and it -don't state the facts any more, except the second line, which is more -facts than rhyme. And Tioba is the messiest-look-ing mountain in these -parts. And now, I say, Jim Hawks was in this valley little more than a -year, and he blazed his trail through the Merimy family, and the Storrs -family, and the Peterson family, and there's Tioba Mountain, and that's -his trail. - -No, sir; I don't get on to it. I hear Tioba talking double some nights, -sort of uneasy, and it seems to me she isn't on to it either, and has -her doubts maybe she throwed herself away. And there's the cemetery six -to ten rods underground, with a monument to forty-five people on top, -and an epitaph to Jim Hawks that ain't so, except the second line, there -being no corpse to fit it. - -Canada Center thinks they'd fit Jim to it if he came round again; but -they wouldn't: for he was a wicked one, but sudden to act, and he was -reckless, and he kept his luck. For Tioba drawed off and hit at him, -slap! and he dodged her. - - - - -A MAN FOR A' THAT - - -COMPANY A was cut up at Antietam, so that there was not enough of it -left for useful purposes, and Deacon Andrew Terrell became a member -of Company G, which nicknamed him "'is huliness." Company A came from -Dutchess County. There was a little white church in the village of -Brewster, and a little white house with a meagre porch where that good -woman, Mrs. Terrell, had stood and shed several tears as the deacon -walked away down the street, looking extraordinary in his regimentals. -She dried her eyes, settled down to her sewing in that quiet south -window, and hoped he would remember to keep his feet dry and not lose -the cough drops. That part of Dutchess County was a bit of New England -spilled over. New England has been spilling over these many years. - -The deacon took the cough drops regularly; he kept his gray chin beard -trimmed with a pair of domestic scissors, and drilling never persuaded -him to move his large frame with other than the same self-conscious -restraint; his sallow face had the same set lines. There is something in -the Saxon's blood that will not let him alter with circumstances, and it -is by virtue of it that he conquers in the end. - -But no doorkeeper in the house of God--the deacon's service in the -meeting-house at Brewster--who should come perforce to dwell in the -tents of wickedness would pretend to like it. Besides, Company G had no -tents. It came from the lower wards of the great city. Dinkey Cott, that -thin-legged, stunted, imp-faced, hardened little Bowery sprout, put his -left fist in the deacon's eye the first day of their acquaintance, and -swore in the pleasantest manner possible. - -The deacon cuffed him, because he had been a schoolmaster in his day, -and did not understand how he would be despised for knocking Dinkey down -in that amateur fashion, and the lieutenant gave them both guard duty -for fighting in the ranks. - -The deacon declared "that young man Cott hadn't no moral ideas," and did -his guard duty in bitterness and strict conscience to the last minute of -it. Dinkey put his thumb to his nose and offered to show the lieutenant -how the thing should have been done, and that big man laughed, and both -forgot about the guard duty. - -Dinkey had no sense whatever of personal dignity, which was partly what -the deacon meant by "moral ideas," nor reverence for anything above or -beneath. He did not harbor any special anger, either, and only enough -malice to point his finger at the elder man, whenever he saw him, and -snicker loudly to the entertainment of Company G. - -Dinkey's early recollections had to do with the cobblestones of Mulberry -Bend and bootblacking on Pearl Street. Deacon Terrell's began with a -lonely farm where there were too many potato hills to hoe, a little -schoolhouse where arithmetic was taught with a ferrule, a white -meeting-house where the wrath of God was preached with enthusiasm; both -seemed far enough away from the weary tramp, tramp, the picket duty, and -the camp at last one misty night in thick woods on the Stafford hills, -looking over the Rappahannock to the town of Fredericksburg. - -What happened there was not clear to Company G. There seemed to be a -deal of noise and hurrying about, cannon smoke in the valley and cannon -smoke on the terraces across the valley. Somebody was building pontoon -bridges, therefore it seemed likely somebody wanted to get across. They -were having hard luck with the bridges. That was probably the enemy on -the ridge beyond. - -There seemed to be no end to him, anyway; up and down the valley, mile -beyond mile, the same line of wooded heights and drifting smoke. - -And the regiment found itself crossing a shaky pontoon bridge on a -Saturday morning in the mist and climbing the bank into a most battered -and tired-looking little town, which was smoldering sulkily with burned -buildings and thrilling with enormous noise. There they waited for -something else to happen. The deacon felt a lump in his throat, stopping -his breath. - -"Git out o' me tracks!" snickered Dinkey Cott behind him. "I'll step on -yer." - -Dinkey had never seemed more impish, unholy and incongruous. They seemed -to stand there a long time. The shells kept howling and whizzing around; -they howled till they burst, and then they whizzed. And now and then -some one would cry out and fall. It was bad for the nerves. The men were -growling. - -"Aw, cap, give us a chance!" - -"It ain't my fault, boys. I got to wait for orders, same as you." - -Dinkey poked the deacon's legs with the butt of his rifle. - -"Say, it's rotten, ain't it? Say, cully, my ma don't like me full o' -holes. How's yours?" - -The other gripped his rifle tight and thought of nothing in particular. - -Was it five hours that passed, or twenty, or one? Then they started, and -the town was gone behind their hurrying feet. Over a stretch of broken -level, rush and tramp and gasping for breath; fences and rocks ahead, -clumps of trees and gorges; ground growing rougher and steeper, but that -was nothing. If there was anything in the way you went at it and left -it behind. You plunged up a hill, and didn't notice it. You dove into a -gully, and it wasn't there. Time was a liar, obstacles were scared and -ran away. But half-way up the last pitch ran a turnpike, with a stone -wall in front that spit fire and came nearer and nearer. It seemed -creeping down viciously to meet you. Up, up, till the powder of the guns -almost burned the deacon's face, and the smoke was so thick he could -only see the red flashes. - -And then suddenly he was alone. At least there was no one in sight, for -the smoke was very thick. Company G all dead, or fallen, or gone back. -There was a clump of brambles to his left. He dropped to the ground, -crept behind it and lay still. The roar went on, the smoke rolled down -over him and sometimes a bullet would clip through the brambles, but -after a time the small fire dropped off little by little, though the -cannon still boomed on. - -His legs were numb and his heart beating his sides like a drum. The -smoke was blowing away down the slope. He lifted his head and peered -through the brambles; there was the stone wall not five rods away, all -lined along the top with grimy faces. A thousand rifles within as -many yards, wanting nothing better than to dig a round hole in him. He -dropped his head and closed his eyes. - -His thoughts were so stunned that the slowly lessening cannonade seemed -like a dream, and he hardly noticed when it had ceased, and he began -to hear voices, cries of wounded men and other men talking. There was -a clump of trees to the right, and two or three crows in the treetops -cawing familiarly. An hour or two must have passed, for the sun was down -and the river mist creeping up. He lay on his back, staring blankly at -the pale sky and shivering a little with the chill. - -A group of men came down and stood on the rocks above. They could -probably see him, but a man on his back with his toes up was nothing -particular there. They talked with a soft drawl. "Doggonedest clean-up I -ever saw." - -"They hadn't no business to come up heah, yuh know. They come some -distance, now." - -"Shuah! We ain't huntin' rabbits. What'd yuh suppose?" - -Then they went on. - -The mist came up white and cold and covered it all over. He could not -see the wall any longer, though he could hear the voices. He turned on -his face and crawled along below the brambles and rocks to where the -clump of trees stood with a deep hollow below them. They were chestnut -trees. Some one was sitting in the hollow with his back against the -roots. - -During the rush Dinkey Cott fairly enjoyed himself. The sporting blood -in him sang in his ears, an old song that the leopard knows, it may be, -waiting in the mottled shadow, that the rider knows on the race course, -the hunter in the snow--the song of a craving that only excitement -satisfies. The smoke blew in his face. He went down a hollow and up the -other side. Then something hot and sudden came into the middle of him -and he rolled back against the roots of a great tree. - -"Hully gee! I'm plunked!" he grumbled disgustedly. - -For the time he felt no pain, but his blood ceased to sing in his ears. -Everything seemed to settle down around him, blank and dull and angry. -He felt as if either the army of the North or the army of the South had -not treated him rightly. If they had given him a minute more he might -have clubbed something worth while. He sat up against a tree, wondered -what his chance was to pull through, thought it poor, and thought he -would sell it for a drink. - -The firing dropped off little by little, and the mist was coming up. -Dinkey began to see sights. His face and hands were hot, and things -seemed to be riproaring inside him generally. The mist was full of -flickering lights, which presently seemed to be street lamps down the -Bowery. The front windows of Reilly's saloon were glaring, and opposite -was Gottstein's jewelry store, where he had happened to hit one Halligan -in the eye for saying that Babby Reilly was his girl and not Dinkey's; -and he bought Babby a 90-cent gold ring of Gottstein, which proved -Halligan to be a liar. The cop saw him hit Halligan, too, and said -nothing, being his friend. And Halligan enlisted in Company G with the -rest of the boys, and was keeled over in the dark one night on picket -duty, somewhere up country. All the gang went into Company G. The -captain was one of the boys, and so was Pete Murphy, the big lieutenant. -He was a sort of ward sub-boss, was Pete. - -"Reilly, he's soured on me, Pete. I dun-no wot's got the ol' man." - -The lights seemed to grow thick, till everything was ablaze. - -"Aw, come off! Dis ain't de Bowery," he muttered, and started and rubbed -his eyes. - -The mist was cold and white all around him, ghostly and still, except -that there was a low, continual mutter of voices above, and now and then -a soft moan rose up from somewhere. And it seemed natural enough that a -ghost should come creeping out of the ghostly mist, even that it should -creep near to him and peer into his face, a ghost with a gray chin beard -and haggard eyes. - -"I'm going down," it whispered. "Come on. Don't make any noise." - -"Hully gee!" thought Dinkey. "It's the Pope!" - -A number of things occurred to him in confusion. The deacon did not see -he was hit. He said to himself: - -"I ain't no call to spoil 'is luck, if he is country." - -He blinked a moment, then nodded and whispered hoarsely: "Go on." - -The deacon crept away into the mist. Dinkey leaned back feebly and -closed his eyes. - -"Wished I'd die quick. It's rotten luck. Wished I could see Pete." - -The deacon crept down about two hundred yards, then stopped and waited -for the young man Cott. The night was closing in fast A cry in the -darkness made him shiver. He had never imagined anything could be so -desolate and sad. He thought he had better see what was the matter with -Dinkey. He never could make out afterward why it had seemed necessary -to look after Dinkey. There were hundreds of better men on the slopes. -Dinkey might have passed him. It did not seem very sensible business -to go back after that worthless little limb of Satan. The deacon never -thought the adventure a credit to his judgment. - -But he went back, guiding himself by the darker gloom of the trees -against the sky, and groped his way down the hollow, and heard Dinkey -muttering and babbling things without sense. It made the deacon mad -to have to do with irresponsible people, such as go to sleep under the -enemy's rifles and talk aloud in dreams. He pulled him roughly by the -boots, and he fell over, babbling and muttering. Then it came upon the -deacon that it was not sleep, but fever. He guessed the young man was -hit somewhere. They had better be going, anyway. The Johnnies must have -out a picket line somewhere. He slipped his hands under Dinkey and got -up. He tried to climb out quietly, but fell against the bank. Some one -took a shot at the noise, spattering the dirt under his nose. He lifted -Dinkey higher and went on. Dinkey's mutterings ceased. He made no sound -at all for a while, and at last said huskily: - -"Wot's up?" - -"It's me." - -"Hully gee! Wot yer doin'?" - -His voice was weak and thin now. He felt as if he were being pulled in -two in the middle. - -"Say, ol' man, I won't jolly yer. Les' find Pete. There's a minie ball -messed up in me stomick awful." - -"'Tain't far, Dinkey," said the deacon, gently. - -And he thought of Pete Murphy's red, fleshy face and black, oily -mustache. It occurred to him that he had noticed most men in Company -G, if they fell into trouble, wanted to find Pete. He thought he should -want to himself, though he could not tell why. If he happened to be -killed anywhere he thought he should like Pete Murphy to tell his wife -about it. - -Dinkey lay limp and heavy in his arms. The wet blackness seemed like -something pressed against his face. He could not realize that he was -walking, though in the night, down the same slope to a river called the -Rappahannock and a town called Fredericksburg. It was strange business -for him, Deacon Terrell of Brewster, to be in, stumbling down the -battlefield in the pit darkness, with a godless little brat like Dinkey -Cott in his arms. - -And why godless, if the same darkness were around us all, and the same -light, while we lived, would come to all in the morning? It was borne -upon the deacon that no man was elected to the salvation of the sun or -condemned to the night apart from other men. - -The deacon never could recall the details of his night's journey, except -that he fell down more than once, and ran against stone walls in the -dark. It seemed to him that he had gone through an unknown, supernatural -country. Dinkey lay so quiet that he thought he might be dead, but he -could not make up his mind to leave him. He wished he could find Pete -Murphy. Pete would tell him if Dinkey was dead. - -He walked not one mile, but several, in the blind night Dinkey had long -been a limp weight. The last thing he said was, "Les' find Pete," and -that was long before. - -At last the deacon saw a little glow in the darkness, and, coming near, -found a dying campfire with a few flames only flickering, and beside it -two men asleep. He might have heard the ripple of the Rappahannock, but, -being so worn and dull in his mind, he laid Dinkey down by the fire and -fell heavily to sleep himself before he knew it. - -When he woke Pete Murphy stood near him with a corporal and a guard. -They were looking for the pieces of Company G. "Dead, ain't he?" said -Pete. - -The deacon got up and brushed his clothes. The two men who were sleeping -woke up also, and they all stood around looking at Dinkey in awkward -silence. - -"Who's his folks?" - -"Him!" said the big lieutenant. "He ain't got any folks. Tell you what, -ol' man, I see a regiment drummer somewhere a minute ago. He'll do a -roll over Dinkey, for luck, sure!" - -They put Dinkey's coat over his face and buried him on the bank of the -Rappahannock, and the drummer beat a roll over him. - -Then they sat down on the bank and waited for the next thing. - -The troops were moving back now across the bridge hurriedly. Company G -had to take its turn. The deacon felt in his pockets and found the cough -drops and Mrs. Terrell's scissors. He took a cough drop and fell to -trimming his beard. - - - - -THE GREEN GRASSHOPPER - - -ANY one would have called Bobby Bell a comfortable boy--that is, any -one who did not mind bugs; and I am sure I do not see why any one should -mind bugs, except the kind that taste badly in raspberries and some -other kinds. It was among the things that are entertaining to see Bobby -Bell bobbing around among the buttercups looking for grasshoppers. -Grasshoppers are interesting when you consider that they have heads -like door knobs or green cheeses and legs with crooks to them. "Bobbing" -means to go like Bobby Bell--that is, to go up and down, to talk to -one's self, and not to hear any one shout, unless it is some one whom -not to hear is to get into difficulties. - -Across the Salem Road from Mr. Atherton Bell's house there were many -level meadows of a pleasant greenness, as far as Cum-ming's alder swamp; -and these meadows were called the Bow Meadows. If you take the alder -swamp and the Bow Meadows together, they were like this: the swamp was -mysterious and unvisited, except by those who went to fish in the Muck -Hole for turtles and eels. Frogs with solemn voices lived in the swamp. -Herons flew over it slowly, and herons also are uncanny affairs. We -believed that the people of the swamp knew things it was not good to -know, like witchcraft and the insides of the earth. In the meadows, on -the other hand, there were any number of cheerful and busy creatures, -some along the level of the buttercups, but most of them about the roots -of the grasses. The people in the swamp were wet, cold, sluggish, and -not a great many of them. The people of the meadows were dry, warm, -continually doing something, and in number not to be calculated by any -rule in Wentworth's Arithmetic. - -So you see how different were the two, and how it comes about that the -meadows were nearly the best places in the world to be in, both -because of the society there, and because of the swamp near at hand and -interesting to think about. So, too, you see why it was that Bobby Bell -could be found almost any summer day "bobbing" for grasshoppers in the -Bow Meadows--"bobbing" meaning to go up and down like Bobby Bell, to -talk to one's self and not to hear any one shout; and "grasshoppers" -being interesting because of their heads resembling door knobs or green -cheeses, because of the crooks in their legs, and because of their -extraordinary habit of jumping. - -There were in Hagar at this time four ladies who lived at a little -distance from the Salem Road and Mr. Atherton Bell's house, on a road -which goes over a hill and off to a district called Scrabble Up and -Down, where huckleberries and sweet fern mostly grow. They were known as -the Tuttle Four Women, being old Mrs. Tuttle and the three Miss Tuttles, -of whom Miss Rachel was the eldest. - -It is easy to understand why Miss Rachel and the children of the village -of Hagar did not get along well together, when you consider how clean -she was, how she walked so as never to fall over anything, nor took -any interest in squat tag, nor resembled the children of the village of -Hagar in any respect. And so you can understand how it was that, when -she came down the hill that Saturday afternoon and saw Bobby Bell -through the bars in the Bow Meadows, she did not understand his actions, -and disapproved of them, whatever they were. - -The facts were these: In the first place a green grasshopper, who was -reckless or had not been brought up rightly, had gone down Bobby's back -next the skin, where he had no business to be; and naturally Bobby stood -on his head to induce him to come out. That seems plain enough, for, if -you are a grasshopper and down a boy's back, and the boy stands on his -head, you almost always come out to see what he is about; because it -makes you curious, if not ill, to be down a boy's back and have him -stand on his head. Any one can see that. And this is the reason I had -to explain about Miss Rachel, in order to show you why she did not -understand it, nor understand what followed after. - -In the next place, Bobby knew that when you go where you have no -business to, you are sometimes spanked, but usually you are talked to -unpleasantly, and tied up to something by the leg, and said to be in -disgrace. Usually you are tied to the sewing machine, and "disgrace" -means the corner of the sewing-room between the machine and the sofa. It -never occurred to him but that this was the right and natural order of -things. Very likely it is. It seemed so to Bobby. - -Now it is difficult to spank a grasshopper properly. And so there was -nothing to do but to tie him up and talk to him unpleasantly. That seems -quite simple and plain. But the trouble was that it was a long time -since Miss Rachel had stood on her head, or been spanked, or tied up to -anything. This was unfortunate, of course. And when she saw Bobby -stand violently on his head and then tie a string to a grasshopper, she -thought it was extraordinary business, and probably bad, and she came up -to the bars in haste. - -"Bobby!" she said, "you naughty boy, are you pulling off that -grasshopper's leg?" - -Bobby thought this absurd. "Gasshoppers," he said calmly, "ithn't any -good 'ith their legth off." - -This was plain enough, too, because grasshoppers are intended to jump, -and cannot jump without their legs; consequently it would be quite -absurd to pull them off. Miss Rachel thought one could not know this -without trying it, and especially know it in such a calm, matter-of-fact -way as Bobby seemed to do, without trying it a vast number of times; -therefore she became very much excited. "You wicked, wicked boy!" she -cried. "I shall tell your father!" Then she went off. - -Bobby wondered awhile what his father would say when Miss Rachel told -him that grasshoppers were no good with their legs off. When Bobby told -him that kind of thing, he generally chuckled to himself and called -Bobby "a queer little chicken." If his father called Miss Rachel "a -queer little chicken," Bobby felt that it would seem strange. But he had -to look after the discipline of the grasshopper, and it is no use trying -to think of two things at once. He tied the grasshopper to a mullein -stalk and talked to him unpleasantly, and the grasshopper behaved very -badly all the time; so that Bobby was disgusted and went away to leave -him for a time--went down to the western end of the meadows, which is a -drowsy place. And there it came about that he fell asleep, because his -legs were tired, because the bees hummed continually, and because the -sun was warm and the grass deep around him. - -Miss Rachel went into the village and saw Mr. Atherton Bell on the steps -of the post-office. He was much astonished at being attacked in such -a disorderly manner by such an orderly person as Miss Rachel; but -he admitted, when it was put to him, that pulling off the legs of -grasshoppers was interfering with the rights of grasshoppers. Then Miss -Rachel went on her way, thinking that a good seed had been sown and the -morality of the community distinctly advanced. - -The parents of other boys stood on the post-office steps in great -number, for it was near mail-time; and here you might have seen what -varieties of human nature there are. For some were taken with the -conviction that the attraction of the Bow Meadows to their children was -all connected with the legs of grasshoppers; some suspected it only, and -were uneasy; some refused to imagine such a thing, and were indignant. -But they nearly all started for the Bow Meadows with a vague idea of -doing something, Mr. Atherton Bell and Father Durfey leading. It was not -a well-planned expedition, nor did any one know what was intended to be -done. They halted at the bars, but no Bobby Bell was in sight, nor -did the Bow Meadows seem to have anything to say about the matter. The -grasshoppers in sight had all the legs that rightly belonged to them. -Mr. Atherton Bell got up on the wall and shouted for Bobby. Father -Durfey climbed over the bars. - -It happened that there was no one in the Bow Meadows at this time, -except Bobby, Moses Durfey, Chub Leroy, and one other. Bobby was asleep, -on account of the bumblebees humming in the sunlight; and the other -three were far up the farther side, on account of an expedition through -the alder swamp, supposing it to be Africa. There was a desperate battle -somewhere; but the expedition turned out badly in the end, and in this -place is neither here nor there. They heard Mr. Atherton Bell shouting, -but they did not care about it. It is more to the point that Father -Durfey, walking around in the grass, did not see the grasshopper who was -tied to the mullein stalk and as mad as he could be. For when tied up -in disgrace, one is always exceedingly mad at this point; but repentance -comes afterwards. The grasshopper never got that far, for Father Durfey -stepped on him with a boot as big as--big enough for Father Durfey to be -comfortable in--so that the grasshopper was quite dead. It was to him as -if a precipice were to fall on you, when you were thinking of something -else. Then they all went away. - -Bobby Bell woke up with a start, and was filled with remorse, -remembering his grasshopper. The sun had slipped behind the shoulder of -Windless Mountain. There was a faint light across the Bow Meadows, that -made them sweet to look on, but a little ghostly. Also it was dark in -the roots of the grasses, and difficult to find a green grasshopper -who was dead; at least it would have been if he had not been tied to a -mullein stalk. Bobby found him at last sunk deep in the turf, with his -poor legs limp and crookless, and his head, which had been like a -green cheese or a door knob, no longer looking even like the head of a -grasshopper. - -Then Bobby Bell sat down and wept. Miss Rachel, who had turned the corner -and was half way up to the house of the Tuttle Four Women, heard him, -and turned back to the bars. She wondered if Mr. Atherton Bell had not -been too harsh. The Bow Meadows looked dim and mournful in the twilight. -Miss Rachel was feeling a trifle sad about herself, too, as she -sometimes did; and the round-cheeked cherub weeping in the wide -shadowy meadows seemed to her something like her own life in the great -world--not very well understood. - -"He wath geen!" wailed Bobby, looking up at her, but not allowing his -grief to be interrupted. "He wath my geen bug!" - -Miss Rachel melted still further, without knowing why. - -"What was green?" - -She pulled down a bar and crawled through. She hoped Mr. Atherton Bell -was not looking from a window, for it was difficult to avoid making -one's self amusing to Mr. Atherton Bell. But Bobby was certainly in some -kind of trouble. - -"He'th dead!" wailed Bobby again. "He'th thtepped on!" - -Miss Rachel bent over him stiffly. It was hard for one so austerely -ladylike as Miss Rachel to seem gracious and compassionate, but she did -pretty well. - -"Oh, it's a grasshopper!" Then more severely: "Why did you tie him up?" - -Bobby's sobs subsided into hiccoughs. - -"It'th a disgace. I put him in disgace, and I forgotted him. He went -down my back." - -"Did you step on him?" - -"N-O-O-O!" The hiccoughs rose into sobs again. "He wath the geenest -gasshopper!" - -This was not strictly true; there were others just as green; but it was -a generous tribute to the dead and a credit to Bobby Bell that he felt -that way. - -Now there was much in all this that Miss Rachel did not understand; but -she understood enough to feel sharp twinges for the wrong that she had -done Bobby Bell, and whatever else may be said of Miss Rachel, up to her -light she was square. In fact, I should say that she had an acute-angled -conscience. It was more than square; it was one of those consciences -that you are always spearing yourself on. She felt very humble, and went -with Bobby Bell to dig a grave for the green grasshopper under the lee -of the wall. She dug it herself with her parasol, thinking how she must -go up with Bobby Bell, what she must say to Mr. Atherton Bell, and how -painful it would be, because Mr. Atherton Bell was so easily amused. - -Bobby patted the grave with his chubby palm and cooed contentedly. Then -they went up the hill in the twilight hand in hand. - - - - -THE ENEMIES - - -THE great fluted pillars in Ramoth church were taken away. They -interfered with the view and rental of the pews behind them. Albion Dee -was loud and persuasive for removing them, and Jay Dee secret, shy and -resistant against it. That was their habit and method of hostility. - -Then in due season Jay Dee rented the first seat in the pew in front -of Albion's pew. This was thought to be an act of hostility, subtle, -noiseless, far-reaching. - -He was a tall man, Jay Dee, and wore a wide flapping coat, had flowing -white hair, and walked with a creeping step; a bachelor, a miser, he -had gathered a property slowly with persistent fingers; a furtive, -meditating, venerable man, with a gentle piping voice. He lived on the -hill in the old house of the Dees, built in the last century by one -"John Griswold Dee, who married Sarah Ballister and begat two sons," -who respectively begat Jay and Albion Dee; and Albion founded Ironville, -three or four houses in the hollow at the west of Diggory Gorge, and a -bolt and nail factory. He was a red-faced, burly man, with short legs -and thick neck, who sought determined means to ends, stood squarely and -stated opinions. - -The beginnings of the feud lay backward in time, little underground -resentments that trickled and collected. In Albion they foamed up and -disappeared. He called himself modern and progressive, and the bolt and -nail factory was thought to be near bankruptcy. He liked to look men in -the eyes. If one could not see the minister, one could not tell if he -meant what he said, or preached shoddy doctrine. As regards all view and -rental behind him, Jay Dee was as bad as one of the old fluted pillars. -Albion could not see the minister. He felt the act to be an act of -hostility. - -But he was progressive, and interested at the time in a question of the -service, as respected the choir which sang from the rear gallery. It -seemed to him more determined and effective to hymnal devotion that the -congregation should rise and turn around during the singing, to the end -that congregation and choir might each see that all things were done -decently. He fixed on the idea and found it written as an interlinear to -his gospels, an imperative codicil to the duty of man. - -But the congregation was satiated with change. They had still to make -peace between their eyes and the new slender pillars, to convince -themselves by contemplation that the church was still not unstable, not -doctrinally weaker. - -So it came about that Albion Dee stood up sternly and faced the choir -alone, with the old red, fearless, Protestant face one knows of Luther -and Cromwell. The congregation thought him within his rights there -to bear witness to his conviction. Sabbaths came and went in Ramoth -peacefully, milestones of the passing time, and all seemed well. - -Pseudo-classic architecture is a pale, inhuman allegory of forgotten -meaning. If buildings like Ramoth church could in some plastic way -assimilate their communicants, what gargoyles would be about the -cornices, what wall paintings of patient saints, mystical and realistic. -On one of the roof cornices of an old church in France is the carved -stone face of a demon with horns and a forked tongue, and around its -eyes a wrinkled smile of immense kindness. And within the church is the -mural painting of a saint, some Beata Ursula or Catherine, with upturned -eyes; a likeable girl, capable of her saintship, of turning up her eyes -with sincerity because it fell to her to see a celestial vision; -as capable of a blush and twittering laugh, and the better for her -capabilities. - -It is not stated what Albion symbolized. He stood overtopping the -bonnets and the gray heads of deacons, respected by the pews, popular -with the choir, protesting his conviction. - -And all the while secretly, with haunch and elbow, he nudged, bumped -and rubbed the shoulders and silvery head of Jay Dee. It is here -claimed that he stood there in the conviction that it was his duty so -to testify. It is not denied that he so bumped and squatted against Jay -Dee, cautiously, but with relish and pleasure. - -In the bowed silver head, behind the shy, persistent eyes of Jay Dee, -what were his thoughts, his purposes, coiling and constricting? None -but the two were aware of the locked throat grip of the spirit. In the -droning Sabbath peace the congregation pursued the minister through -the subdivisions of his text, and dragged the hymn behind the dragging -choir. - -It was a June day and the orioles gurgled their warm nesting notes in -the maples. The boys in the gallery searched the surface of the quiet -assembly for points of interest; only here and there nodding heads, -wavering fans, glazed, abstracted eyes. They twisted and yawned. What to -them were brethren in unity, or the exegesis of a text, as if one were -to count and classify, prickle by prickle, to no purpose the irritating -points of a chestnut burr? The sermon drowsed to its close. The choir -and Albion rose. It was an outworn sight now, little more curious than -Monday morning. The sunlight shone through the side windows, slanting -down over the young, worldly and impatient, and one selected ray fell on -Jay Dee's hair with spiritual radiance, and on Albion's red face, turned -choirward for a testimony. - -Suddenly Albion gave a guttural shout. He turned, he grasped Jay Dee's -collar, dragged him headlong into the aisle, and shook him to and fro, -protesting, "You stuck me! I'll teach you!" - -His red face worked with passion; Jay Dee's venerable head bobbed, -helpless, mild, piteous. The choir broke down. The minister rose with -lifted hands and open mouth, the gallery in revelry, the body of -the church in exclamatory confusion. Albion saw outstretched hands -approaching, left his enemy, and hat in hand strode down the aisle with -red, glowering face, testifying, "He stuck me." - -Jay Dee sat on the floor, his meek head swaying dizzily. - -On Monday morning Albion set out for Hamilton down the narrow valley -of the Pilgrim River. The sudden hills hid him and his purposes from -Ramoth. He came in time to sit in the office of Simeon Ballister, and -Simeon's eyes gleamed. He took notes and snuffed the battle afar. - -"Ha! Witnesses to pin protruding from coat in region adjoining haunch. -Hum! Affidavits to actual puncture of inflamed character, arguing -possibly venom of pin. Ha! Hum! Motive of concurrent animosity. A very -respectable case. I will come up and see your witnesses--Ha!--in a day -or two. Good morning." - -Ballister was a shining light in the county courts in those days, -but few speak of him now. Yet he wrote a Life of Byron, a History of -Hamilton County, and talked a half century with unflagging charm. Those -who remember will have in mind his long white beard and inflamed and -swollen nose, his voice of varied melody. Alien whiskey and natural -indolence kept his fame local. His voice is silent forever that once -rose in the court-rooms like a fountain shot with rainbow fancies, in -musical enchantment, in liquid cadence. "I have laid open, gentlemen, -the secret of a human heart, shadowed and mourning, to the illumination -of your justice. You are the repository and temple of that sacred light. -Not merely as a plaintiff, a petitioner, my client comes; but as a -worshipper, in reverence of your function, he approaches the balm and -radiance of that steadfast torch and vestal fire of civilization, an -intelligent jury." Such was Ballister's inspired manner, such his habit -of rhythm and climax, whenever he found twenty-four eyes fixed on his -swollen nose, the fiery mesmeric core of his oratory beaconing juries to -follow it and discover truth. - -But the Case of Dee v. Dee came only before a justice of the peace, in -the Town Hall of Ramoth, and Justice Kernegan was but a stout man with -hairy ears and round, spectacled, benevolent eyes. Jay Dee brought no -advocate. His silvery hair floated about his head. His pale eyes gazed -in mild terror at Ballister. He said it must have been a wasp stung -Albion. - -"A wasp, sir! Your Honor, does a wasp carry for penetration, for -puncture, for malignant attack or justifiable defence, for any purpose -whatsoever, a brass pin of palpable human manufacture, drawn, headed and -pointed by machinery, such as was inserted in my client's person? Does -the defendant wish your Honor to infer that wasps carry papers of brass -pins in their anatomies? I will ask the defendant, whose venerable -though dishonored head bears witness to his age, if, in his long -experience, he has ever met a wasp of such military outfit and arsenal? -Not a wasp, your Honor, but a serpent; a serpent in human form." - -Jay Dee had no answer to all this. He murmured-- - -"Sat on me." - -"I didn't catch your remark, sir." - -"Why, you see," explained the Justice, "Jay says Albion's been squatting -on him, Mr. Ballister, every Sunday for six months. You see, Albion gets -up when the choir sings, and watches 'em sharp to see they sing correct, -because his ear ain't well tuned, but his eye's all right." - -The Justice's round eyes blinked pleasantly. The court-room murmured -with approval, and Albion started to his feet. - -"Now don't interrupt the Court," continued the Justice. "You see, Mr. -Ballister, sometimes Jay says it was a wasp and sometimes he says it -was because Albion squatted on him, don't you see, bumped him on the -ear with his elbow. You see, Jay sets just in front of Albion. Now, you -see--" - -"Then, does it not appear to your Honor that a witness who voluntarily -offers to swear to two contradictory explanations; first, that the -operation in question, the puncture or insertion, was performed by a -wasp; secondly, that, though he did it himself with a pin and in his -haste allowed that pin in damnatory evidence to remain, it was because, -he alleges, of my client's posture toward, and intermittent contact -with him--does it not seem to your Honor that such a witness is to be -discredited in any statement he may make?" - -"Well, really, Mr. Ballister, but you see Albion oughtn't to've squatted -on him." - -"I find myself in a singular position. It has not been usual in my -experience to find the Court a pleader in opposition. I came hoping to -inform and persuade your Honor regarding this case. I find myself in -the position of being informed and persuaded. I hope the Court sees -no discourtesy in the remark, but if the Court is prepared already to -discuss the case there seems little for me to do." - -The Justice looked alarmed. He felt his popularity trembling. It would -not do to balk the public interest in Ballister's oratory. Doubtless Jay -Dee had stuck a pin into Albion, but maybe Albion had mussed Jay's hair -and jabbed his ear, had dragged and shaken him in the aisle at least. -The rights of it did not seem difficult. They ought not to have acted -that way. No man has the right to sit on another man's head from the -standpoint or advantage of his own religious conviction. Nor has a man -a right to use another man for a pincushion whenever, as it may be, -he finds something about him in a way that's like a pincushion. But -Ballister's oratory was critical and important. - -"Why," said Kemegan hastily, "this Court is in a mighty uncertain state -of mind. It couldn't make it up without hearing what you were going to -say." - -Again the Court murmured with approval. Ballister rose. - -"This case presents singular features. The secret and sunless caverns, -where human motives lie concealed, it is the function of justice to lay -open to vivifying light. Not only evil or good intentions are moving -forces of apparent action, but mistakes and misjudgments. -I conclude that your Honor puts down the defendant's fanciful and -predatory wasp to the defendant's neglect of legal advice, to his feeble -and guilty inepitude. I am willing to leave it there. I assume that he -confesses the assault on my client's person with a pin, an insidious and -lawless pin, pointed with cruelty and propelled with spite; I infer -and understand that he offers in defence a certain alleged provocation, -certain insertions of my client's elbow into the defendant's ear, -certain trespasses and disturbance of the defendant's hair, finally, -certain approximations and contacts between my client's adjacent quarter -and the defendant's shoulders, denominated by him--and here we demur or -object--as an act of sitting or squatting, whereby the defendant alleges -himself to have been touched, grieved and annoyed. In the defendant's -parsimonious neglect of counsel we generously supply him with a fair -statement of his case. I return to my client. - -"Your Honor, what nobler quality is there in our defective nature than -that which enables the earnest man, whether as a citizen or in divine -worship, whether in civil matters or religious, to abide steadfastly by -his conscience and convictions. He stands a pillar of principle, a rock -in the midst of uncertain waters. The feeble look up to him and are -encouraged, the false and shifty are ashamed. His eye is fixed on the -future. Posterity shall judge him. Small matters of his environment -escape his notice. His mind is on higher things. - -"I am not prepared to forecast the judgment of posterity on that point -of ritualistic devotion to which my client is so devoted an advocate. -Neither am I anxious or troubled to seek opinion whether my client -inserted his elbow into the defendant's ear, or the defendant, -maliciously or inadvertently, by some rotatory motion, applied, bumped -or banged his ear against my client's elbow; whether the defendant -rubbed or impinged with his head on the appendant coat tails of -my client, or the reverse. I am uninterested in the alternative, -indifferent to the whole matter. It seems to me an academic question. If -the defendant so acted, it is not the action of which we complain. If -my client once, twice, or even at sundry times, in his stern absorption, -did not observe what may in casual accident have taken place behind, -what then? I ask your Honor, what then? Did the defendant by a slight -removal, by suggestion, by courteous remonstrance, attempt to obviate -the difficulty? No! Did he remember those considerate virtues enjoined -in Scripture, or the sacred place and ceremony in which he shared? No! -Like a serpent, he coiled and waited. He hid his hypocrisy in white -hairs, his venomous purpose in attitudes of reverence. He darkened his -morbid malice till it festered, corroded, corrupted. He brooded over his -fancied injury and developed his base design. Resolved and prepared, -he watched his opportunity. With brazen and gangrened pin of malicious -point and incensed propulsion, with averted eye and perfidious hand, -with sudden, secret, backward thrust, with all the force of accumulated, -diseased, despicable spite, he darted like a serpent's fang this -misapplied instrument into the unprotected posterior, a sensitive -portion, most outlying and exposed, of my client's person. - -"This action, your Honor, I conceive to be in intent and performance a -felonious, injurious and sufficient assault. For this injury, for -pain, indignity and insult, for the vindication of justice in state and -community, for the protection of the citizen from bold or treacherous -attack, anterior or posterior, vanguard or rear, I ask your Honor that -damages be given my client adequate to that injury, adequate to that -vindication and protection." - -So much and more Ballister spoke. Mr. Kernegan took off his spectacles -and rubbed his forehead. - -"Well," he said, "I guess Mr. Ballister'll charge Albion about forty -dollars--" - -Ballister started up. - -"Don't interrupt the Court. It's worth all that. Albion and Jay haven't -been acting right and they ought to pay for it between 'em. The Court -decides Jay Dee shall pay twenty dollars damages and costs." - -The court-room murmured with approval. - -* * * * * - -The twilight was gathering as Albion drove across the old covered bridge -and turned into the road that leads to Ironville through a gloomy gorge -of hemlock trees and low-browed rocks. The road keeps to the left above -Diggory Brook, which murmurs in recesses below and waves little ghostly -white garments over its waterfalls. Such is this murmur and the soft -noise of the wind in the hemlocks, that the gorge is ever filled with -a sound of low complaint. Twilight in the open sky is night below the -hemlocks. At either end of the avenue you note where the light still -glows fadingly. There lie the hopes and possibilities of a worldly day, -skies, fields and market-places, to-days, to-morrows and yesterdays, -and men walking about with confidence in their footing. But here the -hemlocks stand beside in black order of pillars and whisper together -distrustfully. The man who passes you is a nameless shadow with an -intrusive, heavy footfall. Low voices float up from the pit of the -gorge, intimations, regrets, discouragements, temptations. - -A house and mill once stood at the lower end of it, and there, a century -ago, was a wild crime done on a certain night; the dead bodies of the -miller and his children lay on the floor, except one child, who hid and -crept out in the grass; little trickles of blood stole along the cracks; -house and mill blazed and fell down into darkness; a maniac cast his -dripping axe into Diggory Brook and fled away yelling among the hills. -Not that this had made the gorge any darker, or that its whispers are -supposed to relate to any such memories. The brook comes from swamps -and meadows like other brooks, and runs into the Pilgrim River. It is -shallow and rapid, though several have contrived to fall and be drowned -in it. One wonders how it could have happened. The old highway leading -from Ramoth village to the valley has been grass-grown for generations, -but that is because the other road is more direct to the Valley -settlement and the station. The water of the brook is clear and pleasant -enough. Much trillium, with its leaves like dark red splashes, a plant -of sullen color and solitary station, used to grow there, but does so no -more. Slender birches now creep down almost to the mouth of the gorge, -and stand with white stems and shrinking, trembling leaves. But birches -grow nearly everywhere. - -Albion drove steadily up the darkened road, till his horse dropped -into a walk behind an indistinguishable object that crept in front with -creaking wheels. He shouted for passage and turned into the ditch on the -side away from the gorge. The shadowy vehicle drifted slantingly aside. -Albion started his horse; the front wheels of the two clicked, grated, -slid inside each other and locked. Albion spoke impatiently. He was ever -for quick decisions. He backed his horse, and the lock became hopeless. -The unknown made no comment, no noise. The hemlocks whispered, the -brook muttered in its pit and shook the little white garments of its -waterfalls. - -"Crank your wheel a trifle now." - -The other did not move. - -"Who are you? Can't ye speak?" - -No answer. - -Albion leaned over his wheel, felt the seat rail of the other vehicle, -and brought his face close to something white--white hair about the -approximate outline of a face. By the hair crossed by the falling hat -brim, by the shoulders seen vaguely to be bent forward, by the loose -creaking wheels of the buck-board he knew Jay Dee. The two stood -close and breathless, face to face, but featureless and apart by the -unmeasured distance of obscurity. - -Albion felt a sudden uneasy thrill and drew back. He dreaded to hear -Jay Dee's spiritless complaining voice, too much in the nature of that -dusky, uncanny place. He felt as if something cold, damp and impalpable -were drawing closer to him, whispering, calling his attention to the -gorge, how black and steep! to the presence of Jay Dee, how near! to -the close secret hemlocks covering the sky. This was not agreeable to a -positive man, a man without fancies. Jay Dee sighed at last, softly, and -spoke, piping, thin, half-moaning: - -"You're following me. Let me alone!" - -"I'm not following you," said Albion hoarsely. "Crank your wheel!" - -"You're following me. I'm an old man. You're only fifty." - -Albion breathed hard in the darkness. He did not understand either Jay -Dee or himself. After a silence Jay Dee went on: - -"I haven't any kin but you, Albion, except Stephen Ballister and the -Winslows. They're only fourth cousins." - -Albion growled. - -"What do you mean?" - -"Without my making a will it'd come to you, wouldn't it? Seems to me as -if you oughtn't to pester me, being my nearest kin, and me, I ain't made -any will. I got a little property, though it ain't much. 'Twould clear -your mortgage and make you easy." - -"What d'you mean?" - -"Twenty dollars and costs," moaned Jay Dee. "And me an old man, getting -ready for his latter end soon. I ain't made my will, either. I ought -to've done it." - -What could Jay Dee mean? If he made no will his property would come to -Albion. No will made yet. A hinted intention to make one in favor of -Stephen Ballister or the Winslows. The foundry was mortgaged.--Jay -was worth sixty thousand. Diggory Gorge was a dark whispering place -of ancient crime, of more than one unexplained accident. The hemlocks -whispered, the brook gurgled and glimmered. Such darkness might well -cloak and cover the sunny instincts that look upwards, scruples of the -social daylight. Would Jay Dee trap him to his ruin? Jay Dee would not -expect to enjoy it if he were dead himself. But accidents befall, and -men not seldom meet sudden deaths, and an open, free-speaking neighbor -is not suspected. Success lies before him in the broad road. - -It rushed through Albion's mind, a flood, sudden, stupefying--thoughts -that he could not master, push back, or stamp down. - -He started and roused himself; his hands were cold and shaking. He -sprang from his buggy and cried angrily: - -"What d'ye mean by all that? Tempt me, a God-fearing man? Throw ye off'n -the gorge! Break your old neck! I've good notion to it, if I wasn't a -God-fearing man. Crank your wheel there!" - -He jerked his buggy free, sprang in, and lashed his horse. The horse -leaped, the wheels locked again. Jay Dee's buckboard, thrust slanting -aside, went over the edge, slid and stopped with a thud, caught by the -hemlock trunks. A ghostly glimmer of white hair one instant, and Jay Dee -was gone down the black pit of the gorge. A wheezing moan, and nothing -more was heard in the confusion. Then only the complaining murmur of the -brook, the hemlocks at their secrets. - -"Jay! Jay!" called Albion, and then leaped out, ran and whispered, -"Jay!" - -Only the mutter of the brook and the shimmer of foam could be made out -as he stared and listened, leaning over, clinging to a tree, feeling -about for the buckboard. He fumbled, lit a match and lifted it. The -seat was empty, the left wheels still in the road. The two horses, with -twisted necks and glimmering eyes, were looking back quietly at him, -Albion Dee, a man of ideas and determination, now muttering things -unintelligible in the same tone with the muttering water, with wet -forehead and nerveless hands, heir of Jay Dee's thousands, staring down -the gorge of Diggory Brook, the scene of old crime. He gripped with -difficulty as he let himself slide past the first row of trees, and felt -for some footing below. He noticed dully that it was a steep slope, not -a precipice at that point. He lit more matches as he crept down, and -peered around to find something crushed and huddled against some tree, a -lifeless, fearful thing. The slope grew more moderate. There were thick -ferns. And closely above the brook, that gurgled and laughed quietly, -now near at hand, sat Jay Dee. He looked up and blinked dizzily, -whispered and piped: - -"Twenty dollars and costs! You oughtn't to pester me. I ain't made my -will." - -Albion sat down. They sat close together in the darkness some moments -and were silent. - -"You ain't hurt?" Albion asked at last. "We'll get out." - -They went up the steep, groping and stumbling. - -Albion half lifted his enemy into the buckboard, and led the horse, his -own following. They were out into the now almost faded daylight. Jay sat -holding his lines, bowed over, meek and venerable. The front of his coat -was torn. Albion came to his wheel. - -"Will twenty dollars make peace between you and me, Jay Dee?" - -"The costs was ten," piping sadly. - -"Thirty dollars, Jay Dee? Here it is." - -He jumped into his buggy and drove rapidly. In sight of the foundry he -drew a huge breath. - -"I been a sinner and a fool," and slapped his knee. "It's sixty thousand -dollars, maybe seventy. A self-righteous sinner and a cocksure fool. God -forgive me!" - -Between eight and nine Jay Dee sat down before his meagre fire and rusty -stove, drank his weak tea and toasted his bread. The windows clicked -with the night wind. The furniture was old, worn, unstable, except the -large desk behind him full of pigeonholes and drawers. Now and then -he turned and wrote on scraps of paper. Tea finished, he collected the -scraps and copied: - -Mr. Stephen Ballister: I feel, as growing somewhat old, I ought to make -my will, and sometime, leaving this world for a better, would ask you -to make my will for me, for which reasonable charge, putting this so -it cannot be broken by lawyers, who will talk too much and are vain -of themselves, that is, leaving all my property of all kinds to my -relative, James Winslow of Wimberton, and not anything to Albion Dee; -for he has not much sense but is hasty; for to look after the choir is -not his business, and to sit on an old man and throw him from his own -wagon and pay him thirty dollars is hasty, for it is not good sense, and -not anything to Stephen Ballister, for he must be rich with talking so -much in courts of this world. Put this all in my will, but if unable or -unwilling on account of remorse for speaking so in the court, please to -inform that I may get another lawyer. Yours, - -Jay Dee. - -He sealed and addressed the letter, put it in his pocket, and noticed -the ruinous rent in his coat. He sighed, murmured over it complainingly, -and turned up the lapel of the coat. Pins in great variety and number -were there in careful order, some new, some small, some long and old and -yellow. He selected four and pinned the rent together, sighing. Then he -took three folded bills from his vest pocket, unfolded, counted and put -them back, felt of the letter in his coat gently, murmured, "I had the -best of Albion there; I had him there," took his candle and went up -peacefully and venerably to bed. - - - - -A NIGHT'S LODGING - - -FATHER WILISTON was a retired clergyman, so distinguished from his -son Timothy, whose house stood on the ridge north of the old village -of Win-throp, and whose daily path lay between his house and the new -growing settlement around the valley station. It occurred at odd times -to Father Wiliston that Timothy's path was somewhat undeviating. The -clergyman had walked widely since Win-throp was first left behind -fifty-five years back, at a time when the town was smaller and cows -cropped the Green but never a lawn mower. - -After college and seminary had come the frontier, which lay this side -of the Great Lakes until Clinton stretched his ribbon of waterway to -the sea; then a mission in Wisconsin, intended to modify the restless -profanity of lumbermen who broke legs under logs and drank disastrous -whiskey. A city and twenty mills were on the spot now, though the same -muddy river ran into the same blue lake. Some skidders and saw-tenders -of old days were come to live in stone mansions and drive in -nickel-plated carriages; some were dead; some drifting like the refuse -on the lake front; some skidding and saw-tending still. Distinction -of social position was an idea that Father Wiliston never was able to -grasp. - -In the memories of that raw city on the lake he had his place among its -choicest incongruities; and when his threescore and ten years were full, -the practical tenderness of his nickel-plated and mansioned parishioners -packed him one day into an upholstered sleeping car, drew an astonishing -check to his credit, and mailed it for safety to Timothy Wiliston of -Winthrop. So Father Wiliston returned to Winthrop, where Timothy, his -son, had been sent to take root thirty years before. - -One advantage of single-mindedness is that life keeps on presenting us -with surprises. Father Wiliston occupied his own Arcadia, and Wisconsin -or Winthrop merely sent in to him a succession of persons and events -of curious interest. "The parson"--Wisconsin so spoke of him, leaning -sociably over its bar, or pausing among scented slabs and sawdust--"the -parson resembles an egg as respects that it's innocent and some -lopsided, but when you think he must be getting addled, he ain't. He -says to me, 'You'll make the Lord a deal of trouble, bless my soul!' -he says. I don't see how the Lord's going to arrange for you. -But'--thinking he might hurt my feelings--'I guess he'll undertake it by -and by.' Then he goes wabbling down-street, picks up Mike Riley, who's -considerable drunk, and takes him to see his chickens. And Mike gets so -interested in those chickens you'd like to die. Then parson goes off, -absent-minded and forgets him, and Mike sleeps the balmy night in the -barnyard, and steals a chicken in the morning, and parson says, 'Bless -my soul! How singular!' Well," concluded Wisconsin, "he's getting pretty -young for his years. I hear they're going to send him East before he -learns bad habits." - -The steadiness and repetition of Timothy's worldly career and semi-daily -walk to and from his business therefore seemed to Father Wiliston -phenomenal, a problem not to be solved by algebra, for if _a_ equalled -Timothy, _b_ his house, _c_ his business, _a + b + c_ was still not -a far-reaching formula, and there seemed no advantage in squaring it. -Geometrically it was evident that by walking back and forth over the -same straight line you never so much as obtained an angle. Now, -by arithmetic, "Four times thirty, multiplied by--leaving out -Sundays--Bless me! How singular! Thirty-seven thousand five hundred and -sixty times!" - -He wondered if it had ever occurred to Timothy to walk it backward, or, -perhaps, to hop, partly on one foot, and then, of course, partly on -the other. Sixty years ago there was a method of progress known as -"hop-skip-and-jump," which had variety and interest. Drawn in the train -of this memory came other memories floating down the afternoon's slant -sunbeams, rising from every meadow and clump of woods; from the elder -swamp where the brown rabbits used to run zigzag, possibly still ran -in the same interesting way; from the great sand bank beyond the Indian -graves. The old Wiliston house, with roof that sloped like a well-sweep, -lay yonder, a mile or two. He seemed to remember some one said it was -empty, but he could not associate it with emptiness. The bough apples -there, if he remembered rightly, were an efficacious balm for regret. - -He sighed and took up his book. It was another cure for regret, a -Scott novel, "The Pirate." It had points of superiority over Cruden's -Concordance. The surf began to beat on the Shetland Islands, and trouble -was imminent between Cleveland and Mor-daunt Mertoun. - -Timothy and his wife drove away visiting that afternoon, not to -return till late at night, and Bettina, the Scandinavian, laid Father -Wiliston's supper by the open window, where he could look out across the -porch and see the chickens clucking in the road. - -"You mus' eat, fater," she commanded. - -"Yes, yes, Bettina. Thank you, my dear. Quite right." - -He came with his book and sat down at the table, but Bettina was -experienced and not satisfied. - -"You mus' eat firs'." - -He sighed and laid down "The Pirate." Bettina captured and carried it to -the other end of the room, lit the lamp though it was still light, and -departed after the mail. It was a rare opportunity for her to linger in -the company of one of her Scandinavian admirers. "Fater" would not know -the difference between seven and nine or ten. - -He leaned in the window and watched her safely out of sight, then went -across the room, recaptured "The Pirate," and chuckled in the tickling -pleasure of a forbidden thing, "asked the blessing," drank his tea -shrewdly, knowing it would deteriorate, and settled to his book. The -brown soft dusk settled, shade by shade; moths fluttered around the -lamp; sleepy birds twittered in the maples. But the beat of the surf -on the Shetland Islands was closer than these. Cleveland and Mordaunt -Mertoun were busy, and Norna--"really, Norna was a remarkable -woman"--and an hour slipped past. - -Some one hemmed! close by and scraped his feet. It was a large man -who stood there, dusty and ragged, one boot on the porch, with a red -handkerchief knotted under his thick tangled beard and jovial red face. -He had solid limbs and shoulders, and a stomach of sloth and heavy -feeding. - -The stranger did not resemble the comely pirate, Cleveland; his linen -was not "seventeen hun'red;" it seemed doubtful if there were any linen. -And yet, in a way there was something not inappropriate about him, a -certain chaotic ease; not piratical, perhaps, although he looked like -an adventurous person. Father Wiliston took time to pass from one -conception of things to another. He gazed mildly through his glasses. - -"I ain't had no supper," began the stranger in a deep moaning bass; and -Father Wiliston started. - -"Bless my soul! Neither have I." He shook out his napkin. "Bettina, you -see "-- - -"Looks like there's enough for two," moaned and grumbled the other. -He mounted the porch and approached the window, so that the lamplight -glimmered against his big, red, oily face. - -"Why, so there is!" cried Father Wiliston, looking about the table in -surprise. "I never could eat all that. Come in." And the stranger rolled -muttering and wheezing around through the door. - -"Will you not bring a chair? And you might use the bread knife. These -are fried eggs. And a little cold chicken? Really, I'm very glad you -dropped in, Mr."-- - -"Del Toboso." By this time the stranger's mouth was full and his -enunciation confused. - -"Why"--Father Wiliston helped himself to an egg--"I don't think I caught -the name." - -"Del Toboso. Boozy's what they calls me in the push." - -"I'm afraid your tea is quite cold. Boozy? How singular! I hope it -doesn't imply alcoholic habits." - -"No," shaking his head gravely, so that his beard wagged to the judicial -negation. "Takes so much to tank me up I can't afford it, let alone it -ain't moral." - -The two ate with haste, the stranger from habit and experience, Father -Wiliston for fear of Bettina's sudden return. When the last egg and -slice of bread had disappeared, the stranger sat back with a wheezing -sigh. - -"I wonder," began Father Wiliston mildly, "Mr. Toboso--Toboso is the -last name, isn't it, and Del the first?" - -"Ah," the other wheezed mysteriously, "I don't know about that, Elder. -That's always a question." - -"You don't know! You don't know!" - -"Got it off'n another man," went on Toboso sociably. "He said he -wouldn't take fifty dollars for it. I didn't have no money nor him -either, and he rolled off'n the top of the train that night or maybe the -next I don't know. I didn't roll him. It was in Dakota, over a canyon -with no special bottom. He scattered himself on the way down. But I -says, if that name's worth fifty dollars, it's mine. Del Toboso. That's -mine. Sounds valuable, don't it?" - -Father Wiliston fell into a reverie. "To-boso? Why, yes. Dulcinea del -Toboso. I remember, now." - -"What's that? Dulcinea, was it? And you knowed him?" - -"A long while ago when I was younger. It was in a green cover. 'Don -Quixote'--he was in a cage, 'The Knight of the Rueful Countenance.' He -had his face between the bars." - -"Well," said Toboso, "you must have knowed him. He always looked glum, -and I've seen him in quad myself." - -"Yes. Sancho Panza. Dulcinea del Toboso." - -"I never knowed that part of it. Dulcinea del Toboso! Well, that's me. -You know a ruck of fine names, Elder. It sounds like thirteen trumps, -now, don't it?" - -Father Wiliston roused himself, and discriminated. "But you look more -like Sancho Panza." - -"Do? Well, I never knowed that one. Must've been a Greaser. Dulcinea's -good enough." - -Father Wiliston began to feel singularly happy and alive. The regular -and even paced Timothy, his fidgeting wife, and the imperious Bettina -were to some extent shadows and troubles in the evening of his life. -They were careful people, who were hemmed in and restricted, who somehow -hemmed in and restricted him. They lived up to precedents. Toboso did -not seem to depend on precedents. He had the free speech, the casual -inconsequence, the primitive mystery, desired of the boy's will and the -wind's will, and travelled after by the long thoughts of youth. He was -wind-beaten, burned red by the sun, ragged of coat and beard, huge, fat, -wallowing in the ease of his flesh. One looked at him and remembered the -wide world full of crossed trails and slumbering swamps. - -Father Wiliston had long, straight white hair, falling beside his -pale-veined and spiritual forehead and thin cheeks. He propped -his forehead on one bony hand, and looked at Toboso with eyes of -speculation. If both men were what some would call eccentric, to each -other they seemed only companionable, which, after all, is the main -thing. - -"I have thought of late," continued Father Wiliston after a pause, "that -I should like to travel, to examine human life, say, on the highway. I -should think, now, your manner of living most interesting. You go from -house to house, do you not?--from city to city? Like Ulysses, you see -men and their labors, and you pass on. Like the apostles--who surely -were wise men, besides that were especially maintained of God--like -them, and the pilgrims to shrines, you go with wallet and staff or -merely with Faith for your baggage." - -"There don't nothing bother you in warm weather, that's right," said -Toboso, "except your grub. And that ain't any more than's interesting. -If it wasn't for looking after meals, a man on the road might get right -down lazy." - -"Why, just so! How wonderful! Now, do you suppose, Mr. Toboso, do you -suppose it feasible? I should very much like, if it could be equably -arranged, I should very much like to have this experience." - -Toboso reflected. "There ain't many of your age on the road." An -idea struck him suddenly. "But supposing you were going sort of -experimenting, like that--and there's some folks that do--supposing you -could lay your hands on a little bunch of money for luck, I don't see -nothing to stop." - -"Why, I think there is some in my desk." Toboso leaned forward and -pulled his beard. The table creaked under his elbow. "How much?" - -"I will see. Of course you are quite right." - -"At your age, Elder." - -"It is not as if I were younger." - -Father Wiliston rose and hurried out. - -Toboso sat still and blinked at the lamp. "My Gord!" he murmured and -moaned confidentially, "here's a game!" - -After some time Father Wiliston returned. "Do you think we could start -now?" he asked eagerly. - -"Why sure, Elder. What's hindering?" - -"I am fortunate to find sixty dollars. Really, I didn't remember. And -here's a note I have written to my son to explain. I wonder what Bettina -did with my hat." - -He hurried back into the hall. Toboso took the note from the table and -pocketed it. "Ain't no use taking risks." - -They went out into the warm night, under pleasant stars, and along the -road together arm in arm. - -"I feel pretty gay, Elder." He broke into bellowing song, "Hey, Jinny! -Ho, Jinny! Listen, love, to me." - -"Really, I feel cheerful, too, Mr. Toboso, wonderfully cheerful." - -"Dulcinea, Elder. Dulcinea's me name. Hey, Jinny! Ho, Jinny!" - -"How singular it is! I feel very cheerful. I think--really, I think I -should like to learn that song about Jinny. It seems such a cheerful -song." - -"Hit her up, Elder," wheezed Toboso jovially. "Now then"-- - -"Hey, Jinny! Ho, Jinny! Listen, love, to me." - -So they went arm in arm with a roaring and a tremulous piping. - -The lamp flickered by the open window as the night breeze rose. Bettina -came home betimes and cleared the table. The memory of a Scandinavian -caress was too recent to leave room for her to remark that there were -signs of devastating appetite, that dishes had been used unaccountably, -and that "Fater" had gone somewhat early to bed. Timothy and his wife -returned late. All windows and doors in the house of Timothy were -closed, and the last lamp was extinguished. - -Father Wiliston and Toboso went down the hill, silently, with furtive, -lawless steps through the cluster of houses in the hollow, called -Ironville, and followed then the road up the chattering hidden brook. -The road came from the shadows of this gorge at last to meadows and wide -glimmering skies, and joined the highway to Redfield. Presently they -came to where a grassy side road slipped into the highway from the -right, out of a land of bush and swamp and small forest trees of twenty -or thirty years' growth. A large chestnut stood at the corner. - -"Hey, Jinny!" wheezed Toboso. "Let's look at that tree, Elder." - -"Look at it? Yes, yes. What for?" Toboso examined the bark by the dim -starlight; Father Wiliston peered anxiously through his glasses to where -Toboso's finger pointed. - -"See those marks?" - -"I'm afraid I don't. Really, I'm sorry." - -"Feel 'em, then." - -And Father Wiliston felt, with eager, excited finger. - -"Them there mean there's lodging out here; empty house, likely." - -"Do they, indeed. Very singular! Most interesting!" And they turned into -the grassy road. The brushwood in places had grown close to it, though -it seemed to be still used as a cart path. They came to a swamp, rank -with mouldering vegetation, then to rising ground where once had been -meadows, pastures, and plough lands. - -Father Wiliston was aware of vaguely stirring memories. Four vast and -aged maple trees stood close by the road, and their leaves whispered to -the night; behind them, darkly, was a house with a far sloping roof in -the rear. The windows were all glassless, all dark and dead-looking, -except two in a front room, in which a wavering light from somewhere -within trembled and cowered. They crept up, and looking through saw -tattered wall paper and cracked plaster, and two men sitting on the -floor, playing cards in the ghostly light of a fire of boards in the -huge fireplace. - -"Hey, Jinny!" roared Toboso, and the two jumped up with startled oaths. -"Why, it's Boston Alley and the Newark Kid!" cried Toboso. "Come on, -Elder." - -The younger man cast forth zigzag flashes of blasphemy. "You big fat -fool! Don't know no mor' 'n to jump like that on _me!_ Holy Jims! I -ain't made of copper." - -Toboso led Father Wiliston round by the open door. "Hold your face, Kid. -Gents, this here's a friend of mine we'll call the Elder, and let -that go. I'm backing him, and I hold that goes. The Kid," he went on -descriptively, addressing Father Wiliston, "is what you see afore you, -Elder. His mouth is hot, his hands is cold, his nerves is shaky, he's -always feeling the cops gripping his shirt-collar. He didn't see no -clergy around. He begs your pardon. Don't he? I says, don't he?" - -He laid a heavy red hand on the Newark Kid's shoulder, who wiped his -pallid mouth with the back of his hand, smiled, and nodded. - -Boston Alley seemed in his way an agreeable man. He was tall and slender -limbed, with a long, thin black mustache, sinewy neck and hollow chest, -and spoke gently with a sweet, resonant voice, saying, "Glad to see you, -Elder." - -These two wore better clothes than Toboso, but he seemed to dominate -them with his red health and windy voice, his stomach and feet, and -solidity of standing on the earth. - -Father Wiliston stood the while gazing vaguely through his spectacles. -The sense of happy freedom and congenial companionship that had been -with him during the starlit walk had given way gradually to a stream of -confused memories, and now these memories stood ranged about, looking at -him with sad, faded eyes, asking him to explain the scene. The language -of the Newark Kid had gone by him like a white hot blast. The past and -present seemed to have about the same proportions of vision and reality. -He could not explain them to each other. He looked up to Toboso, -pathetically, trusting in his help. - -"It was my house." - -Toboso stared surprised. "I ain't on to you, Elder." - -"I was born here." - -Indeed Toboso was a tower of strength even against the ghosts of other -days, reproachful for their long durance in oblivion. - -"Oh! Well, by Jinny! I reckon you'll give us lodging, Elder," he puffed -cheerfully. He took the coincidence so pleasantly and naturally that -Father Wiliston was comforted, and thought that after all it was -pleasant and natural enough. - -The only furniture in the room was a high-backed settle and an -overturned kitchen table, with one leg gone, and the other three -helplessly in the air--so it had lain possibly many years. Boston Alley -drew forward the settle and threw more broken clapboards on the fire, -which blazed up and filled the room with flickering cheer. Soon the -three outcasts were smoking their pipes and the conversation became -animated. - -"When I was a boy," said Father Wiliston--"I remember so -distinctly--there were remarkable early bough apples growing in the -orchard." - -"The pot's yours, Elder," thundered To-boso. They went out groping under -the old apple trees, and returned laden with plump pale green fruit. -Boston Alley and the Newark Kid stretched themselves on the floor on -heaps of pulled grass. Toboso and Father Wiliston sat on the settle. The -juice of the bough apples ran with a sweet tang. The palate rejoiced and -the soul responded. The Newark Kid did swift, cunning card tricks that -filled Father Wiliston with wonder and pleasure. - -"My dear young man, I don't see how you do it!" - -The Kid was lately out of prison from a two years' sentence, "only for -getting into a house by the window instead of the door," as Boston Alley -delicately explained, and the "flies," meaning officers of the law, "are -after him again for reasons he ain't quite sure of." The pallor of slum -birth and breeding, and the additional prison pallor, made his skin -look curious where the grime had not darkened it. He had a short-jawed, -smooth-shaven face, a flat mouth and light hair, and was short and -stocky, but lithe and noiseless in movement, and inclined to say little. -Boston Alley was a man of some slight education, who now sometimes sung -in winter variety shows, such songs as he picked up here and there in -summer wanderings, for in warm weather he liked footing the road better, -partly because the green country sights were pleasant to him, and partly -because he was irresolute and keeping engagements was a distress. He -seemed agreeable and sympathetic. - -"He ain't got no more real feelings 'n a fish," said Toboso, gazing -candidly at Boston, but speaking to Father Wiliston, "and yet he looks -like he had 'em, and a man's glad to see him. Ain't seen you since -fall, Boston, but I see the Kid last week at a hang-out in Albany. Well, -gents, this ain't a bad lay." - -Toboso himself had been many years on the road. He was in a way a man -of much force and decision, and probably it was another element in -him, craving sloth and easy feeding, which kept him in this submerged -society; although here, too, there seemed room for the exercise of his -dominance. He leaned back in the settle, and had his hand on Father -Wiliston's shoulder. His face gleamed redly over his bison beard. - -"It's a good lay. And we're gay, Elder. Ain't we gay? Hey, Jinny!" - -"Yes, yes, Toboso. But this young man--I'm sure he must have great -talents, great talents, quite remarkable. Ah--yes, Jinny!" - -"Hey, Jinny," they sang together, "Ho, Jinny! Listen, love, to me. I'll -sing to you, and play to you, a dulcet melode-e-e"--while Boston danced -a shuffle and the Kid snapped the cards in time. Then, at Toboso's -invitation and command, Boston sang a song, called "The Cheerful Man," -resembling a ballad, to a somewhat monotonous tune, and perhaps known -in the music halls of the time--all with a sweet, resonant voice and a -certain pathos of intonation:-- - - "I knew a man across this land - - Came waving of a cheerful hand, - - Who drew a gun and gave some one - - A violent contus-i-on, - - This cheerful man. - - - "They sent him up, he fled from 'quad' - - By a window and the grace of God, - - Picked up a wife and children six, - - And wandered into politics, - - This cheerful man. - - - "'In politics he was, I hear, - - A secret, subtle financier-- - - So the jury says, 'But we agree - - He quits this sad community, - - This cheerful man.' - - - "His wife and six went on the town, - - And he went off; without a frown - - Reproaching Providence, went he - - And got another wife and three, - - This cheerful man. - - - "He runs a cross-town car to-day - - From Bleecker Street to Avenue A. - - He swipes the fares with skilful ease, - - Keeps up his hope, and tries to please, - - This cheerful man. - - - "Our life is mingled woe and bliss, - - Man that is born of woman is - - Short-lived and goes to his long home. - - Take heart, and learn a lesson from - - This cheerful man." - - -"But," said Father Wiliston, "don't you think really, Mr. Alley, that -the moral is a little confused? I don't mean intentionally," he -added, with anxious precaution, "but don't you think he should have -reflected"-- - -"You're right, Elder," said Toboso, with decision. "It's like that. -It ain't moral. When a thing ain't moral that settles it." And Boston -nodded and looked sympathetic with every one. - -"I was sure you would agree with me," said Father Wiliston. He felt -himself growing weary now and heavy-eyed. Presently somehow he was -leaning on Toboso with his head on his shoulder. Toboso's arm was around -him, and Toboso began to hum in a kind of wheezing lullaby, "Hey, Jinny! -Ho, Jinny!" - -"I am very grateful, my dear friends," murmured Father Wiliston. "I have -lived a long time. I fear I have not always been careful in my course, -and am often forgetful. I think"--drowsily--"I think that happiness must -in itself be pleasing to God. I was often happy before in this room. I -remember--my dear mother sat here--who is now dead. We have been quite, -really quite cheerful to-night. My mother--was very judicious--an -excellent wise woman--she died long ago." So he was asleep before any -one was aware, while Toboso crooned huskily, "Hey, Jinny!" and Boston -Alley and the Newark Kid sat upright and stared curiously. - -"Holy Jims!" said the Kid. - -Toboso motioned them to bring the pulled grass. They piled it on the -settle, let Father Wiliston down softly, brought the broken table, and -placed it so that he could not roll off. - -"Well," said Toboso, after a moment's silence, "I guess we'd better pick -him and be off. He's got sixty in his pocket." - -"Oh," said Boston, "that's it, is it?" - -"It's my find, but seeing you's here I takes half and give you fifteen -apiece." - -"Well, that's right." - -"And I guess the Kid can take it out." - -The Kid found the pocketbook with sensitive gliding fingers, and pulled -it out. Toboso counted and divided the bills. - -"Well," whispered Toboso thoughtfully, "if the Elder now was forty years -younger, I wouldn't want a better pardner." They tiptoed out into the -night. "But," he continued, "looking at it that way, o' course he ain't -got no great use for his wad and won't remember it till next week. -Heeled all right, anyhow. Only, I says now, I says, there ain't no vice -in him." - -"Mammy tuck me up, no licks to-night," said the Kid, plodding in front. -"I ain't got nothing against him." - -Boston Alley only fingered the bills in his pocket. - -It grew quite dark in the room they had left as the fire sunk to a few -flames, then to dull embers and an occasional darting spark. The only -sound was Father Wiliston's light breathing. - -When he awoke the morning was dim in the windows. He lay a moment -confused in mind, then sat up and looked around. - -"Dear me! Well, well, I dare say Toboso thought I was too old. I dare -say"--getting on his feet--"I dare say they thought it would be unkind -to tell me so." - -He wandered through the dusky old rooms and up and down the creaking -stairs, picking up bits of recollection, some vivid, some more dim than -the dawn, some full of laughter, some that were leaden and sad; then -out into the orchard to find a bough apple in the dewy grasses; and, -kneeling under the gnarled old tree to make his morning prayer, which -included in petition the three overnight revellers, he went in fluent -phrase and broken tones among eldest memories. - -He pushed cheerfully into the grassy road now, munching his apple and -humming, "Hey, Jinny! Ho, Jinny!" He examined the tree at the highway -with fresh interest. "How singular! It means an empty house. Very -intelligent man, Toboso." - -Bits of grass were stuck on his back and a bramble dragged from his coat -tail. He plodded along in the dust and wabbled absent-mindedly from one -side of the road to the other. The dawn towered behind him in purple and -crimson, lifted its robe and canopy, and flung some kind of glittering -gauze far beyond him. He did not notice it till he reached the top -of the hill above Ironville with Timothy's house in sight. Then he -stopped, turned, and was startled a moment; then smiled companionably -on the state and glory of the morning, much as on Toboso and the card -tricks of the Newark Kid. - -"Really," he murmured, "I have had a very good time." - -He met Timothy in the hall. - -"Been out to walk early, father? Wait--there's grass and sticks on your -coat." - -It suddenly seemed difficult to explain the entire circumstances to -Timothy, a settled man and girt with precedent. - -"Did you enjoy it?--Letter you dropped? No, I haven't seen it. Breakfast -is ready." - -Neither Bettina nor Mrs. Timothy had seen the letter. - -"No matter, my dear, no matter. I--really, I've had a very good time." - -Afterward he came out on the porch with his Bible and Concordance, -sat down and heard Bettina brushing his hat and ejaculating, "Fater!" -Presently he began to nod drowsily and his head dropped low over the -Concordance. The chickens clucked drowsily in the road. - - - - -ON EDOM HILL - - -I. - - -CHARLIE SEBASTIAN was a turfman, meaning that he had something to do -with race-horses, and knew property as rolls of bank bills, of which one -now and then suddenly has none at all; or as pacers and trotters that -are given to breaking and unaccountably to falling off in their nervous -systems; or as "Association Shares" and partnership investments in a -training stable; all capable of melting and going down in one vortex. So -it happened at the October races. And from this it arose that in going -between two heated cities and low by the sea he stopped among the high -hills that were cold. - -He was a tall man with a pointed beard, strong of shoulder and foot, and -without fear in his eyes. After two hours' riding he woke from a doze -and argued once more that he was a "phenomenally busted man." It made -no difference, after all, which city he was in. Looking out at the white -hills that showed faintly in the storm, it occurred to him that this was -not the railway line one usually travelled to the end in view. It was -singular, the little difference between choices. You back the wrong -horse; then you drink beer instead of fizz, and the results of either -are tolerable. Let a man live lustily and there's little to regret. He -had found ruin digestible before, and never yet gone to the dogs that -wait to devour human remnants, but had gotten up and fallen again, and -on the whole rejoiced. Stomach and lungs of iron, a torrent of red -blood in vein and artery maintain their consolations; hopes rise again, -blunders and evil doings seem to be practically outlived. So without -theory ran Sebastian's experience. The theory used to be that his sin -would find a man out. There were enough of Sebastian's that had gone -out, and never returned to look for him. So too with mistakes and -failures. A little while, a year or more, and you are busy with other -matters. It is a stirring world, and offers no occupation for ghosts. -The dragging sense of depression that he felt seemed natural enough; not -to be argued down, but thrown aside in due time. Yet it was a feeling of -pallid and cold futility, like the spectral hills and wavering snow. - -"I might as well go back!" - -He tossed a coin to see whether it was fated he should drop off at the -next station, and it was. - -"Ramoth!" cried the brakeman. - -Sebastian held in his surprise as a matter of habit. - -But on the platform in the drift and float of the snow-storm he stared -around at the white January valley, at the disappearing train, at the -sign above the station door, "Ramoth." - -"That's the place," he remarked. "There wasn't any railroad then." - -There were hidden virtues in a flipped coin. Sebastian had his -superstitions. - -The road to Ramoth village from the station curves about to the south -of the great bare dome that is called Edom Hill, but Sebastian, without -inquiry, took the fork to the left which climbed up the hill without -compromise, and seemed to be little used. - -Yet in past times Edom Hill was noted in a small way as a hill that -upheld the house of a stern abolitionist, and in a more secret way as a -station in the "underground railroad," or system by which runaway slaves -were passed on to Canada. But when Charlie Sebastian remembered his -father and Edom Hill, the days of those activities were passed. The -abolitionist had nothing to exercise resistance and aggression on but -his wind-blown farm and a boy, who was aggressive to seek out mainly the -joys of this world, and had faculties of resistance. There were bitter -clashes; young Sebastian fled, and came upon a stable on a stud farm, -and from there in due time went far and wide, and found tolerance in -time and wrote, offering to "trade grudges and come to see how he was." - -The answer, in a small, faint, cramped, unskilful hand, stated the -abolitionist's death. "Won't you come back, Mr. Sebastian. It is lonely. -Harriet Sebastian." And therefore Sebastian remarked: - -"You bet it is! Who's she? The old man must have married again." - -In his new-found worldly tolerance he had admired such aggressive -enterprise, but seeing no interest in the subject, had gone his way and -forgotten it. - -Beating up Edom Hill through the snow was no easier than twenty years -before. David Sebastian had built his house in a high place, and looking -widely over the top of the land, saw that it was evil. - -The drifts were unbroken and lay in long barrows and windy ridges over -the roadway. The half-buried fences went parallel up the white breast -and barren heave of the hill, and disappeared in the storm. Sebastian -passed a house with closed blinds, then at a long interval a barn and -a stiff red chimney with a snow-covered heap of ruins at its foot. The -station was now some miles behind and the dusk was coming on. The broad -top of the hill was smooth and rounded gradually. Brambles, bushes, -reeds, and the tops of fences broke the surface of the snow, and beside -these only a house by the road, looking dingy and gray, with a blackish -bam attached, four old maples in front, an orchard behind. Far down the -hill to the right lay the road to Ramoth, too far for its line of naked -trees to be seen in the storm. The house on Edom Hill had its white -throne to itself, and whatever dignity there might be in solitude. - -He did not pause to examine the house, only noticed the faint smoke in -one chimney, opened the gate, and pushed through untrodden snow to -the side door and knocked. The woman who came and stood in the door -surprised him even more than "Ramoth!" called by the brakeman. Without -great reason for seeming remarkable, it seemed remarkable. He stepped -back and stared, and the two, looking at each other, said nothing. -Sebastian recovered. - -"My feet are cold," he said slowly. "I shouldn't like to freeze them." - -She drew back and let him in, left him to find a chair and put his feet -against the stove. She sat down near the window and went on knitting. -The knitting needles glittered and clicked. Her face was outlined -against the gray window, the flakes too glittered and clicked. It -looked silent, secret, repressed, as seen against the gray window; like -something chilled and snowed under, cold and sweet, smooth pale hair and -forehead, deep bosom and slender waist. She looked young enough to be -called in the early June of her years. - -"There's good proportion and feature, but not enough nerves for a -thoroughbred. But," he thought, "she looks as if she needed, as you -might say, revelry," and he spoke aloud. - -"Once I was in this section and there was a man named Sebastian lived -here, or maybe it was farther on." - -She said, "It was here" in a low voice. - -"David Sebastian now, that was it, or something that way. Stiff, sort -of grim old--oh, but you might be a relative, you see. Likely enough. So -you might." - -"I might be." - -"Just so. You might be." - -He rubbed his hands and leaned back, staring at the window. The wind was -rising outside and blew the snow in whirls and sheets. - -"Going to be a bad night I came up from the station. If a man's going -anywhere tonight, he'll be apt not to get there." - -"You ought to have taken the right hand at the fork." - -"Well, I don't know." - -She rose and took a cloak from the table. Sebastian watched her. - -"I must feed the pony and shut up the chickens." - -She hesitated. A refusal seemed to have been hinted to the hinted -request for hospitality. But Sebastian saw another point. - -"Now, that's what I'm going to do for you." - -She looked on silently, as he passed her with assured step, not -hesitating at doors, but through the kitchen to the woodshed, and there -in the darkness of a pitch-black corner took down a jingling lantern and -lit it. She followed him silently into the yard, that was full of drifts -and wild storm, to the barn, where she listened to him shake down hay -and bedding, measure oats, slap the pony's flank and chirp cheerfully. -Then he plunged through a low door and she heard the bolt in the chicken -shed rattle. It had grown dark outside. He came out and held the barn -door, waiting for her to step out, and they stood side by side on the -edge of the storm. - -"How did you know the lantern was there?" - -"Lantern! Oh, farmhouses always keep the lantern in the nearest corner -of the woodshed, if it isn't behind the kitchen door." - -But she did not move to let him close the bam. He looked down at her a -moment and then out at the white raging night. - -"Can't see forty feet, can you? But, of course, if you don't want to -give me a roof I'll have to take my chances. Look poor, don't they? -Going to let me shut this door?" - -"I am quite alone here." - -"So am I. That's the trouble." - -"I don't think you understand," she said quietly, speaking in a manner -low, cool, and self-contained. - -"I've got more understanding now than I'll have in an hour, maybe." - -"I will lend you the lantern." - -"Oh, you mightn't get it back." He drew the barn door to, which -forced her to step forward. A gust of wind about the corner of the bam -staggered and threw her back. He caught her about her shoulders and held -her steadily, and shot the bolt with the hand that held the lantern. - -"That's all right. A man has to take his chances. I dare say a woman had -better not." - -If Sebastian exaggerated the dangers of the night, if there were any -for him, looked at from her standpoint they might seem large and full of -dread. The wind howled with wild hunting sound, and shrieked against the -eaves of the house. The snow drove thick and blinding. The chimneys -were invisible. A woman easily transfers her own feelings to a man and -interprets them there. In the interest of that interpretation it might -no longer seem possible that man's ingratitude, or his failings and -passions, could be as unkind as winter wind and bitter sky. - -She caught her breath in a moment. - -"You will stay to supper," she said, and stepped aside. - -"No. As I'm going, I'd better go." - -She went before him across the yard, opened the woodshed door and stood -in it. He held out the lantern, but she did not take it. He lifted it to -look at her face, and she smiled faintly. - -"Please come in." - -"Better go on, if I'm going. Am I?" - -"I'm very cold. Please come in." - -They went in and closed the doors against the storm. The house was -wrapped round, and shut away from the sight of Edom Hill, and Edom Hill -was wrapped round and shut away from the rest of the world. - - -II. - - -Revelry has need of a certain co-operation. Sebastian drew heavily on -his memory for entertainment, told of the combination that had "cleaned -him out," and how he might get in again in the Spring, only he felt -a bit tired in mind now, and things seemed dead. He explained the -mysteries of "short prices, selling allowances, past choices, hurdles -and handicaps," and told of the great October races, where Decatur won -from Clifford and Lady Mary, and Lady Mary ran through the fence and -destroyed the features of the jockey. But the quiet, smooth-haired woman -maintained her calm, and offered neither question nor comment, only -smiled and flushed faintly now and then. She seemed as little stirred by -new tumultuous things as the white curtains at the windows, that moved -slightly when the storm, which danced and shouted on Edom Hill, managed -to force a whistling breath through a chink. - -Sebastian decided she was frozen up with loneliness and the like. "She's -got no conversation, let alone revelry." He thought he knew what her -life was like. "She's sort of empty. Nothing doing any time. It's the -off season all the year. No troubles. Sort of like a fish, as being -chilly and calm, that lives in cold water till you have to put pepper on -to taste it. I know how it goes on this old hill." - -She left him soon. He heard her moving about in the kitchen, and -sometimes the clink of a dish. He sat by the stove and mused and -muttered. She came and told him his room was on the left of the stair; -it had a stove; would he not carry up wood and have his fire there? -She seemed to imply a preference that he should. But the burden -and oppression of his musings kept him from wondering when she had -compromised her scruples and fears, or why she kept any of them. He -mounted the stair with his wood. She followed with a lamp and left him. -He stared at the closed door and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then went -to work with his fire. The house became silent, except for the outer -tumult. She did not mount the stair again; it followed that she slept -below. - -Sebastian took a daguerreotype from the mantel and stared at it. It -was the likeness of a shaven, grim-faced man in early middle life. He -examined it long with a quizzical frown; finally went to the washstand, -opened the drawer and took out a razor with a handle of yellow bone, -carried the washstand to the stove, balanced the mirror against the -pitcher, stropped the razor on his hand, heated water in a cup, slowly -dismantled his face of beard and mustache, cast them in the stove, put -the daguerreotype beside the mirror, and compared critically. Except -that the face in the daguerreotype had a straight, set mouth, and the -face in the mirror was one full-lipped and humorous and differently -lined, they were nearly the same. - -"I wouldn't have believed it" - -He put it aside and looked around, whistling in meditation. Then he went -back again to wondering who the pale-haired woman was. Probably the -farm had changed hands. A man whose father had been dead going on -twenty years couldn't have that kind of widowed stepmother. He was -disqualified. - -A cold, unchanging place, Edom Hill, lifted out of the warm, sapping -currents of life. It might be a woman could keep indefinitely there, -looking much the same. If her pulse beat once to an ordinary twice, she -ought to last twice as long. The house seemed unchanged. The old things -were in their old familiar places, David Sebastian's books on their -shelves in the room below, on the side table there his great Bible, in -which he used to write all family records, with those of his reforming -activity. Sebastian wondered what record stood of his own flight. - -He sat a few moments longer, then took his lamp and crept softly out of -the room and down the stairs. The sitting-room was icily cold now; the -white curtains stirred noiselessly. He sat down before the little side -table and opened the great book. - -There were some thirty leaves between the Old and New Testaments, most -of them stitched in. A few at the end were blank. Some of the records -were obscure. - -"March 5th, 1840. Saw light on this subject." - -Others ran: - -"Sept. 1 st, 1843. Rec. Peter Cavendish, fugitive." - -"Dec. 3d, ditto. Rec. Robert Henry." - -"April 15th, ditto. Rec. one, Æsop," and so on. - -"Dec. 14th, 1848. Have had consolation from prayer for public evil." - -"April 20th, 1858. My son, Charles Sebastian, born." - -"April 7th, 1862. My wife, Jane Sebastian, died." - -"July 5th, 1862. Rec. Keziah Andrews to keep my house." - -The dates of the entries from that point grew further apart, random and -obscure; here and there a fact. - -"Nov. 4th, 1876. Charles Sebastian departed." - -"June 9th, 1877. Rec. Harriet." - -"Jan. 19th, 1880. Have wrestled in prayer without consolation for -Charles Sebastian." - -This was the last entry. A faint line ran down across the page -connecting the end of "Harriet" with the beginning of "Charles." -Between the two blank leaves at the end was a photograph of himself -at seventeen. He remembered suddenly how it was taken by a travelling -photographer, who had stirred his soul with curiosity and given him the -picture; and David Sebastian had taken it and silently put it away among -blank leaves of the Bible. - -Sebastian shivered. The written leaves, the look of himself of twenty -years before, the cold, the wail of the wind, the clicking flakes on the -window panes, these seemed now to be the dominant facts of life. Narrow -was it, poor and meagre, to live and labor with a barren farm? The old -abolitionist had cut deeper into existence than he had. If to deal with -the fate of races, and wrestle alone with God on Edom Hill, were not -knowledge and experience, what was knowledge or experience, or what -should a man call worth the trial of his brain and nerve? - -"He passed me. He won hands down," he muttered, bending over the page -again. "'Rec. Harriet.' That's too much for me." And he heard a quick -noise behind him and turned. - -She stood in the door, wide-eyed, smooth, pale hair falling over one -shoulder, long cloak half slipped from the other, holding a shotgun, -threatening and stem. - -"What are you doing here?" - -"Out gunning for me?" asked Sebastian gravely. - -She stared wildly, put the gun down, cried: - -"You're Charlie Sebastian!" and fell on her knees beside the stove, -choking, sobbing and shaking, crouching against the cold sheet iron in a -kind of blind memory of its warmth and protection. - -"You still have the drop on me," said Sebastian. - -She shivered and crouched still and whispered: - -"I'm cold." - -"How long have you been here freezing?" - -Sebastian thrust anything inflammable at hand into the stove, lit it and -piled in the wood. - -"Not long. Only--only a few moments." - -"You still have the advantage of me. Who are you?" - -"Why, I'm Harriet," she said simply, and looked up. - -"Just so. 'Received, 1877.' How old were you then?" - -"Why, I was eight." - -"Just so. Don't tell lies, Harriet. You've been freezing a long while." - -She drew her cloak closer over the thin white linen of her gown with -shaking hand. - -"I don't understand. I'm very cold. Why didn't you come before? It has -been so long waiting." - - -III. - - -The draft began to roar and the dampers to glow. She crept in front of -the glow. He drew a chair and sat down close behind her. - -"Why didn't you come before?" - -The question was startling, for Sebastian was only conscious of a lack -of reason for coming. If David Sebastian had left him the farm he would -have heard from it, and being prosperous, he had not cared. But the -question seemed to imply some strong assumption and further knowledge. - -"You'd better tell me about it." - -"About what? At the beginning?" - -"Aren't you anything except 'Received, Harriet'?" - -"Oh, I hadn't any father or mother when Mr. Sebastian brought me here. -Is that what you mean? But he taught me to say 'Harriet Sebastian,' and -a great many things he taught me. Didn't you know? And about his life -and what he wanted you to do? Because, of course, we talked about you -nearly always in the time just before he died. He said you would be sure -to come, but he died, don't you see? only a few years after, and that -disappointed him. He gave me the picture and said, 'He'll come, and -you'll know him by this,' and he said, 'He will come poor and miserable. -My only son, so I leave him to you; and so, as I did, you will pray for -him twice each day.' It was just like that, 'Tell Charles there is no -happiness but in duty. Tell him I found it so.' It was a night like this -when he died, and Kezzy was asleep in her chair out here, and I sat by -the bed. Then he told me I would pay him all in that way by doing what -he meant to do for you. I was so little, but I seemed to understand that -I was to live for it, as he had lived to help free the slaves. Don't you -see? Then he began calling, 'Charles! Charles!' as if you were somewhere -near, and I fell asleep, and woke and lay still and listened to the -wind; and when I tried to get up I couldn't, because he held my hair, -and he was dead. But why didn't you come?" - -"It looks odd enough now," Sebastian admitted, and wondered at the -change from still impassiveness, pale and cool silence, to eager speech, -swift question, lifted and flushed face. - -"Then you remember the letters? But you didn't come then. But I began -to fancy how it would be when you came, and then somehow it seemed as -if you were here. Out in the orchard sometimes, don't you see? And more -often when Kezzy was cross. And when she went to sleep by the fire -at night--she was so old--we were quite alone and talked. Don't you -remember?--I mean--But Kezzy didn't like to hear me talking to myself. -'Mutter, mutter!' like that. 'Never was such a child!' And then she -died, too, seven--seven years ago, and it was quite different. I--I grew -older. You seemed to be here quite and quite close to me always. There -was no one else, except--But, I don't know why, I had an aching from -having to wait, and it has been a long time, hasn't it?" - -"Rather long. Go on. There was no one else?" - -"No. We lived here--I mean--it grew that way, and you changed from the -picture, too, and became like Mr. Sebastian, only younger, and just as -you are now, only--not quite." - -She looked at him with sudden fear, then dropped her eyes, drew her long -hair around under her cloak and leaned closer to the fire. - -"But there is so much to tell you it comes out all mixed." - -Sebastian sat silently looking down at her, and felt the burden of his -thinking grow heavier; the pondering how David Sebastian had left him an -inheritance of advice, declaring his own life full and brimming, and to -Harriet the inheritance of a curious duty that had grown to people her -nights and days with intense sheltered dreams, and made her life, -too, seem to her full and brimming, multitudinous with events and -interchanges, himself so close and cherished an actor in it that his own -parallel unconsciousness of it had almost dropped out of conception. -And the burden grew heavier still with the weight of memories, and -the record between the Old and New Testaments; with the sense of the -isolation and covert of the midnight, and the storm; with the sight of -Harriet crouching by the fire, her story, how David Sebastian left this -world and went out into the wild night crying, "Charles! Charles!" It -was something not logical, but compelling. It forced him to remark that -his own cup appeared partially empty from this point of view. Harriet -seemed to feel that her hour had come and he was given to her hands.. -Success even in methods of living is a convincing thing over unsuccess. -Ah, well! too late to remodel to David Sebastian's notion. It was -singular, though, a woman silent, restrained, scrupulous, moving -probably to the dictates of village opinion--suddenly the key was -turned, and she threw back the gates of her prison; threw open doors, -windows, intimate curtains; asked him to look in and explore everywhere -and know all the history and the forecasts; became simple, primitive, -unrestrained, willing to sit there at his feet and as innocent as her -white linen gown. How smooth and pale her hair was and gentle cheek, and -there were little sleepy smiles in the corners of the lips. He thought -he would like most of all to put out his hand and touch her cheek and -sleepy smiles, and draw her hair, long and soft and pale, from under the -cloak. On the whole, it seemed probable that he might. - -"Harriet," he said slowly, "I'm going to play this hand." - -"Why, I don't know what you mean." - -"Take it, I'm not over and above a choice selection. I don't mention -details, but take it as a general fact. Would you want to marry that -kind of a selection, meaning me?" - -"Oh, yes! Didn't you come for that? I thought you would." - -"And I thought you needed revelry! You must have had a lot of it." - -"I don't know what you mean. Listen! It keeps knocking at the door!" - -"Oh, that's all right. Let it knock. Do you expect any more vagrants?" - -"Vagrants?" - -"Like me." - -"Like you? You only came home. Listen! It was like this when he died. -But he wouldn't come to-night and stand outside and knock, would he? Not -to-night, when you've come at last. But he used to. Of course, I fancied -things. It's the storm. There's no one else now." - -A thousand spectres go whirling across Edom Hill such winter nights and -come with importunate messages, but if the door is close and the fire -courageous, it matters little. They are but wind and drift and out in -the dark, and if one is in the light, it is a great point to keep the -door fast against them and all forebodings, and let the coming days be -what they will. - -Men are not born in a night, or a year. - -But if David Sebastian were a spectre there at the door, and thought -differently on any question, or had more to say, he was not articulate. -There is no occupation for ghosts in a stirring world, nor efficiency in -their repentance. - -Has any one more than a measure of hope, and a door against the storm? -There was that much, at least, on Edom Hill. - - - - -SONS OF R. RAND - - -SOME years ago, of a summer afternoon, a perspiring organ-grinder and -a leathery ape plodded along the road that goes between thin-soiled -hillsides and the lake which is known as Elbow Lake and lies to the -northeast of the village of Salem. In those days it was a well-travelled -highway, as could be seen from its breadth and' dustiness. At about half -the length of its bordering on the lake there was a spring set in the -hillside, and a little pool continually rippled by its inflow. Some -settler or later owner of the thin-soiled hillsides had left a clump of -trees about it, making as sightly and refreshing an Institute of -Charity as could be found. Another philanthropist had added half a -cocoanut-shell to the foundation. - -The organ-grinder turned in under the trees with a smile, in which his -front teeth played a large part, and suddenly drew back with a guttural -exclamation; the leathery ape bumped against his legs, and both assumed -attitudes expressing respectively, in an Italian and tropical manner, -great surprise and abandonment of ideas. A tall man lay stretched on -his back beside the spring, with a felt hat over his face. Pietro, the -grinder, hesitated. The American, if disturbed and irascible, takes by -the collar and kicks with the foot: it has sometimes so happened. The -tall man pushed back his hat and sat up, showing a large-boned and -sun-browned face, shaven except for a black mustache, clipped close. He -looked not irascible, though grave perhaps, at least unsmiling. He said: -"It's free quarters, Dago. Come in. Entrez. Have a drink." - -Pietro bowed and gesticulated with amiable violence. "Dry!" he said. -"Oh, hot!" - -"Just so. That a friend of yours?"--pointing to the ape. "He ain't got a -withering sorrow, has he? Take a seat." - -Elbow Lake is shaped as its name implies. If one were to imagine the arm -to which the elbow belonged, it would be the arm of a muscular person in -the act of smiting a peaceable-looking farmhouse a quarter of a mile to -the east. Considering the bouldered front of the hill behind the house, -the imaginary blow would be bad for the imaginary knuckles. It is -a large house, with brown, unlikely looking hillsides around it, -huckleberry knobs and ice-grooved boulders here and there. The land -between it and the lake is low, and was swampy forty years ago, before -the Rand boys began to drain it, about the time when R. Rand entered the -third quarter century of his unpleasant existence. - -R. Rand was, I suppose, a miser, if the term does not imply too definite -a type. The New England miser is seldom grotesque. He seems more like -congealed than distorted humanity. He does not pinch a penny so hard as -some of other races are said to do, but he pinches a dollar harder, and -is quite as unlovely as any. R. Rand's methods of obtaining dollars -to pinch were not altogether known, or not, at least, recorded--which -accounts perhaps for the tradition that they were of doubtful -uprightness. He held various mortgages about the county, and his -farm represented little to him except a means of keeping his two sons -inexpensively employed in rooting out stones. - -At the respective ages of sixteen and seventeen the two sons, Bob and -Tom Rand, discovered the rooting out of stones to be unproductive labor, -if nothing grew, or was expected to grow, in their place, except more -stones; and the nature of the counsels they took may be accurately -imagined. In the autumn of '56 they began ditching the swamp in the -direction of the lake, and in the summer of '57 raised a crop of tobacco -in the northeast corner, R. Rand, the father, making no comment the -while. At the proper time he sold the tobacco to Packard & Co., cigar -makers, of the city of Hamilton, still making no comment, probably -enjoying some mental titillation. Tom Rand then flung a rock of the size -of his fist through one of the front windows, and ran away, also -making no comment further than that. The broken window remained broken -twenty-five years, Tom returning neither to mend it nor to break -another. Bob Rand, by some bargain with his father, continued the -ditching and planting of the swamp with some profit to himself. - -He evidently classed at least a portion of his father's manner of life -among the things that are to be avoided. He acquired a family, and was -in the way to bring it up in a reputable way. He further cultivated and -bulwarked his reputation. Society, manifesting itself politically, made -him sheriff; society, manifesting itself ecclesiastically, made him -deacon. Society seldom fails to smile on systematic courtship. - -The old man continued to go his way here and there, giving account of -himself to no one, contented enough no doubt to have one reputable son -who looked after his own children and paid steady rent for, or bought -piece by piece, the land he used; and another floating between the -Rockies and the Mississippi, whose doings were of no importance in the -village of Salem. But I doubt, on the whole, whether he was softened -in heart by the deacon's manner or the ordering of the deacon's life to -reflect unfilially on his own. Without claiming any great knowledge of -the proprieties, he may have thought the conduct of his younger son the -more filial of the two. Such was the history of the farmhouse between -the years '56 and '82. - -One wet April day, the sixth of the month, in the year '82, R. Rand went -grimly elsewhere--where, his neighbors had little doubt. With true New -England caution we will say that he went to the cemetery, the little -grass-grown cemetery of Salem, with its meagre memorials and absurd, -pathetic epitaphs. The minister preached a funeral sermon, out of -deference to his deacon, in which he said nothing whatever about R. -Rand, deceased; and R. Rand, sheriff and deacon, reigned in his stead. - -Follow certain documents and one statement of fact: - -_Document 1._ - -_Codicil to the Will of R. Rand._ - -The Will shall stand as above, to wit, my son, Robert Rand, sole -legatee, failing the following condition: namely, I bequeath all my -property as above mentioned, with the exception of this house and -farm, to my son, Thomas Rand, provided, that within three months of the -present date he returns and mends with his own hands the front window, -third from the north, previously broken by him. - -(Signed) R. Rand. - -_Statement of fact._ On the morning of the day following the funeral -the "condition" appeared in singularly problematical shape, the broken -window, third from the north, having been in fact promptly replaced _by -the hands of Deacon Rand himself_. The new pane stared defiantly across -the lake, westward. - -_Document 2_. - -Leadville, Cal., May 15. - -Dear Bob: I hear the old man is gone. Saw it in a paper. I reckon maybe -I didn't treat him any squarer than he did me. I'll go halves on a -bang-up good monument, anyhow. Can we settle affairs without my coming -East? How are you, Bob? - -Tom. - -_Document 3._ - -Salem, May 29. - -Dear Brother: The conditions of our father's will are such, I am -compelled to inform you, as to result in leaving the property wholly -to me. My duty to a large and growing family gives me no choice but -to accept it as it stands, and I trust and have no doubt that you will -regard that result with fortitude. I remain yours, - -Robert Rand. - -_Document 4._ - -Leadville, June 9. - -A. L. Moore. - -Dear Sir: I have your name as a lawyer in Wimberton. Think likely there -isn't any other. If you did not draw up the will of R. Rand, Salem, can -you forward this letter to the man who did? If you did, will you tell me -what in thunder it was? - -Yours, Thomas Rand. - -_Document 5._ - -Wimberton, June 18. - -Thomas Rand. - -Dear Sir: I did draw your father's will and enclose copy of the same, -with its codicil, which may truly be called remarkable. I think it right -to add, that the window in question has been mended by your brother, -with evident purpose. Your letter comes opportunely, my efforts to find -you having been heretofore unsuccessful. I will add further, that I -think the case actionable, to say the least. In case you should see fit -to contest, your immediate return is of course necessary. Very truly -yours, - -A. L. Moore, - -Attorney-at-Law. - -_Document 6. Despatch._ - -New York, July 5. - -To Robert Rand, Salem. - -Will be at Valley Station to-morrow. Meet me or not. - -T. Rand. - -The deacon was a tall meagre man with a goatee that seemed to accentuate -him, to hint by its mere straightness at sharp decision, an unwavering -line of rectitude. - -He drove westward in his buckboard that hot summer afternoon, the 6th of -July. The yellow road was empty before him all the length of the lake, -except for the butterflies bobbing around in the sunshine. His lips -looked even more secretive than usual: a discouraging man to see, if one -were to come to him in a companionable mood desiring comments. - -Opposite the spring he drew up, hearing the sound of a hand-organ under -the trees. The tall man with a clipped mustache sat up deliberately -and looked at him. The leathery ape ceased his funereal capers and also -looked at him; then retreated behind the spring. Pietro gazed back and -forth between the deacon and the ape, dismissed his professional smile, -and followed the ape. The tall man pulled his legs under him and got up. - -"I reckon it's Bob," he said. "It's free quarters, Bob. Entrez. Come in. -Have a drink." - -The deacon's embarrassment, if he had any, only showed itself in an -extra stiffening of the back. - -"The train--I did not suppose--I was going to meet you." - -"Just so. I came by way of Wimberton." - -The younger brother stretched himself again beside the spring and drew -his hat over his eyes. The elder stood up straight and not altogether -unimpressive in front of it. Pietro in the rear of the spring reflected -at this point that he and the ape could conduct a livelier conversation -if it were left to them. Pietro could not imagine a conversation in -which it was not desirable to be lively. The silence was long and, -Pietro thought, not pleasant. - -"Bob," said the apparent sleeper at last, "ever hear of the prodigal -son?" - -The deacon frowned sharply, but said nothing. The other lifted the edge -of his hat brim. - -"Never heard of him? Oh--have I Then I won't tell about him. Too long. -That elder brother, now, he had good points;--no doubt of it, eh?" - -"I confess I don't see your object--" - -"Don't? Well, I was just saying he had good points. I suppose he and the -prodigal had an average good time together, knockin' around, stubbin' -their toes, fishin' maybe, gettin' licked at inconvenient times, hookin' -apples most anytime. That sort of thing. Just so. He had something of -an argument. Now, the prodigal had no end of fun, and the elder brother -stayed at home and chopped wood; understood himself to be cultivating -the old man. I take it he didn't have a very soft job of it?"--lifting -his hat brim once more. - -The deacon said nothing, but observed the hat brim. - -"Now I think of it, maybe strenuous sobriety wasn't a thing he naturally -liked any more than the prodigal did. I've a notion there was more -family likeness between 'em than other folks thought. What might be your -idea?" - -The deacon still stood rigidly with his hands clasped behind him. - -"I would rather," he said, "you would explain yourself without parable. -You received my letter. It referred to our father's will. I have -received a telegram which I take to be threatening." - -The other sat up and pulled a large satchel around from behind him. - -"You're a man of business, Bob," he said cheerfully. "I like you, Bob. -That's so. That will--I've got it in my pocket. Now, Bob, I take it -you've got some cards, else you're putting up a creditable bluff. I play -this here Will, Codicil attached. You play,--window already mended; time -expired at twelve o'clock to-night. Good cards, Bob--first-rate. I play -here"--opening the satchel--"two panes of glass--allowin' for -accidents--putty, et cetera, proposing to bust that window again. Good -cards, Bob. How are you coming on?" - -The deacon's sallow cheeks flushed and his eyes glittered. Something -came into his face which suggested the family likeness. He drew a paper -from his inner coat pocket, bent forward stiffly and laid it on the -grass. - -"Sheriff's warrant," he said, "for--hem--covering possible trespassing -on my premises; good for twenty-four hours' detention--hem." - -"Good," said his brother briskly. "I admire you, Bob. I'll be blessed if -I don't. I play again." He drew a revolver and placed it on top of the -glass. "Six-shooter. Good for two hours' stand-off." - -"Hem," said the deacon. "Warrant will be enlarged to cover the carrying -of concealed weapons. Being myself the sheriff of this town, it -is--hem--permissible for me." He placed a revolver on top of the -warrant. - -"Bob," said his brother, in huge delight, "I'm proud of you. But--I -judge you ain't on to the practical drop. _Stand back there!_" The -deacon looked into the muzzle of the steady revolver covering him, and -retreated a step, breathing hard. Tom Rand sprang to his feet, and -the two faced each other, the deacon looking as dangerous a man as the -Westerner. - -Suddenly, the wheezy hand-organ beyond the spring began, seemingly -trying to play two tunes at once, with Pietro turning the crank as -desperately as if the muzzle of the revolver were pointed at him. - -"Hi, you monk! Dance!" cried Pietro; and the leathery ape footed it -solemnly. The perspiration poured down Pietro's face. Over the faces of -the two stern men fronting each other a smile came and broadened slowly, -first over the younger's, then over the deacon's. - -The deacon's smile died out first. He sat down on a rock, hid his face -and groaned. - -"I'm an evil-minded man," he said; "I'm beaten." - -The other cocked his head on one side and listened. "Know what that tune -is, Bob? I don't." - -He sat down in the old place again, took up the panes of glass and the -copy of the will, hesitated, and put them down. - -"I don't reckon you're beaten, Bob. You ain't got to the end of your -hand yet. Got any children, Bob? Yes; said you had." - -"Five." - -"Call it a draw, Bob; I'll go you halves, counting in the monument." - -But the deacon only muttered to himself: "I'm an evil-minded man." - -Tom Rand meditatively wrapped the two documents around the revolvers. - -"Here, Dago, you drop 'em in the spring!" which Pietro did, perspiring -freely. "Shake all that. Come along." - -The two walked slowly toward the yellow road. Pietro raised his voice -despairingly. "No cent! Not a nicka!" - -"That's so," said Tom, pausing. "Five, by thunder! Come along, Dago. -It's free quarters. Entrez. Take a seat." - -The breeze was blowing up over Elbow Lake, and the butterflies bobbed -about in the sunshine, as they drove along the yellow road. Pietro sat -at the back of the buck-board, the leathery ape on his knee and a smile -on his face, broad, non-professional, and consisting largely of front -teeth. - - - - -CONLON - - -CONLON, the strong, lay sick unto death with fever. The Water -Commissioners sent champagne to express their sympathy. It was an -unforced impulse of feeling. - -But Conlon knew nothing of it. His lips were white, his cheeks sunken; -his eyes glared and wandered; he muttered, and clutched with his big -fingers at nothing visible. - -The doctor worked all day to force a perspiration. At six o'clock he -said: "I'm done. Send for the priest." - -When Kelly and Simon Harding came, Father Ryan and the doctor were going -down the steps. - -"'Tis a solemn duty ye have, Kelly," said the priest, "to watch the last -moments of a dying man, now made ready for his end." - -"Ah, not Conlon! He'll not give up, not him," cried Kelly, "the shtrong -man wid the will in him!" - -"An' what's the sthrength of man in the hands of his Creathor?" said the -priest, turning to Harding, oratorically. - -"I don' know," said Harding, calmly. "Do you?" - -"'Tis naught!" - -Kelly murmured submissively. - -"Kind of monarchical institution, ain't it, what Conlon's run up -against?" Harding remarked. "Give him a fair show in a caucus, an' he'd -win, sure." - -"He'll die if he don't sweat," said the doctor, wiping his forehead. -"It's hot enough." Conlon lay muttering and glaring at the ceiling. The -big knuckles of his hands stood out like rope-knots. His wife nodded to -Kelly and Harding, and went out. She was a good-looking woman, large, -massive, muscular. Kelly looked after her, rubbing his short nose -and blinking his watery eyes. He was small, with stooping shoulders, -affectionate eyes, wavering knees. He had followed Conlon, the strong, -and served him many years. Admiration of Conlon was a strenuous business -in which to be engaged. - -"Ah!" he said, "his wife ten year, an' me his inchimate friend." - -It was ten by the clock. The subsiding noise of the city came up over -housetops and vacant lots. The windows of the sickroom looked off the -verge of a bluff; one saw the lights of the little city below, the -lights of the stars above, and the hot black night between. - -Kelly and Harding sat down by a window, facing each other. The lamplight -was dim. A screen shaded it from the bed, where Conlon muttered and -cried out faintly, intermittently, as though in conversation with some -one who was present only to himself. His voice was like the ghost or -shadow of a voice, not a whisper, but strained of all resonance. One -might fancy him standing on the bank of the deadly river and talking -across to some one beyond the fog, and fancy that the voices would so -creep through the fog stealthily, not leaping distances like earthly -sounds, but struggling slowly through nameless obstruction. - -Kelly rubbed his hands before the fire. - -"I was his inchimate friend." - -Harding said: "Are you going to talk like a blanked idiot all night, or -leave off maybe about twelve?" - -"I know ye for a hard man, too, Simmy," said Kelly, pathetically; "an' -'tis the nathur of men, for an Irishman is betther for blow-in' off his -shteam, be it the wrath or the sorrow of him, an' the Yankee is betther -for bottlin' it up." - -"Uses it for driving his engine mostly." - -"So. But Conlon--" - -"Conlon," said Harding slowly, "that's so. He had steam to drive with, -and steam to blow with, and plenty left over to toot his whistle and -scald his fingers and ache in his belly. Expanding that there figure, he -carried suction after him like the 1:40 express, he did." - -"'Tis thrue." Kelly leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I mind me -when I first saw him I hadn't seen him before, unless so be when he was -puttin' the wather-main through the sand-hills up the river an' bossin' -a gang o' men with a fog-horn voice till they didn't own their souls, -an' they didn't have any, what's more, the dirty Polocks. But he -come into me shop one day, an' did I want the job o' plumbin' the -court-house? - -"'Have ye the court-house in your pocket?' says I, jokin'. - -"'I have,' says he, onexpected, 'an' any plumbin' that's done for the -court-house is done in the prisint risidence of the same.' - -"An' I looks up, an' 'O me God!' I says to meself, ''tis a man!' wid -the black eyebrows of him, an' the shoulders an' the legs of him. An' he -took me into the shwale of his wake from that day to this. But I niver -thought to see him die." - -"That's so. You been his heeler straight through. I don't know but I -like your saying so. But I don't see the how. Why, look here; when I bid -for the old water contract he comes and offers to sell it to me, sort -of personal asset. I don't know how. By the unbroke faces of the other -Water Commissioners he didn't use his pile-driving fist to persuade -'em, and what I paid him was no more'n comfortable for himself. How'd -he fetch it? How'd he do those things? Why, look here, Kelly, ain't he -bullied you? Ain't you done dirty jobs for him, and small thanks?" - -"I have that." - -Kelly's hands trembled. He was bowed down and thoughtful, but not angry. -"Suppose I ask you what for?" - -"Suppose ye do. Suppose I don' know. Maybe he was born to be king over -me. Maybe he wasn't. But I know he was a mastherful man, an' he's dyin' -here, an' me blood's sour an' me bones sad wid thinkin' of it. Don' -throuble me, Simmy." - -Harding leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, where the -lamp made a nebulous circle of light. - -"Why, that's so," he said at last, in conclusion of some unmentioned -train of thought. "Why, I got a pup at home, and his affection ain't -measured by the bones he's had, nor the licks he's had, not either of -'em." - -Kelly was deep in a reverie. - -"Nor it ain't measured by my virtues. Look here, now; I don' see what -his measure is." - -"Hey?" Kelly roused himself. - -"Oh, I was just thinking." - -Harding thought he had known other men who had had in some degree -a magnetic power that seemed to consist in mere stormy energy of -initiative. They were like strong drink to weaker men. It was more -physical than mental. Conlon was to Kelly a stimulant, then an appetite. -And Conlon was a bad lot. Fellows that had heeled for him were mostly -either wrecked or dead now. Why, there was a chap named Patterson that -used to be decent till he struck Conlon, when he went pretty low; and -Nora Reimer drowned herself on account of Patterson, when he got himself -shot in a row at some shanty up the railroad. The last had seemed a -good enough riddance. But Nora went off her head and jumped in the new -reservoir. Harding remembered it the more from being one of the Water -Company. They had had to empty the reservoir, which was expensive. And -there were others. A black, blustering sort of beast, Conlon. He had -more steam than was natural. Harding wondered vaguely at Kelly, who was -spelling out the doctor's directions from a piece of paper. - -"A powdher an' five dhrops from the short bottle. 'Tis no tin-course -dinner wid the champagne an' entries he's givin' Conlon the night. Hey? -A powdher an' five dhrops from the short bottle." - -Harding's mind wandered on among memories of the little city below, an -intricate, irregular history, full of incidents, stories that were never -finished or dribbled off anywhere, black spots that he knew of in white -lives, white spots in dark lives. He did not happen to know any white -spots on Conlon. - -"Course if a man ain't in politics for his health he ain't in it for the -health of the community, either, and that's all right. And if he opens -the morning by clumping Mrs. Conlon on the head, why, she clumps him -back more or less, and that's all right." Then, if he went down-town and -lied here and there ingeniously in the way of business, and came home at -night pretty drunk, but no more than was popular with his constituency, -why, Conlon's life was some cluttered, but never dull. Still, Harding's -own ways being quieter and less cluttered, he felt that if Conlon were -going off naturally now, it was not, on the whole, a bad idea. It would -conduce to quietness. It would perhaps be a pity if anything interfered. - -The clock in a distant steeple struck twelve, a dull, unechoing sound. - -"Simmy," said Kelly, pointing with his thumb, "what do he be sayin', -talkin'--talkin' like one end of a tiliphone?" - -They both turned toward the bed and listened. - -"Telephone! Likely there's a party at the other end, then. Where's the -other end?" - -"I don' know," whispered Kelly. "But I have this in me head, for ye -know, when the priest has done his last, 'tis sure he's dhropped his -man at the front door of wherever he's goin', wid a letther of -inthroduction in his hatband. An' while the man was waitin' for the -same to be read an' him certified a thrue corpse, if he had a kettleful -of boilin' impatience in himself like Tom Conlon, wouldn't he be passin' -the time o' day through the keyhole wid his friends be-yant?" - -"'Tain't a telephone, then? It's a keyhole, hey?" - -"Tiliphone or keyhole, he'd be talkin' through it, Conlon would, do ye -mind?" - -Harding looked with some interest. Conlon muttered, and stopped, and -muttered again. Harding rose and walked to the bed. Kelly followed -tremulously. - -"Listen, will ye?" said Kelly, suddenly leaning down. - -"I don' know," said Harding, with an instinct of hesitation. "I don' -know as it's a square game. Maybe he's talkin' of things that ain't -healthy to mention. Maybe he's plugged somebody some time, or broke a -bank--ain't any more'n likely. What of it?" - -"Listen, will ye?" - -"Don' squat on a man when he's down, Kelly." - -"'Sh!" - -"_Hold Tom's hand. Wait for Tom_," babbled the ghostly voice, a thin, -distant sound. - -"What'd he say? What'd he say?" Kelly was white and trembling. - -Harding stood up and rubbed his chin reflectively. He did not seem to -himself to make it out. He brought a chair, sat down, and leaned close -to Conlon to study the matter. - -"_What's the heart-scald, mother?_" babbled Conlon. "_Where'd ye get it -from? Me! Wirra!_" - -"'Tis spheakin' to ghosteses he is, Simmy, ye take me worrd." - -"Come off! He's harking back when he was a kid." - -Kelly shook his head solemnly. - -"He's spheakin' to ghosteses." - -"_What's that, mother? Arra! I'm sick, mother. What for? I don' see. -Where'm I goin'?_' - -"You got me," muttered Harding. "I don' know." - -"_Tom'll be good. It's main dark. Hold Tom's hand_." - -Kelly was on his knees, saying prayers at terrific speed. - -"Hear to him!" he stopped to whisper. "Ghosteses! Ora pro nobis--" - -"_Tom ain't afraid. Naw, he ain't afraid._" - -Harding went back to his window. The air was heavy and motionless, the -stars a little dim. He could see the dark line of the river with an -occasional glint upon it, and the outline of the hills beyond. - -The little city had drawn a robe of innocent obscurity over it. Only a -malicious sparkle gleamed here and there. He thought he knew that city -inside and out, from end to end. He had lived in it, dealt with it, -loved it, cheated it, helped to build it, shared its fortunes. Who knew -it better than he? But every now and then it surprised with some hidden -detail or some impulse of civic emotion. And Kelly and Conlon, surely he -knew them, as men may know men. But he never had thought to see -Conlon as to-night. It was odd. But there was some fact in the social -constitution, in human nature, at the basis of all the outward oddities -of each. - -"Maybe when a man's gettin' down to his reckonin' it's needful to show -up what he's got at the bottom. Then he begins to peel off layers of -himself like an onion, and 'less there ain't anything to him but layers, -by and by he comes to something that resembles a sort of aboriginal boy, -which is mostly askin' questions and bein' surprised." - -Maybe there was more boyishness in Conlon than in most men. Come -to think of it, there was. Conlon's leadership was ever of the -maybe-you-think-I-can't-lick-you order; and men followed him, admitting -that he could, in admiration and simplicity. You might see the same -thing in the public-school yard. Maybe that was the reason. The sins of -Conlon were not sophisticated. - -The low, irregular murmur from the bed, the heavy heat of the night, -made Harding drowsy. Kelly repeating the formula of his prayers, a kind -of incantation against ghosts, Conlon with his gaunt face in the shadow -and his big hands on the sheet clutching at nothing visible, both faded -away, and Harding fell asleep. - -He woke with a start. Kelly was dancing about the bed idiotically. - -"He's shweatin'!" he gabbled. "He's shweatin'! He'll be well--Conlon." - -It made Harding think of the "pup," and how he would dance about him, -when he went home, in the crude expression of joy. Conlon's face was -damp. He muttered no more. They piled the blankets on him till the -perspiration stood out in drops. Conlon breathed softly and slept. Kelly -babbled gently, "Conlon! Conlon!" - -Harding went back to the window and rubbed his eyes sleepily. - -"Kind of too bad, after all that trouble to get him peeled." - -The morning was breaking, solemn, noiseless, with lifted banners and -wide pageantries, over river and city. - -Harding yawned. - -"It's one on Father Ryan, anyway. That's a good thing. Blamed old -windbag!" - -Kelly murmured ecstatically, "Conlon will get well--Conlon!" - - - - -ST CATHERINE'S - - -ST. CATHERINE'S was the life work of an old priest, who is remembered -now and presently will be forgotten. There are gargoyles over the -entrance aside, with their mouths open to express astonishment. They -spout rain water at times, but you need not get under them; and there -are towers, and buttresses, a great clock, a gilded cross, and roofs -that go dimly heavenward. - -St. Catherine's is new. The neighborhood squats around it in different -pathetic attitudes. Opposite is the saloon of the wooden-legged man; then -the three groceries whose cabbages all look unpleasant; the parochial -school with the green lattice; and all those little wooden houses--where -lives, for instance, the dressmaker who funnily calls herself "Modiste." -Beyond the street the land drops down to the freight yards. - -But Father Connell died about the time they finished the east oriel, and -Father Harra reigned over the house of the old man's dreams--a red-faced -man, a high feeder, who looked as new as the church and said the virtues -of Father Connell were reducing his flesh. That would seem to be no -harm; but Father Harra meant it humorously. Father Connell had stumped -about too much among the workmen in the cold and wet, else there had -been no need of his dying at eighty-eight. His tall black hat became a -relic that hung in the tiring room, and he cackled no more in his thin -voice the noble Latin of the service. Peace to his soul! The last -order he wrote related to the position of the Christ figure and the -inscription, "Come unto me, weary and heavy-laden: I will give you -rest." But the figure was not in place till the mid-December following. - -And it was the day before Christmas that Father Harra had a fine -service, with his boy choir and all; and Chubby Locke sang a solo, -"Angels ever bright and fair," that was all dripping with tears, so to -speak. Chubby Locke was an imp too. All around the altar the candles -were lighted, and there hung a cluster of gas jets over the head of the -Christ figure on the edge of the south transept. So fine it was that -Father Harra came out of his room into the aisle (when the people were -gone, saying how fine it was, and the sexton was putting out the gas -here and there), to walk up and down and think about it, especially -how he should keep up with the virtues of Father Connell. Duskier and -duskier it grew, as the candles went out cluster by cluster till only -those in the south transept were left; and Dennis, coming there, stopped -and grunted. - -"What!" said Father Harra. - -"It's asleep he is," said the sexton. "It's a b'y, yer riverence." - -"Why, so it is! He went to sleep during the service. H'm--well--they -often do that, Dennis." - -"Anyways he don't belong here," said Dennis. - -"Think so? I don't know about that. Wait a bit. I don't know about that -Dennis." - -The boy lay curled up on the seat--a newsboy, by the papers that had -slipped from his arms. But he did not look businesslike, and he did not -suggest the advantages of being poor in America. One does not become a -capitalist or president by going to church and to sleep in the best of -business hours, from four to six, when the streets are stirring with -men on their way to dinners, cigars and evening papers. The steps of St. -Catherine's are not a bad place to sell papers after Vespers, and one -might as well go in, to be sure, and be warm while the service lasts; -only, as I said, if one falls asleep, one does not become a capitalist -or president immediately. Father Harra considered, and Dennis waited -respectfully. - -"It's making plans I am against your natural rest, Dennis. I'm that -inconsiderate of your feelings to think of keeping St. Catherine's open -this night. And why? Look ye, Dennis. St. Catherine's is getting itself -consecrated these days, being new, and of course--But I tell ye, Dennis, -it's a straight church doctrine that the blessings of the poor are a -good assistance to the holy wather." - -"An' me wid children of me own to be missin' their father this Christmas -Eve!" began Dennis indignantly. - -"Who wouldn't mind, the little villains, if their father had another -dollar of Christmas morning to buy 'em presents." - -"Ah, well," said the sexton, "yer riverence is that persuadin'." - -"It's plain enough for ye to see yourself, Dennis, though thick-headed -somewhat. There you are: 'Come unto me, weary and heavy-laden;' and -here he is. Plain enough. And who are the weary and heavy-laden in this -city?" - -"Yer riverence will be meanin' everybody," chuckled Dennis. - -"Think so? Rich and poor and all? Stuff! I don't believe it. Not -to-night. It'll be the outcasts, I'm thinking, Dennis. Come on." - -"An' the b'y, yer riverence?" - -"The what? Oh, why, yes, yes. He's all right. I don't see anything the -matter with him. He's come." - -It was better weather to go with the wind than against it, for the -snow drove in gritty particles, and the sidewalks made themselves -disagreeable and apt to slip out from under a person. Little spurts -of snow danced up St. Catherine's roofs and went off the ridgepoles in -puffs. It ought to snow on Christmas Eve; but it rightly should snow -with better manners and not be so cold. The groceries closed early. -Freiburger, the saloon man, looked over the curtains of his window. - -"I don't know vat for Fater Harra tack up dings dis time by his kirch -door, 'Come--come in here.' Himmel! der Irishman!" - -Father Harra turned in to his supper, and thought how he would trouble -Father Conner's reputation for enterprise and what a fine bit of -constructive ability himself was possessed of. - -The great central door of St. Catherine's stood open, so that the drift -blew in and piled in windrows on the cold floor of the vestibule. The -tall front of the church went up into the darkness, pointing to no -visible stars; but over the doors two gas jets flickered across the big -sign they use for fairs at the parochial school. "Come in here." The -vestibule was dark, barring another gas jet over a side door, with -another sign, "Come in here," and within the great church was dark as -well, except for a cluster over the Christ figure. That was all; but -Father Harra thought it a neat symbol, looking toward those who go from -meagre light to light through the darkness. - -Little noises were in the church all night far up in the pitch darkness -of rafter and buttress, as if people were whispering and crying softly -to one another. Now and again, too, the swing door would open and remain -so for a moment, suspicious, hesitating. But what they did, or who they -were that opened it, could hardly be told in the dusk and distance. -Dennis went to sleep in a chair by the chancel rail, and did not care -what they did or who they were, granted they kept away from the chancel. - -How the wind blew!--and the snow tapped impatiently at stained windows -with a multitude of little fingers. But if the noises among the rafters -were not merely echoes of the crying and calling wind without, if any -presences moved and whispered there, and looked down on flat floor and -straight lines of pews, they must have seen the Christ figure, with -welcoming hands, dominant by reason of the light about it; and, just on -the edge of the circle of light, shapeless things stretched on cushions -of pews, and motionless or stirring uneasily. Something now came dimly -up the aisle from the swing door, stopped at a pew, and hesitated. - -"Git out!" growled a hoarse voice. "Dis my bunk." - -The intruder gave a nervous giggle. "Begawd!" muttered the hoarse voice. -"It's a lady!" - -Another voice said something angrily. "Well," said the first, "it ain't -behavin' nice to come into me boodwer." - -The owner of the giggle had slipped away and disappeared in a distant -pew. In another pew to the right of the aisle a smaller shadow whispered -to another: - -"Jimmy, that's a statoo up there." - -"Who?" - -"That. I bet 'e's a king." - -"Aw, no 'e ain't. Kings has crowns an' wallups folks." - -"Gorry! What for?" - -"I don' know." - -The other sighed plaintively. "I thought 'e might be a king." - -The rest were mainly silent. Some one had a bad cough. Once a sleeper -rolled from the seat and fell heavily to the floor. There was an oath -or two, a smothered laugh, and the distant owner of the giggle used it -nervously. The last was an uncanny sound. The wakened sleeper objected -to it. He said he would "like to get hold of her," and then lay down -cautiously on his cushion. - -Architects have found that their art is cunning to play tricks with -them; whence come whispering galleries, comers of echoes, roofs that -crush the voice of the speaker, and roofs that enlarge it. Father -Connell gave no orders to shape the roofs of St. Catherine's, that on -stormy nights so many odd noises might congregate there, whispering, -calling, murmuring, now over the chancel, now the organ, now far up in -the secret high places of the roof, now seeming to gather in confidence -above the Christ figure and the circle of sleepers; or, if one vaguely -imagined some inquisitively errant beings moving overhead, it would seem -that newcomers constantly entered, to whom it had all to be explained. - -But against that eager motion in the darkness above the Christ figure -below was bright in his long garment, and quiet and secure. The cluster -of gas jets over his head made light but a little distance around, then -softened the dusk for another distance, and beyond seemed not to touch -the darkness at all. The dusk was a debatable space. The sleepers all -lay in the debatable space. They may have sought it by instinct; but -the more one looked at them the more they seemed like dull, half-animate -things, over whom the light and the darkness made their own compromises -and the people up in the roof their own comments. - -The clock in the steeple struck the hours; in the church the tremble was -felt more than the sound was heard. The chimes each hour started their -message, "Good will and peace;" but the wind went after it and howled it -down, and the snow did not cease its petulance at the windows. - -***** - -The clock in the steeple struck five. The man with the hoarse voice sat -up, leaned over the back of the seat and touched his neighbor, who rose -noiselessly, a huge fat man and unkempt. - -"Time to slope," whispered the first, motioning toward the chancel. - -The other followed his motion. - -"What's up there?" - -"You're ignorance, you are. That's where they gives the show. There's -pickin's there." - -The two slipped out and stole up the aisle with a peculiar noiseless -tread. Even Fat Bill's step could not be heard a rod away. The aisle -entered the circle of light before the Christ figure; but the two -thieves glided through without haste and without looking up. The -smaller, in front, drew up at the end of the aisle, and Fat Bill ran -into him. Dennis sat in his chair against the chancel rail, asleep. - -"Get onto his whiskers, Bill. Mebbe you'll have to stuff them whiskers -down his throat." - -There was a nervous giggle behind them. Fat Bill shot into a pew, -dragging his comrade after him, and crouched down. "It ain't no use," -he whispered, shaking the other angrily. "Church business is bad luck. I -alius said so. What's for them blemed noises all night? How'd come they -stick that thing up there with the gas over it? What for'd they leave -the doors open, an' tell ye to come in, an' keep their damn devils -gigglin' around? 'Taint straight I won't stand it." - -"It's only a woman, Bill," said the other patiently. - -He rose on his knees and looked over the back of the seat."'Tain't -straight. I won't stand it." - -"We won't fight, Bill. We'll get out, if you say so." - -The owner of the giggle was sitting up, as they glided back, Fat Bill -leading. - -"I'll smash yer face," the smaller man said to her. - -Bill turned and grabbed his collar. - -"You come along." - -The woman stared stupidly after, till the swing door closed behind them. -Then she put on her hat, decorated with too many disorderly flowers. -Most of the sleepers were wakened. The wind outside had died in the -night, and the church was quite still. A man in a dress suit and -overcoat sat up in a pew beneath a window, and stared about him. His -silk hat lay on the floor. He leaned over the back of the seat and spoke -to his neighbor, a tramp in checked trousers. - -"How'd I g-get here?" he asked thickly. - -"Don' know, pardner," said the tramp cheerfully. "Floated in, same as -me?" He caught sight of the white tie and shirt front. "Maybe you'd -give a cove a shiner to steady ye out They don't give breakfasts with -lodgin's here." - -The woman with the giggle and the broken-down flowers on her hat went -out next; then a tall, thin man with a beard and a cough; the newsboy -with his papers shuffled after, his shoes being too large; then a lame -man--something seemed the matter with his hip; and a decent-looking -woman, who wore a faded shawl over her head and kept it drawn across her -face--she seemed ashamed to be there, as if it did not appear to her a -respectable place; last, two boys, one of them small, but rather stunted -than very young. He said: - -"'E ain't a king, is 'e, Jimmy? You don' know who 'e is, do you, Jimmy?" - -"Naw." - -"Say, Jimmy, it was warm, warn't it?" - -***** - -Dennis came down the aisle, put out the gas, and began to brush the -cushions. The clock struck a quarter of six, and Father Harra came in. - -"Christmas, Dennis, Christmas! H'm--anybody been here? What did they -think of it?" - -Dennis rubbed his nose sheepishly. - -"They wint to shleep, sor, an'--an' thin they wint out." - -Father Harra looked up at the Christ figure and stroked his red chin. - -"I fancied they might see the point," he said slowly. "Well, well, I -hope they were warm." - -The colored lights from the east oriel fell over the Christ figure and -gave it a cheerful look; and from other windows blue and yellow and -magical deep-sea tints floated in the air, as if those who had whispered -unseen in the darkness were now wandering about, silent but curiously -visible. - -"Yer riverince," said Dennis, "will not be forgettin' me dollar." - - - - -THE SPIRAL STONE - - -THE graveyard on the brow of the hill was white with snow. The marbles -were white, the evergreens black. One tall spiral stone stood painfully -near the centre. The little brown church outside the gates turned its -face in the more comfortable direction of the village. - -Only three were out among the graves: "Ambrose Chillingworth, ætat 30, -1675;" - -"Margaret Vane, ætat 19, 1839;" and "Thy Little One, O God, ætat 2," -from the Mercer Lot. It is called the "Mercer Lot," but the Mercers are -all dead or gone from the village. - -The Little One trotted around busily, putting his tiny finger in the -letterings and patting the faces of the cherubs. The other two sat on -the base of the spiral, which twisted in the moonlight over them. - -"I wonder why it is?" Margaret said. "Most of them never come out at -all. We and the Little One come out so often. You were wise and learned. -I knew so little. Will you tell me?" - -"Learning is not wisdom," Ambrose answered. "But of this matter it was -said that our containment in the grave depended on the spirit in which -we departed. I made certain researches. It appeared by common report -that only those came out whom desperate sin tormented, or labors -incomplete and great desire at the point of death made restless. I -had doubts the matter were more subtle, the reasons of it reaching out -distantly." He sighed faintly, following with his eyes, tomb by tomb, -the broad white path that dropped down the hillside to the church. "I -desired greatly to live." - -"I, too. Is it because we desired it so much, then? But the Little -One"--- - -"I do not know," he said. - -The Little One trotted gravely here and there, seeming to know very well -what he was about, and presently came to the spiral stone. The lettering -on it was new, and there was no cherub. He dropped down suddenly on the -snow, with a faint whimper. His small feet came out from under his gown, -as he sat upright, gazing at the letters with round troubled eyes, and -up to the top of the monument for the solution of some unstated problem. - -"The stone is but newly placed," said Ambrose, "and the newcomer would -seem to be of those who rest in peace." - -They went and sat down on either side of him, on the snow. The peculiar -cutting of the stone, with spirally ascending lines, together with the -moon's illusion, gave it a semblance of motion. Something twisted and -climbed continually, and vanished continually from the point. But the -base was broad, square, and heavily lettered: "John Mareschelli Vane." - -"Vane? That was thy name," said Ambrose. - -1890. Ætat 72. - -An Eminent Citizen, a Public Benefactor, and Widely Esteemed. - -For the Love of his Native Place returned to lay his Dust therein. - -The Just Made Perfect. - -"It would seem he did well, and rounded his labors to a goodly end, -lying down among his kindred as a sheaf that is garnered in the autumn. -He was fortunate." - -And Margaret spoke, in the thin, emotionless voice which those who are -long in the graveyard use: "He was my brother." - -"Thy brother?" said Ambrose. - -The Little One looked up and down the spiral with wide eyes. The other -two looked past it into the deep white valley, where the river, covered -with ice and snow, was marked only by the lines of skeleton willows and -poplars. A night wind, listless but continual, stirred the evergreens. -The moon swung low over the opposite hills, and for a moment slipped -behind a cloud. - -"Says it not so, 'For the Love of his Native Place'?" murmured Ambrose. - -And as the moon came out, there leaned against the pedestal, pointing -with a finger at the epitaph, one that seemed an old man, with bowed -shoulders and keen, restless face, but in his manner cowed and weary. - -"It is a lie," he said slowly. "I hated it, Margaret. I came because -Ellen Mercer called me." - -"Ellen isn't buried here." - -"Not here!" - -"Not here." - -"Was it you, then, Margaret? Why?" - -"I didn't call you." - -"Who then?" he shrieked. "Who called me?" - -The night wind moved on monotonously, and the moonlight was undisturbed, -like glassy water. - -"When I came away," she said, "I thought you would marry her. You -didn't, then? But why should she call you?" - -"I left the village suddenly!" he cried. "I grew to dread, and then to -hate it. I buried myself from the knowledge of it, and the memory of it -was my enemy. I wished for a distant death, and these fifty years have -heard the summons to come and lay my bones in this graveyard. I thought -it was Ellen. You, sir, wear an antique dress; you have been long in -this strange existence. Can you tell who called me? If not Ellen, where -is Ellen?" He wrung his hands, and rocked to and fro. - -"The mystery is with the dead as with the living," said Ambrose. "The -shadows of the future and the past come among us. We look in their eyes, -and understand them not. Now and again there is a call even here, and -the grave is henceforth untenanted of its spirit. Here, too, we know a -necessity which binds us, which speaks not with audible voice and will -not be questioned." - -"But tell me," moaned the other, "does the weight of sin depend upon its -consequences? Then what weight do I bear? I do not know whether it was -ruin or death, or a thing gone by and forgotten. Is there no answer here -to this?" - -"Death is but a step in the process of life," answered Ambrose. "I know -not if any are ruined or anything forgotten. Look up, to the order of -the stars, an handwriting on the wall of the firmament. But who hath -read it? Mark this night wind, a still small voice. But what speaketh -it? The earth is clothed in white garments as a bride. What mean the -ceremonials of the seasons? The will from without is only known as it is -manifested. Nor does it manifest where the consequences of the deed end -or its causes began. Have they any end or a beginning? I cannot answer -you." - -"Who called me, Margaret?" - -And she said again monotonously, "I didn't call you." - -The Little One sat between Ambrose and Margaret, chuckling to himself -and gazing up at the newcomer, who suddenly bent forward and looked into -his eyes, with a gasp. - -"What is this?" he whispered."'Thy Little One, O God, ætat 2,' from -the Mercer Lot," returned Ambrose gently. "He is very quiet. Art not -neglecting thy business, Little One? The lower walks are unvisited -to-night." - -"They are Ellen's eyes!" cried the other, moaning and rocking. "Did you -call me? Were you mine?" - -"It is, written, 'Thy Little One, O God,'" murmured Ambrose. - -But the Little One only curled his feet up under his gown, and now -chuckled contentedly. - - - - -THE MUSIDORA SONNET - - -THE clock in some invisible steeple struck one. The great snowflakes -fell thickly, wavering and shrinking, delicate, barren seeds, conscious -of their unfruitfulness. The sputter of the arc lights seemed explosive -to the muffled silence of the street. With a bright corner at either end, -the block was a canon, a passage in a nether world of lurking ghosts, -where a frightened gaslight trembled, hesitated midway. And Noel -Endicott conceived suddenly, between curb and curb, a sonnet, to be -entitled "Dante in Tenth Street," the appearance of it occupying, -in black letter, a half page in the _Monthly Illustrated_, a gloomy -pencilling above, and below it "Noel Endicott." The noiselessness of his -steps enlarged his imagination. - - I walked in 19th Street, not the Florentine, - - With ghosts more sad, and one like Beatrice - - Laid on my lips the sanction of her kiss. - - 'Twas---- - -It should be in a purgatorial key, in effect something cold, white and -spiritual, portraying "her" with Dantesque symbolism, a definite being, -a vision with a name. "'Twas--" In fact, who was she? - -He stopped. Tenth Street was worth more than a sonnet's confined -austerity. It should be a story. Noel was one who beat tragic -conceptions into manuscript, suffering rejection for improbability. -Great actions thrilled him, great desires and despairs. The massive -villainies of Borgia had fallen in days when art was strenuous. Of old, -men threw a world away for a passion, an ambition. Intense and abundant -life--one was compelled now to spin their symbols out of thin air, be -rejected for improbability, and in the midst of a bold conception, in a -snowstorm on canoned Tenth Street, be hungry and smitten with doubts of -one's landlady. - -Mrs. Tibbett had been sharp that morning relative to a bill, and he -had remonstrated but too rashly: "Why discuss it, Mrs. Tibbett? It's -a negative, an unfruitful subject." And she had, in effect, raved, and -without doubt now had locked the outer door. Her temper, roused at one -o'clock, would be hasty in action, final in result. - -He stood still and looked about him. Counting two half blocks as one, it -was now one block to Mrs. Tibbett and that ambushed tragedy. - -In his last novel, "The Sunless Treasure" (to his own mind his -greatest), young Humphrey stands but a moment hesitating before the -oaken door, believing his enemies to be behind it with ready daggers. He -hesitates but a moment. The die is cast. He enters. His enemies are not -there. But Mrs. Tibbett seemed different. For instance, she would be -there. - -The house frontage of this, like the house frontage of the fatal next -block, was various, of brick, brownstone or dingy white surface, -with doorways at the top of high steps, doorways on the ground level, -doorways flush with the front, or sunken in pits. Not a light in any -window, not a battlement that on its restless front bore a star, but -each house stood grim as Child Roland's squat tower. The incessant -snowflakes fell past, no motion or method of any Byzantine palace -intrigue so silken, so noiseless, so mysterious in beginnings and -results. All these locked caskets wedged together contained problems -and solutions, to which Bassanio's was a simple chance of three with a -pointed hint. Noel decided that Tenth Street was too large for a story. -It was a literature. One must select. - -Meanwhile the snow fell and lay thickly, and there was no doubt that by -persistent standing in the snow one's feet became wet. He stepped into -the nearest doorway, which was on the level of the street, one of three -doorways alike, all low, arched and deep. - -They would be less noticeable in the daytime than in the night, when -their cavernous gaping and exact repetition seemed either ominous or -grotesque, according to the observer. The outer door was open. He felt -his way in beyond the drift to the hard footing of the vestibule, kicked -his shoes free of snow and brushed his beard. - -The heroes of novels were sometimes hungry and houseless, but it seemed -to Noel that they seldom or never faced a problem such as Mrs. Tibbett -presented. Desperate fortunes should be carried on the point of one's -sword, but with Mrs. Tibbett the point was not to provoke her. She was -incongruous. She must be thrust aside, put out of the plot. He made a -gesture dismissing Mrs. Tibbett. His hand in the darkness struck the -jamb of the inner door, which swung back with a click of the half-caught -latch. His heart thumped, and he peered into the darkness, where a thin -yellow pencil of light stretched level from a keyhole at the farther end -of a long hall. - -Dismissing Mrs. Tibbett, it was a position of dramatic advantage to -stand in so dark and deep an arched entrance, between the silence and -incessant motion of the snow on the one hand, and the yellow pencil -of light, pointing significantly to something unknown, some crisis -of fortune. He felt himself in a tale that had both force and form, -responsible for its progress. - -He stepped in, closed the half door behind him softly, and crept through -the hall. The thin line of light barred the way, and seemed to say, -"Here is the place. Be bold, ready-minded, full of subtlety and -resource." There was no sound within that he could hear, and no sound -without, except his own oppressed breathing and pulses throbbing in his -ears. - -Faint heart never won anything, and as for luck, it belonged to those -who adventured with various chances, and of the blind paths that led -away from their feet into the future, chose one, and another, and so -kept on good terms with possibility. If one but cried saucily, "Open -this odd little box, you three gray women!" And this, and this the -gray Fates smiled indulgently, showing a latent motherliness. How many -destinies had been decided by the opening and shutting of a door, which -to better or worse, never opened again for retreat? A touch on this door -and Mrs. Tibbett might vanish from the story forever, to the benefit of -the story. - -He lifted his hand, having in mind to tap lightly, with tact and -insinuation, but struck the door, in fact, nervously, with a bang that -echoed in the hall. Some one spoke within. He opened and made entry in a -prepared manner, which gave way to merely blinking wonder. - -It was a large dining-room, brightly lit by a chandelier, warm from -a glowing grate, sumptuous with pictures and hangings, on the table a -glitter of glass and silver, with meat, cakes and wine. - -On the farther side of the table stood a woman in a black evening dress, -with jewels on her hair and bosom. She seemed to have just risen, and -grasped the back of her chair with one hand, while the other held open a -book on the table. The length of her white arm was in relief against her -black dress. - -Noel's artistic slouch hat, now taken off with uncertain hand, showed -wavy brown hair over eyes not at all threatening, a beard pointed, -somewhat profuse, a face interestingly featured and astonished. No -mental preparation to meet whatever came, of Arabic or mediaeval -incident, availed him. He felt dumb, futile, blinking. The lady's -surprise, the startled fear on her face, was hardly seen before it -changed to relief, as if the apparition of Noel, compared with some -foreboding of her own, were a mild event. She half smiled when he -began:-- - -"I am an intruder, madam," and stopped with that embarrassed platitude. -"I passed your first door by accident, and your second by impulse." - -"That doesn't explain why you stay." - -"May I stay to explain?" - -When two have exchanged remarks that touch the borders of wit, they -have passed a mental introduction. To each the mind of the other is a -possible shade and bubbling spring by the dusty road of conversation. -Noel felt the occasion. He bowed with a side sweep of his hat. - -"Madam, I am a writer of poems, essays, stories. If you ask, What do I -write in poems, essays, stories, I answer, My perception of things. If -you ask, In what form would I cast my present perceptions of things, I -say, Without doubt a poem." - -"You are able to carry both sides of a conversation. I have not asked -any of these." - -"You have asked why I stay. I am explaining." - -The lady's attitude relaxed its stiffness by a shade, her half smile -became a degree more balmy. - -"I think you must be a successful writer." - -"You touch the point," he said slowly. "I am not. I am hungry and -probably houseless. And worse than that, I find hunger and houselessness -are sordid, tame. The taste of them in the mouth is flat, like stale -beer. It is not like the bitter tang of a new experience, but like -something the world shows its weariness of in me." - -The amused smile vanished in large-eyed surprise, and something -more than surprise, as if his words gave her some intimate, personal -information. - -"You say strange things in a very strange way. And you came in by an -accident?" - -"And an impulse?" - -"I don't understand. But you must sit down, and I can find you more to -eat, if this isn't enough." - -Noel could not have explained the strangeness of his language, if it was -strange, further than that he felt the need of saying something in -order to find an opportunity of saying something to the point, and so -digplayed whatever came to his mind as likely to arrest attention. It -was a critical lesson in vagabondage, as familiar there as hunger and -houselessness. He attacked the cold meat, cakes and fruit with fervor, -and the claret in the decanter. But what should be the next step in the -pursuit of fortune? At this point should there not come some revelation? - -The lady did not seem to think so, but sat looking now at Noel and now -at her own white hands in her lap. That she should have youth and beauty -seemed to Noel as native to the issue as her jewels, the heavy curtains, -the silver and glass. As for youth, she might be twenty, twenty-one, -two. All such ages, he observed to himself with a mental flourish, -were one in beauty. It was not a rosy loveliness like the claret in the -decanter, nor plump like the fruit in the silver basket, but dark-eyed, -white and slender, with black hair drawn across the temples; of a -fragile delicacy like the snowflakes, the frost flower of the century's -culture, the symbol of its ultimate luxury. The rich room was her -setting. She was the center and reason for it, and the yellow point of -a diamond over her heart, glittering, but with a certain mellowness, was -still more central, intimate, interpretative, symbolic of all desirable -things. He began to see the story in it, to glow with the idea. - -"Madam," he said, "I am a writer of whose importance I have not as yet -been able to persuade the public. The way I should naturally have gone -to-night seemed to me something to avoid. I took another, which brought -me here. The charm of existence--" She seemed curiously attentive. "The -charm of existence is the unforeseen, and of all things our moods are -the most unforeseen. One's plans are not always and altogether futile. -If you propose to have salad for lunch, and see your way to it, it -is not so improbable that you will have salad for lunch. But if you -prefigure how it will all seem to you at lunch, you are never quite -right. Man proposes and God disposes. I add that there is a third and -final disposal, namely, what man is to think of the disposition after it -is made. I hope, since you proposed or prefigured to-night, perhaps as -I did, something different from this--this disposition"--he lifted his -glass of claret between him and the light--"that your disposition what -to think of it is, perhaps, something like mine." - -The lady was leaning forward with parted lips, listening intently, -absorbed in his words. For the life of him Noel could not see why she -should be absorbed in his words, but the fact filled him with happy -pride. - -"Tell me," she said quickly. "You speak so well--" - -Noel filled in her pause of hesitation. - -"That means that my wisdom may be all in my mouth." - -"No, indeed! I mean you must have experience. Will you tell me, is it so -dreadful not to have money? People say different things." - -"They do." He felt elevated, borne along on a wave of ornamental -expression. "It is their salvation. Their common proverbs contradict -each other. A man looks after his pence and trusts one proverb that the -pounds will look after themselves, till presently he is called penny -wise and pound foolish, and brought up by another. And consider how less -noticeable life would be without its jostle of opinion, its conflicting -lines of wisdom, its following of one truth to meet with another going -a different way. Give me for finest companionship some half truth, some -ironic veracity." - -She shook her head. It came to him with a shock that it was not his -ornamental expression which interested her, but only as it might bear on -something in her own mind more simple, direct and serious, something -not yet disclosed. "In fact," he thought, "she is right. One must get on -with the plot" It was a grievous literary fault to break continuity, to -be led away from the issue by niceties of expression. The proper issue -of a plot was simple, direct, serious, drawn from the motive which began -it. Why did she sit here with her jewels, her white arms and black dress -these weird, still hours of the night? Propriety hinted his withdrawal, -but one must resist the commonplace. - -"The answer to the question does not satisfy you. But do you not see -that I only enlarged on your own answer? People say different things -because they are different. The answer depends on temperaments, more -narrowly on moods; on tenses, too, whether it is present poverty -and houselessness or past or future. And so it has to be answered -particularly, and you haven't made me able to answer it particularly to -you. And then one wouldn't imagine it could be a question particular to -you." - -"You are very clever," she murmured, half smiling again. "Are you not -too clever for the purpose? You say so many things." - -"That is true," said Noel plaintively. "The story has come to a -standstill. It has all run out into diction." - -At that moment there was a loud noise in the hall. - -The smile, which began hopefully, grew old while he watched it, and -withered away. The noise that echoed in the hall was of a banging door, -then of laden, dragging steps. The hall door was thrown open, and two -snowy hackmen entered, holding up between them a man wearing a tall hat. - -"He's some loaded, ma'am," said one of them cheerfully. "I ain't seen -him so chucked in six months." - -They dropped him in a chair, from which, after looking about him with -half-open, glassy eyes, and closing them again, he slid limply to the -floor. The hackman regarded that choice of position with sympathy. - -"Wants to rest his load, he does," and backed out of the door with his -companion. - -"It goes on the bill. Ain't seen him so chucked in six months." - -The lady had not moved from her chair, but had sat white and still, -looking down into her lap. She gave a hard little laugh. - -"Isn't it nice he's so 'chucked'? He would have acted dreadfully." She -was leaning on the table now, her dark eyes reading him intently. The -man on the floor snorted and gurgled in his sleep. - -"I couldn't kill anybody," she said. "Could you?" - -Noel shook his head. - -"It's so funny," she went on in a soft, speculative way, "one can't do -it. I'm afraid to go away and be alone and poor. I wish he would die." - -"It wouldn't work out that way," said Noel, struggling with his wits. -"He's too healthy." - -It seemed to him immediately that the comment was not the right one. It -was not even an impersonal fact to himself, an advantage merely to the -plot, that the sleeper was unable to object to him and discard him from -it, as he had resolved to discard Mrs. Tibbett, but with such brutal -energy as the sleeper's face indicated. For it repelled not so much by -its present relaxed degradation as by its power, its solidity of flesh, -its intolerant self-assertion, the physical vigor of the short bull -neck, bulky shoulders, heavy mustache, heavy cheeks and jaw, bluish -with the shaving of a thick growth. He was dressed, barring his damp -dishevelment, like a well-groomed clubman. - -But the lady was looking Noel in the eyes, and her own seemed strangely -large, but as if covering a spiritual rather than a physical space, -settled in melancholy, full of clouds, moving lights and dusky -distances. - -"I was waiting for him because he ordered me. I'm so afraid of him," she -said, shrinking with the words. "He likes me to be here and afraid of -him." - -"Tell me what I am to do?" he said eagerly. - -"I suppose you are not to do anything." - -Noel caught the thread of his fluency. He drew a ten-cent piece from -his pocket, tossed it on the table, gestured toward it with one hand -and swung the other over the back of his chair with an air of polished -recklessness. - -"But your case seems desperate to you. Is it more than mine? You have -followed this thing about to 'the end of the passage,' and there is my -last coin. My luck might change to-morrow. Who knows? Perhaps tonight. -I would take it without question and full of hope. Will you experiment -with fortune and--and me?" - -The dark eyes neither consented nor refused. They looked at him gravely. - -"It is a black, cold night. The snow is thick in the air and deep on the -street Put it so at the worst, but fortune and wit will go far." - -"Your wit goes farther than your fortune, doesn't it?" she said, -smiling. - -"I don't conceal." - -"You don't conceal either of them, do you? You spread them both out," -and she laughed a pleasant little ripple of sound. - -Noel rose with distinction and bent toward her across the table. - -"My fortune is this ten-cent piece. As you see, on the front of it is -stamped a throned woman." - -"Oh, how clever." She laughed, and Noel flushed with the applause. - -"Shall we trust fortune and spin the coin? Heads, the throned woman, I -shall presently worship you, an earthly divinity. Tails, a barren wreath -and the denomination of a money value, meaning I take my fortunes away, -and you," pointing in turn to the sleeper and the jewels, "put up with -yours as you can." - -She seemed to shiver as he pointed. "No," she said, "I couldn't do that. -A woman never likes to spin a coin seriously." - -"Will you go, then?" - -The sleeper grunted and turned over. She turned pale, put her hand to -her throat, said hurriedly, "Wait here," and left the room, lifting and -drawing her skirt aside as she passed the sleeper. - -She opened the door at last and came again, wrapped in a fur mantle, -carrying a travelling case, and stood looking down at the sleeper as if -with some struggle of the soul, some reluctant surrender. - -They went out, shutting the door behind them. - -The snow was falling still on Tenth Street, out of the crowding -night. He held her hand on his arm close to him. She glided beside him -noiselessly. - -The express office was at the corner, a little dingy, gas-lit room. - -"Carriage? Get it in a minute," said the sleepy clerk. "It's just round -the corner." - -They stood together by a window, half opaque with dust. Her face was -turned away, and he watched the slant of her white cheek. - -"You will have so much to tell me," he whispered at last. - -"I am really very grateful. You helped me to resolve." - -"Your carriage, sir." - -The electric light sputtered over them standing on the curb. - -"But," she said, smiling up at him, "I have nothing to tell you. There -is nothing more. It ends here. Forgive me. It is my plot and it wouldn't -work out your way. There are too many conflicting lines of wisdom in -your way. My life lately has been what you would call, perhaps, a study -in realism, and you want me to be, perhaps, a symbolic romance. I am -sure you would express it very cleverly. But I think one lives by -taking resolutions rather than by spinning coins, which promise either -a throned woman, or a wreath and the denomination of a money value. One -turns up so much that is none of these things. Men don't treat women -that way. I married to be rich, and was very wretched, and perhaps your -fame, when it comes, will be as sad to you. Perhaps the trouble lies in -what you called 'the third disposal.' But I did not like being a study -in realism. I should not mind being something symbolic, if I might prove -my gratitude"--she took her hand from his arm, put one foot on the step -and laughed, a pleasant little ripple of sound--"by becoming literary -material." The door shut to, and the carriage moved away into the storm -with a muffled roll of wheels. - -Noel stared after it blankly, and then looked around him. It was half -a block now to Mrs. Tibbett. He walked on mechanically, and mounted the -steps by habit. The outer door was not locked. A touch of compunction -had visited Mrs. Tibbett. - -He crept into his bed, and lay noting the growing warmth and sense of -sleep, and wondering whether that arched doorway was the third of the -three or the second. Strictly speaking he seemed to have gone in at the -middle one and come out at the third, or was it not the first rather -than the middle entrance that he had sheltered in? The three arched -entrances capered and contorted before him in the dark, piled themselves -into the portal of a Moorish palace, twisted themselves in a kind of -mystical trinity and seal of Solomon, floated apart and became thin, -filmy, crescent moons over a frozen sea. He sat up in bed and smote the -coverlet. - -"I don't know her name! She never told me!" He clutched his hair, and -then released it cautiously. "It's Musidora! I forgot that sonnet!" - - 'Twas Musidora, whom the mystic nine - - Gave to my soul to be forever mine, - - And, as through shadows manifold of Dis, - - Showed in her eyes, through dusky distances - - And clouds, the moving lights about their shrine; - - Now ever on my soul her touch shall be - - As on the cheek are touches of the snow, - - Incessant, cool, and gone; so guiding me - - From sorrow's house and triple portico. - - And prone recumbrance of brute tyranny, - - In a strict path shall teach my feet to go. - - -The clock in the invisible steeple struck three. - - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tioba and Other Tales, by Arthur Colton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TIOBA AND OTHER TALES *** - -***** This file should be named 50271-8.txt or 50271-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/2/7/50271/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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