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diff --git a/old/50898.txt b/old/50898.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8fc474f..0000000 --- a/old/50898.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11881 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Paul Rundel, by Will N. Harben - -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: Paul Rundel - A Novel - -Author: Will N. Harben - -Release Date: January 11, 2016 [EBook #50898] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAUL RUNDEL *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -PAUL RUNDEL - -A Novel - -By Will N. Harben - -Harper and Brothers - -1912 - - -[Illustration: 0006] - -[Illustration: 0007] - -TO - -THE MEMORY OF MY LITTLE SON ERIC - - -I - - - - -CHAPTER I - -|FROM the window of her husband's shop in the mountain-village of -Grayson, Cynthia Tye stood peering out on the Square. She was tall, -gaunt, and thin-so thin, in fact, that her fingers, pricked by her -needle and gnarled at the joints, had a hold in energy only, as she -pressed them down on her contourless hips. She had left her work in the -living-room and kitchen back of the shop and come in to question the -shoemaker as to what he wanted for his dinner, the boiling and stewing -hour having arrived. - -Silas, whose sedentary occupation had supplied him with the surplus -flesh his wife needed, and whose genial pate was as bald as an egg, save -for a bare fringe of gray which overlapped his ears on the sides and -impinged upon his shirt-collar behind, looked up and smiled broadly. - -"I wish you'd quit that, Cynthy. I really do." Every outward and inward -part of the man lent itself to his smile, the broad, clean-shaven Irish -lip, the big, facile mouth, the almost wrinkleless pink cheeks, the -clear, twinkling blue eyes, the besmirched goatee--in fact, all his -rotund, satisfied self between his chin and the bench on which he sat -shook like a mass of animated jelly. - -"Quit what?" She turned on him suddenly. "Why, quit always and -_eternally_ comin' to me when I'm chock full o' breakfast, and askin' -me what I want to eat for dinner. I can still taste my coffee. I reckon -settin' humped over this way between meals ain't exactly accordin' to -nature in its best state. I'd ruther live in a boardin'-house and take -what was served, hit or miss, than to digest a meal in my mind three -hours before I eat it." - -"Huh! I say!" Cynthia sniffed, "and what about me, who not only has -to think about it beforehand, but has to pick it in the garden, git it -ready for the pots, smell the fumes of it from daylight till dark, and -worry all night for fear something, will sour or be ate up by the cat, -dog, or chickens?" - -Silas laughed till his tools--last, hammer, and knife--rattled in his -leather apron. "You got the best o' that argument," he chuckled, as he -pressed the shoe he was repairing down between his fat knees, crossed -his short feet, and reached for a box of nails which had fallen to the -floor. Then his merriment ceased. He bent a tender glance on the woman -and a gentle cadence crept into his voice: "The Lord knows you _do_ have -a hard time, Cynthy, an' no jokin'. I wish thar was some way around it. -I lie awake many and many a night just thinkin' how happy me'n you'd be -if we could take a trip off some'rs and not have nothin' to bother about -for one week anyway. What are you gazin' at out thar so steady?" - -"I'm watchin' that pore boy, Paul Rundel," Cynthia returned, with a -sigh. "I never see 'im without my heart achin'. He's haulin' bark for -Jim Hoag's tannery. He driv' up on a big load to the post-office while I -was out gatherin' beans just now. You remember them two devilish Harris -boys that picked the row with 'im at the hitchin'-rack last week? Well, -I saw 'em at the corner and thought they looked suspicious. Then I -knowed they was waitin' for 'im, for they nudged one another and picked -up brickbats, and went to Paul's wagon. I couldn't hear what was said, -but it looked like they was darin' Paul to git down, for they kept -swingin' their bricks and shakin' their fists at 'im." - -"What a pity, what a pity!" The shoemaker sighed. "That boy is tryin' -his level best to live right, and thar was two ag'in' one, and both -bigger and stronger." - -"Well, Paul kin take care of hisself," Cynthia said, with a chuckle. -"It looked like he was in for serious trouble, and I was runnin' to the -fence to try to call somebody to help him, when, lo and behold! I saw -him reach back on the load o' bark and pick up a double-barreled gun -and stick the butt of it to his shoulder. I am a Christian woman, and -I don't believe in bloodshed, but when them scamps drapped the'r bricks -and broke for the blacksmith shop like dogs with their tails twixt their -legs I shouted and laughed till I cried. Paul got down and was makin' -for the shop, when the marshal--Budd Tibbs--stopped 'im and made 'im put -up the gun and go back to his wagon. The next minute I saw the Harris -boys slip out the back door of the shop and slink off out o' sight." - -"It's bad, bad, bad!" Silas deplored. "Sometimes I wonder why the Lord -lets things run slipshod like that. Paul has a bright mind. He is as -sharp as a brier. He loves to read about what's goin' on over the world. -If thar ever was a boy that needed good advice and trainin' he is one. -He's right at the turnin'-point, too; he's got a high temper, a lot o' -sperit, and won't stand naggin' from high or low. And what's he got -at home? Nothin' that wouldn't take life and hope out of any ambitious -boy--a daddy that is half dead, and won't work a lick--" - -"And a mammy," Cynthia broke in, with indignation, "Si, that is the -vainest, silliest woman that ever breathed, traipsin' out to meetin' -in her flimsy finery bought by that boy's hard work. They say, because -she's passably good-lookin' and can sing well, that she thinks herself -too good to lay her hands to a thing. She don't love Ralph Rundel, nor -_never_ did, or she couldn't act that way when he is sick. I've heard, -on good authority, that she never cared much for Paul, even when he was -a baby--folks say she didn't want 'im to come when he did, and she never -took care of 'im like a mother ought to." - -"I've watched Paul a long time," Silas remarked. "Me'n him are purty -good friends. He's rough on the outside, but now and then I see away -down into his heart. He worries about his daddy's bad health constantly. -They are more like two brothers than father and son, anyway, and as -Ralph grows weaker he leans more and more on his boy. It certainly is -sad. I saw 'em both down at Hoag's cotton-gin last fall. Paul had run -across some second-hand school-books somewhar, and was tryin' to explain -'em to his pa, but he couldn't make any impression on him. Ralph looked -like he was tryin' to show interest, but it wasn't in 'im. I tell you, -Cynthy, the hardest job our Creator ever put on his creatures is for 'em -to have unbounded faith in the perfection in the unseen when thar is so -much out o' joint always before our eyes." - -"Yes, but _you_ never lose faith," Cynthia said, proudly. "I'd have let -loose long ago if I hadn't had you to keep me agoin'." - -"You see, Cynthy, I've noticed that something bright always follows on -the heels of what is dark." Silas hammered the words in with the tacks, -which he held in his mouth. "Peace hovers over war and drops down after -it like rain on dry soil; joy seems to pursue sorrow like sunshine -pushin' clouds away, and, above all, love conquers hate, and you know -our Lord laid particular stress on that." - -"Paul has just left the post-office," Cynthia said. "He's left his -hosses standin' and is headed this way." - -"He's comin' after his daddy's shoes," Silas replied. "I've had 'em -ready for a week. I took 'em out to his wagon one day, but he didn't -have the money, and although I offered to credit him he wouldn't hear to -it. He's as independent as a hog on ice. I tell you thar's lots in that -boy." - -Cynthia, as the youth was crossing the street, turned back into her -kitchen. A moment later Paul entered the shop. He was thin almost to -emaciation, just merging into the quickly acquired height of a boy of -sixteen, and had the sallow complexion that belongs to the ill-nourished -mountaineers of the South. His coarse brown hair fought against the -restrictions of the torn straw hat, which, like a miniature tent, rested -on the back part of his head. The legs of his trousers were frayed at -the bottoms and so crudely patched at the knees that the varicolored -stitches were observable across the room. He wore no coat, and his -threadbare shirt of heavy, checked cotton had lost its buttons at the -sleeves and neck. He had a finely shaped head, a strong chin, and a good -nose. A pair of dreamy brown eyes in somber sockets were still ablaze -from their recently kindled fires. His mouth was large and somehow, -even in the grasp of anger, suggested the capacity for tenderness and -ideality. - -"Hello, young man!" Silas greeted him as he peered at the boy above his -brass-rimmed spectacles and smiled genially. "Here at last. I was afraid -you'd let them shoes take the dry-rot in my shop, and just because you -wouldn't owe me a few cents for a day or two." - -Paul made no reply. His restless glance roved sullenly over the heap -of mended shoes and boots on the floor, and, selecting the pair he was -looking for, he ran a quivering finger along the freshly polished edge -of the soles and bent the leather testingly. - -"Some o' the white oak you helped tan out thar at Hoag's," Silas jested. -"If it ain't the best the brand on it is a liar, and I have been buncoed -by your rich boss." - -This also evoked no response. Thrusting the shoes under his arm, the boy -put his hand into his pocket and drew out some small coins and counted -them on the low window-sill close to the shoemaker. He was turning away -when Silas stopped him. Pointing to a chair bottomed with splints of -white oak and strengthened by strips of leather interlaced and tacked to -the posts he said: - -"Take that seat; I hain't seed you in a coon's age, Paul, and I want to -talk to you." - -With a slightly softened expression, the boy glanced through the open -doorway out into the beating sunshine toward his horses and wagon. - -"I've got to move on." He drew his tattered sleeve across his damp brow -and looked at the floor. "I got another load to bring down from the -mountain." - -Silas peered through the window at the horses and nodded slowly. "Them -pore pantin' brutes need the rest they are gettin' right now. Set down! -set down! You don't have to hurry." - -Reluctantly the youth complied, holding the shoes in his lap. Silas -hammered diligently for a moment, and then the furrows on his kindly -brow deepened as he stared steadily through his glasses, which were -seldom free from splotches of lampblack and beeswax. - -"I wonder, Paul, if you'd git mad if I was to tell you that I've always -had a whoppin' big interest in you?" - -The boy made as if about to speak, but seemed to have no command of tact -or diplomacy. He flushed faintly; his lashes flickered; he fumbled the -shoes in his lap, but no words were forthcoming. However, to Silas this -was answer enough, and he was encouraged to go on. - -"You see, Paul, I've knowed you since you was so high"--Silas held his -hammer out on a level with his knee--"and I have watched you close ever -since. Yore daddy--that was in his palmy days--used to take you with 'im -when he'd go afishin', and I used to meet you an' him on the creek-bank. -You was as plump and pink a toddler as I ever laid eyes on, just the age -of the only one the Lord ever sent us. When mine was alive I was so full -of the joy of it that I just naturally wanted to grab up every baby I -met and hug it. I never could hear a child cry over a stubbed toe, a -stone-bruise, or any little disappointment without actually achin' at -the heart. But our son was taken, Paul, taken right when he was the very -light an' music of our lives. And, my boy, let me tell you, if ever a -Christian come nigh wagin' open war with his Maker I did on that day. -God looked to me like a fiend incarnate, and His whole universe, from -top to bottom, seemed a trap to catch an' torture folks in. But as time -passed somehow my pain growed less, until now I am plumb resigned to the -Lord's will. He knowed best. Yes, as I say, I always felt a big interest -in you, and have prayed for you time after time, for I know your life -is a tough uphill one. Paul, I hope you will excuse me, but a thing took -place out thar in front of my window just now that--" - -A grunt of somnolent rage escaped the boy, and Silas saw him clench -his fist. His voice quivered with passion: "Them two devils have been -picking at me for more than a year, calling me names and throwing rocks -at me from behind fences. Yesterday they made fun of my father, and so I -got ready, and--" - -"I know, I know!"--the shoemaker sighed, reproachfully--"and so you -deliberately, an' in a calm moment, laid that gun on yore load of bark, -and--" - -"Yes, and both barrels was loaded with heavy buck-shot!" the boy -exulted, his tense face afire, his eyes flashing, "and if they hadn't -run like two cowardly pups I'd have blowed holes in 'em as big as a -hat." - -Silas made a derogatory sound with his tongue and lips. "Oh, how blind -you was, my pore boy--you was too mad to see ahead; folk always are when -they are wrought up. Paul, stop for one minute and think. If you had -killed one or both of 'em, that wouldn't have settled the trouble. -You don't think so now, but you'd have gone through bottomless pits of -remorse. The Lord has made it that way. Young as you are, you'd have -died on the scaffold, or toiled through life as a convict, for it would -have been murder, and deliberate at that." - -The youth shrugged his thin shoulders. "I wouldn't have cared," he -answered. "I tell you it ain't ended, Uncle Si. Them fellows has got to -take back what they said about my father. They've got to take it back, I -tell you! If they don't, I'll kill 'em if it takes a lifetime to do it. -I'll kill 'em!" - -Silas groaned. A pained look of concern gathered in his mild eyes. He -reached for the polishing-iron which was being heated in the flame of -a smoking lamp on his bench and wiped it on his dingy apron. "It won't -do!" he cried, and his bald head seemed drawn down by fear and anxiety. -"Something has got to be done; they are a pair of low, cowardly whelps -that are try in' to bully you, but you've got to quit thinkin' about -murder. It won't do, I say; the devil is behind it. You stand away above -fellows like them. You've got the makin' of a big man in you. You love -to read and inquire, and they don't know their a b c's and can't add two -figures. You mustn't lower yourself to such riffraff, and you wouldn't -if you didn't let the worst part o' yourself get the upper hand." - -When the boy had left the shop Silas stood watching him from the -doorway. It was a pathetic figure which climbed upon the load of bark, -and swung the long whip in the air. - -"What a pity! What a pity!" the old man exclaimed, and he wrung -his hands beneath his apron; then seating himself on his bench he -reluctantly resumed his work. "As promising as he is, he may go clean to -the dogs. Poor boy!" - - - - -CHAPTER II - -|IT was now near noon, as was indicated by the clock on the low, -dome-capped tower of the Court House in the center of the village -square. Paul recognized several idlers who stood on a street-corner as -he drove past. They looked at him and smiled approvingly, and one cried -out: - -"Bully for you, Paul! You are all wool and a yard wide." - -"And guaranteed not to tear or shrink!" another added, with a laugh -over his borrowed wit; but the boy neither answered nor smiled. A sudden -breeze from the gray, beetling cliffs of the near-by mountain fanned his -damp brow, and he gazed straight ahead down the long road. Hot -broodings over his wrongs surged within him, and the fact that he had so -completely routed his enemies failed to comfort him at all. They could -still laugh and sneer and repeat behind his back what they had dared to -say to his face about a helpless man who had offended no one. Cowards -that they were, they would keep their lies afloat, and even add to them. - -His road took him past the lumber-yard, sawmills, brick and lime kilns, -and through the sordid negro quarter, which was a cluster of ramshackle -shanties made of unpainted upright boards grown brown and fuzzy, with -now and then a more primitive log cabin, a relic of pioneer and Cherokee -days. Vast fields of fertile lands belonging to his employer, James -Hoag, lay on both sides of the road just outside the village. There were -stretches of corn, cotton, and wheat in the best state of cultivation, -beyond which, on a gentle rise, stood the planter's large two-story -house, a white frame structure with a double veranda and outside blinds -painted green. Beyond the house, at the foot of the slope, could be seen -the dun roofs of the long sheds and warehouses of Hoag's tannery, to -which Paul was taking the bark. A big gate had to be opened, and the boy -was drawing rein with the intention of getting down when Hoag himself, -astride a mettlesome bay mare, passed. - -"Wait, I'll open it," he said, and spurring his mount close to the -gate he kicked the wooden latch upward and swung the gate aside. "Drive -ahead" he ordered. "I can pull it to." - -Paul obeyed, indifferent even to the important man's presence. He would -have forgotten Hoag's existence had the mare not borne him alongside -the wagon again. The horseman was a middle-aged man of sturdy physique, -fully six feet in height, and above two hundred pounds in weight. His -skin was florid, his limbs were strong, firm, and muscular, his hands -red and hair-grown. There was a cold, cruel expression in the keen -blue eyes under the scraggy brows, which was not softened by a sweeping -tobacco-stained mustache. He wore well-fitting top-boots which reached -above the knee, and into which the legs of his trousers had been neatly -folded. A wheeled spur of polished brass was strapped to the heel of -his right boot. He sat his horse with the ease and grace of a cavalry -officer. He held his mare in with a tense hand, and scanned the load of -bark with a critical eye. - -"How much more of that lot is left up there?" he asked. - -"About two cords, or thereabouts," the boy said, carelessly. - -"Well," Hoag said, "when you get that all stacked under the shed I want -you to haul down the lot on Barrett's ridge. There is a good pile of -it, and it's been exposed to the weather too long. I don't know exactly -where it lies; but Barrett will point it out if he ain't too lazy to -walk up to it." - -"I know where it is," Paul informed him. "I helped strip it." - -"Oh, well, that's all right. You might put on higher standards and rope -'em together at the top. That dry stuff ain't very heavy, and it is down -grade." - -He showed no inclination to ride on, continuing to check his mare. -Presently his eyes fell on the stock of the gun which was half hidden by -the bark, and his lips curled in a cold smile of amusement. - -"Say," he said, with a low laugh, "do you go loaded for bear like this -all the time?" - -A slow flush of resentment rose into the boy's face. He stared straight -at Hoag, muttered something inarticulately and then, with a distinct -scowl, looked away. - -The man's careless smile deepened; the boy's manner and tone were too -characteristic and genuine, and furnished too substantial a proof of a -quality Hoag admired to have offended him. Indeed, there was a touch of -tentative respect in his voice, a gleam of callous sympathy in his eyes -as he went on: - -"I was at the post-office just now. I saw it all. I noticed them fellows -layin' for you the other day, and wondered what would come of it. I -don't say it to flatter you, Paul"--here Hoag chuckled aloud--"but I -don't believe you are afraid of anything that walks the earth. I reckon -it is natural for a man like me to sorter love a fair fight. It may be -because you work for me and drive my team; but when I looked out the -post-office window as I was stampin' a letter, and saw them whelps lyin' -in wait for you, I got mad as hell. I wasn't goin' to let 'em hurt you, -either. I'd have kicked the breath out of 'em at the last minute, but -somehow I was curious to see what you'd do, and, by gum! when that first -brickbat whizzed by you, and you lit down with your gun leveled, and -they scooted to shelter like flyin' squirrels, I laid back and laughed -till I was sore. That was the best bottle of medicine they ever saw, and -they would have had a dose in a minute. They slid into the blacksmith's -shop like it was a fort an' shut the door. I reckin you'd have shot -through the planks if Budd Tibbs hadn't stopped you." - -No appreciation of these profuse compliments showed itself in the boy's -face. It was rigid, colorless and sullen, as if he regarded the man's -observations as entirely too personal to be allowed. An angry retort -trembled on his lips, and even this Hoag seemed to note and relish. His -smile was unctuous; he checked his horse more firmly. - -"They won't bother you no more," he said, more seductively. "Such skunks -never run ag'in' your sort after they once see the stuff you are made -of. That gun and the way you handled it was an eye-opener. Paul, you are -a born fightin' man, and yore sort are rare these days. You'll make -yore way in the world. Bein' afraid of man or beast will stunt anybody's -growth. Pay back in the coin you receive, and don't put up with insult -or abuse from anybody. Maybe you don't know why I first took a sorter -likin' to you. I'd be ashamed to tell you if I didn't know that you was -jest a boy at the time, and I couldn't afford to resent what you said. -You was a foot shorter than you are now, and not half as heavy. You -remember the day yore pa's shoats broke through the fence into my potato -field? You was out in the wet weeds tryin' to drive 'em home. I'd had a -drink or two more than I could tote, and several things had gone crooked -with me, and I was out o' sorts. I saw you down there, and I made up my -mind that I'd give you a thrashin'"--Hoag was smiling indulgently--"and -on my way through the thicket I cut me a stout hickory withe as big -at the butt as my thumb, and taperin' off like a whip at the end. You -remember how I cussed and ripped and went on?" - -"You bet I remember," Paul growled, and his eyes flashed, "and if you'd -hit me once it would have been the worst day's work you ever did." - -The planter blinked in mild surprise, and there was just a hint of -chagrin in his tone. "Well, I didn't touch you. Of course I wasn't -afraid of you or the rock you picked up. I've never seen the _man_ I was -afraid of, much less a boy as little as you was; but as you stood there, -threatenin' to throw, I admit I admired your grit. The truth is, I -didn't have the heart, even drunk as I was, to lick you. Most boys of -your size would have broke and run. My boy, Henry, would, I know." - -"He'll fight all right," Paul said. "He's no coward. I like him. He's -been a friend to me several times. He is not as bad as some folks think. -He drinks a little, and spends money free, and has a good time; but -he's not stuck up. He doesn't like to work, and I don't blame him. I -wouldn't, in his place. Huh! you bet I wouldn't." - -"Well, I'm goin' to put 'im between the plow-handles before long," the -planter said, with a frown. "He's gettin' too big for his britches. Say, -you'll think I'm a friend worth havin' some time. Just after that thing -happened at the post-office, and you'd gone into Tye's shop, Budd Tibbs -turned to me and said he believed it was his duty as marshal to make a -council case against you for startin' to use that gun as you did. I saw -the way the land lay in a minute. Them skunks are akin to his wife, and -he was mad. I told him, I did, that he might summon me as a witness, -and that I'd swear you acted in self-defense, and prefer counter-charges -against the dirty whelps. Huh, you ought to have seen him wilt! He knows -how many votes I control, and he took back-water in fine shape." - -"I reckon I can look after my own business," the boy made answer, in a -surly tone. "I ain't afraid o' no court. I'll have my rights if I die -gettin' 'em." Hoag laughed till his sides shook. "I swear you are the -funniest cuss I ever knew. You ain't one bit like a natural boy. You act -and talk like a man that's been through the rubs." Hoag suddenly -glanced across a meadow where some men were at work cutting hay, and his -expression changed instantly. "I never told 'em to mow thar," he swore, -under his breath. "Take your bark on. You know where to put it," -and turning his horse he galloped across the field, his massive legs -swinging to and from the flanks of his mare. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -|THAT afternoon at dusk Paul drove down the mountain with his last load -of bark for the day. The little-used road was full of sharp turns around -towering cliffs and abrupt declivities, worn into gullies by washouts, -and obstructed by avalanchine boulders. In places decayed trees had -fallen across the way, and these the young wagoner sometimes had to -cut apart and roll aside. The high heap of bark on the groaning vehicle -swayed like a top-heavy load of hay, and more than once Paul had to -dismount from the lead horse he rode, scotch the wheels with stones, and -readjust the bark, tightening the ropes which held the mass together. -At times he strode along by the horses, holding the reins between his -teeth, that his hands might be free to combat the vines and bushes -through which he plunged as blindly as an animal chased by a hunter. His -arms, face, and ankles were torn by thorns and briers, his ill-clad feet -cut to the bone by sharp stones. Accidents had often happened to him -on that road. Once he had fallen under the wheels, and narrowly escaped -being crushed to death, a perilous thing which would have haunted many a -man's life afterward, but which Paul forgot in a moment. - -Near the foot of the mountain the road grew wide, smooth, and firm; his -team slowed down, and he took a book from the wagon, reading a few pages -as he walked along. He was fond of the history of wars in all countries; -the bloodshed and narrow escapes of early pioneer days in America -enthralled his fancy. He thought no more of a hunter's killing a redskin -than he himself would have thought of shooting a wild duck with a rifle. - -As he started down the last incline between him and Grayson he replaced -his book on the wagon. The dusk had thickened till he could scarcely -see the print on the soiled pages. Below, the houses of the village were -scattered, as by the hand of chance, from north to south between gentle -hills, beyond which rose the rugged mountains now wrapped in darkness. -He made out the sides of the Square by the lights in the various -buildings. There was the hotel, with its posted lamps on either end of -the veranda. Directly opposite stood the post-office. He could make -no mistake in locating the blacksmith's shop, for its forge gave out -intermittent, bellows-blown flashes of deep red. Other dots of light -were the open doors of stores and warehouses. Like vanishing stars some -were disappearing, for it was closing-time, and the merchants were -going home to supper. This thought gave the boy pleasant visions. He was -hungry. - -It was quite dark when he had unloaded the wagon at the tannery and -driven on past Hoag's pretentious home to the antiquated cottage in -which he lived. It had six rooms, a sagging roof of boards so rotten and -black with age that they lost thickness in murky streams during every -heavy rain. There was a zigzag fence in front, which was ill cared for, -as the leaning comers and decayed rails testified. Against the fence, -at the edge of the road, stood a crude log barn, a corn-crib made of -unbarked pine poles, above which was a hay-loft. Close about was a -malodorous pig-pen, a cow-lot, a wagon-shed, and a pen-like stall for -horses. - -The chickens had gone to roost; the grunting and squealing of the pigs -had been stilled by the pails of swill Paul's father, Ralph Rundel, had -emptied into their dug-out wooden troughs. In the light of the kitchen -fire, which shone through the open door and the glassless windows, -Paul saw his father in his favorite place, seated in a chair under an -apple-tree at the side of the house. Ralph rose at the sound of the -clanking trace-chains and came to the gate. He rubbed his eyes drowsily, -as if he had just waked from a nap, and swung on the gate with both -hands. - -"No use puttin' the wagon under shelter," he said, in a querulous tone, -as his slow eyes scanned the studded vault overhead. "No danger o' rain -this night--no such luck for crops that are burnin' to the roots. The -stalks o' my upland cotton-patch has wilted like sorghum cut for the -press. Say, Paul, did you fetch me that tobacco? I'm dyin' for a smoke." -He uttered a low laugh. "I stole some o' yore aunt's snuff and filled my -pipe; but, by hunkey, I'd miscalculated--I sucked the whole charge down -my throat, and she heard me a-coughin' and caught me with the box in my -hand." - -Paul thrust his hand into his hip-pocket and drew forth a small white -bag with a brilliant label gummed on it. "Bowman was clean out o' that -fine cut," he said, as he gave it into the extended hand. "He said this -was every bit as good." - -"I'll not take his word for it till I've tried it," Ralph Rundel -answered, as he untied the bag and tested the mixture between thumb and -forefinger. "Storekeepers sell what they have in stock, and kin make -such fellers as us take dried cabbage-leaves if they take a notion." - -Ralph was only fifty years of age, and yet he had the manner, -decrepitude, and spent utterance of a man of seventy. His scant, -iron-gray hair was disheveled; his beard, of the same grizzled texture, -looked as if it never had been trimmed, combed, or brushed, and was -shortened only by periodical breaking at the ends. Despite his crude -stoicism, his blue eyes, in their deep sockets, had a wistful, yearning -look, and his cheeks were so hollow that his visage reminded one of a -vitalized skull. His chest, only half covered by a tattered, buttonless -shirt, was flat; he was bent by rheumatism, which had left him stiff, -and his hands were mere human talons. - -Paul was busy unhooking the traces from the swingletrees and untying the -straps of the leather collars, when Ralph's voice came to him above the -creaking of the harness and impatient stamping of the hungry horses. - -"I noticed you took yore gun along this mornin'. Did you kill me a bird, -or a bushy-tail? Seems like my taste for salt pork is clean gone." - -"I didn't run across a thing," Paul answered, as he lifted the harness -from the lead horse and allowed the animal to go unguided to his stall -through the gate Ralph held open. "Besides, old Hoag counts my loads, -and keeps tab on my time. I can't dawdle much and draw wages from him." - -"Did he pay you anything to-day?" Ralph was filling his pipe, feebly -packing the tobacco into the bowl with a shaky forefinger. - -"He had no small change," Paul answered. "Said he would have some -to-morrow. You can wait till then, surely." - -"Oh yes, I'll have to make out, I reckon." - -At this juncture a woman appeared in the kitchen doorway. She was -a blue-eyed, blond-haired creature of solid build in a soiled gray -print-dress. She was Paul's aunt, Amanda Wilks, his mother's sister, a -spinster of middle age with a cheerful exterior and a kindly voice. - -"You'd better come on in and git yore supper, Paul," she called out. -"You like yore mush hot, and it can't be kept that away after it's done -without bakin' it like a pone o' bread. You've got to take it with -sour blue-john, too. Yore ma forgot to put yesterday's milk in the -spring-house, and the cow kicked over to-night's supply just as I -squirted the last spoonful in the bucket. Thar is some cold pork and -beans. You'll have to make out." - -"I didn't expect to get anythin' t'eat!" Paul fumed, hot with a healthy -boy's disappointment, and he tossed the remainder of the harness on to -the wagon and followed the horse to the stall. He was in the stable for -several minutes. His father heard him muttering inarticulately as he -pulled down bundles of fodder from the loft, broke their bands, and -threw ears of corn into the troughs. Ralph sucked his pipe audibly, -slouched to the stable-door under a burden of sudden concern, and looked -in at his son between the two heads of the munching animals. - -"Come on in," he said, persuasively. "I know you are mad, and you have -every right to be after yore hard work from break o' day till now; but -nobody kin depend on women. Mandy's been makin' yore ma a hat all day. -Flowery gewgaws an' grub don't go together." - -Paul came out. "Never mind," he said. "It don't make no difference. -Anything will do." Father and son walked side by side into the -fire-lighted kitchen. A clothless table holding a few dishes and pans -stood in the center of the room. Just outside the door, on a little -roofless porch, there was a shelf which held a tin basin, a cedar pail -containing water, and a gourd dipper with a long, curved handle. And -going to this shelf, Paul filled the basin and bathed his face and -hands, after which he turned to a soiled towel on a roller against the -weatherboarding and wiped himself dry, raking back his rebellious hair -with a bit of a comb, while his father stood close by watching him with -the gaze of an affectionate dog. - -"That'll do, that'll do," Ralph attempted to jest. "Thar ain't no -company here for you to put on airs before. Set down! set down!" - -Paul obeyed, and his father remained smoking in the doorway, still -eying him with attentive consideration. Amanda brought from the fire a -frying-pan containing the hot, bubbling mush, and pushed an empty brown -bowl and spoon toward him. - -"Help yoreself; thar's the milk in the pan," she said. "If it is too -sour you might stir a spoonful o' 'lasses in it. I've heard folks say it -helps a sight." - -Paul was still angry, but he said nothing, and helped himself abundantly -to the mush. However, he sniffed audibly as he lifted the pan and poured -some of the thin, bluish fluid into his bowl. - -"It wasn't my fault about the cow," Amanda contended. "Scorchin' weather -like this is the dickens on dumb brutes. Sook was a-pawin' an' switchin' -'er tail all the time I had hold of 'er tits. It must 'a' been a -stingin' fly that got in a tender spot. Bang, bang! was all the warnin' -I had, an' I found myself soaked from head to foot with milk. I've heard -o' fine society folks, queens an' the like, washin' all over in it to -soften their skins and limber their joints; but I don't need nothin' -o' that sort. Yore ma's not back yet. She went over to see about the -singin'-class they want her in. She had on 'er best duds an' new hat, -and looked like a gal o' twenty. She was as frisky as a young colt. -I ironed 'er pink sash, an' put in a little starch to mash out the -wrinkles and make it stand stiff-like. They all say she's got the best -alto in Grayson. I rolled 'er hair up in papers last night, an' tuck it -down to-day. You never saw sech pretty kinks in your life. Jeff Warren -come to practise their duet, an' him and Addie stood out in the yard an' -run the scales an' sung several pieces together. It sounded fine, an' -if I had ever had any use for 'im I'd have enjoyed it more; but I never -could abide 'im. He gits in too many fights, and got gay too quick after -he buried his wife. He was dressed as fine as a fiddle, an' had a joke -for every minute. Folks say he never loved Susie, an' I reckon they -wasn't any too well matched. She never had a well day in 'er life, and -I reckon it was a blessed thing she was took. A tenor voice an' a dandy -appearance are pore consolations to a dyin' woman. But he treats women -polite--I'll say that for 'im." - -Paul had finished his mush and milk, and helped himself to the cold -string-beans and fat boiled pork. His father had reached for a chair, -tilted it against the door-jamb, and seated himself in it. He eyed his -son as if the boy's strength and rugged health were consoling reminders -of his own adolescence. Suddenly, out of the still twilight which -brooded over the fields and meadows and swathed the mountain-tops, came -the blending voices of two singers. It was a familiar hymn, and its -rendition was not unmelodious, for it held a sweet, mystic quality that -vaguely appealed. - -"That's Jeff an' Addie now!" Amanda eagerly exclaimed. She went to the -door and stood leaning against the lintel. She sighed, and her voice -became full and round. "Ain't that just too sweet for anything? I reckon -they are both puffed up over the way folks take on over their music. -Ever since they sang that duet at Sleepy Hollow camp-meetin' folks -hain't talked of anything else." - -Paul sat with suspended knife and fork and listened. His father clutched -the back of his chair stiffly, bore it into the yard, and eased himself -into it. Paul watched him through the doorway, as he sat in the shadows, -now bent over, his thin body as rigid and still as if carved from stone. -The singing grew nearer and nearer. It seemed to float on the twilight -like a vibrant vapor. The boy finished his supper and went out into the -yard. His aunt had seated herself on the door-step, still entranced by -the music. Paul moved softly across the grass to his father; but Ralph -was unconscious of his presence. Paul saw him take in a deep, trembling -breath, and heard him utter a long, suppressed sigh. - -"What's the matter, Pa?" the boy asked, a touch of somnolent tenderness -in his tone. - -"Matter? Me? Why, nothin', nothin'!" - -Ralph started, lifted his wide-open eyes, in which a far-away expression -lay. - -"What did you ax me _that_ for?" - -"I thought you looked bothered," Paul made answer, and he sank on the -grass at his father's feet. - -"Me? No, I'm all right." Ralph distinctly avoided his son's eyes, and -that was a departure. He fumbled in his pocket for his pipe and tobacco, -and finally got them out, only to hold them in inactive hands. - -The singing was over. There was a sound of merry laughter beyond the -stable and corn-crib, and Jeff Warren's voice rose quite audibly: - -"I thought I'd split my sides laughin'," he was heard to say, with a -satisfied chuckle, "when Bart Perry riz an' called for order and began -to state what the plan was to be. He was electin' hisself chief leader, -an' never dreamt the slightest opposition; but I'd told a round dozen or -more that if he led me'n you'd pull out, an' so I was lookin' for just -what happened. Old Thad Thomas winked at me sorter on the side and -jumped up an' said, 'All in favor of electin' Jeff Warren leader make -it known by standin', an' every woman an' man-jack thar stood up, an' as -Bart already had the floor, an' was ashamed to set down, he hisself made -it unanimous. But Lord! he was as red as a turkey-gobbler an' mad as -Tucker." - -The low reply of the woman did not reach the trio in the yard, and a -moment later the couple parted at the front gate. Mrs. Rundel came -round the house through the garden, walking hurriedly and yet with a -daintiness of step that gave a certain grace to her movement. She wore -a neat, cool-looking white muslin dress, was slender, and had good, -regular features, light-brown eyes, abundant chestnut hair, which was -becomingly arranged under a pretty hat. - -"Supper's over, I know," she said, lightly, as she paused at the -door-step and faced her sister. "Well, they all just wouldn't break up -earlier. They sang and sang till the last one was ready to drop. Singers -is that a way when they haven't been together in a long time. Don't -bother about me. I ain't a bit hungry. Mrs. Treadwell passed around some -sliced ham an' bread, an' we had all the buttermilk we could drink." - -"Tell me about it," Amanda demanded, eagerly. "What was it Jeff was -sayin' about Bart Perry?" - -"Oh, Bart was squelched in good fashion." Mrs. Rundel glanced at the -shadowy shapes of her husband and son, and then back to the eager face -of the questioner. "You know what a stuck-up fool he is. He come there -to run things, and he set in at it from the start. He hushed us up when -we was all havin' a good time talkin', and begun a long-winded tirade -about the big singin' he'd done over at Darley when he was workin' in -the cotton-mill. He pointed to our song-books, which have shaped notes, -you know, and sniffed, and said they belonged to the backest of the -backwoods--said the notes looked like children's toy play-blocks, -chickencoops, dog-houses, an' what not. He laughed, but nobody else did. -He was in for burnin' the whole pile and layin' out more money for the -new-fangled sort." - -"I always knowed he was a fool for want o' sense," Amanda joined in, -sympathetically. "A peddler tried to sell me a song once that he said -was all the go in Atlanta; but when I saw them mustard-seed spots, like -tadpoles on a wire fence, I told him he couldn't take _me_ in. Anybody -with a grain o' sense knows it's easier to sing notes that you can tell -apart than them that look pine blank alike." - -"Some folks say it don't take long to learn the new way," Mrs. Rundel -remarked, from the standpoint of a professional; "but as Jeff said, we -hain't got any time to throw away when we all want to sing as bad as we -do." - -"Well, you'd better go in and take that dress off," Amanda advised, as -she reached out and caught the hem of the starched skirt and pulled it -down a little. "It shrinks every time it's washed, and you'll want to -wear it again right off, I'll bound you." - -"I don't want to wrinkle it any more than I have to," Mrs. Rundel -answered. "I want it to look nice next Sunday. We hold two sessions, -mornin' and evenin'; and next week--the day hasn't been set yet--we are -goin' to have a nip-and-tuck match with the Shady Grove class." - -"That will be a heap o' fun," Amanda said, as her sister passed her and -disappeared within. For a few minutes the trio in the yard were silent. -Ralph Rundel's pipe glowed in the darkness like a thing of fitful moods. -Paul had not heard a word of the foregoing conversation. Young as he -was, he had many things to think of. The affair with the Harris boys -flitted across his mind; in that, at least, he was satisfied; the vision -of the fleeing ruffians vaguely soothed him. Something he had read in -his book that day about Napoleon came back to him. - -It was the flashing of her sister's candle across the grass, as Mrs. -Rundel passed before a window, that drew Amanda's thoughts back to a -subject of which she was fond. - -"Folks has always said I spoiled Addie," she said to her brother-in-law, -in a plaintive tone, "an' it may be so. Bein' ten year older when ma -died, I was a mother to 'er in my best days. I had no chance myself, and -somehow I determined she should have what I missed. I certainly made it -easy for 'er. When she started to goin' to parties and out with young -men I was actually miserable if she ever missed a chance. You know that, -Rafe--you know what a plumb fool I was, considerin' how pore pa was." - -Ralph turned his head toward the speaker, but no sound came from him. -His head rocked, but whether it was meant as a form of response, or was -sinking wearily, no one but himself could have told. After that silence -fell, broken only by the grinding tread on the floor within. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -|PAUL stood up, threw his arms backward languidly, and stretched -himself. - -"Goin' to bed?" his father inquired, absent-mindedly. - -"No, down to the creek; there was a plenty of cats and eels running last -night. Where's my cup of bait?" - -"I hain't touched it--I hain't dropped a hook in water for over two -years. My hands shake, an' I can't hold a pole steady. The bait's with -your tackle, I reckon." - -Paul went to the wagon-shed adjoining the stable, and from the slanting -roof took down a pair of long canes, from the tapering ends of which -dangled crude, home-twisted lines, to which were attached rusty hooks -and bits of hammered lead, and, with the poles on his shoulder and the -bait-cup in his hand, he went down the path to the creek near by. He -had a subtle fondness for Nature, in any mood or dress, and the mystic -landscape to-night appealed to a certain famished longing within him--a -sense of an unattainable something which haunted him in his reflective -moods. The stars were coming out in the unclouded skies, revealing the -black outlines of the mountain, the intervening foot-hills, the level -meadows, where the cattle and sheep lay asleep, and over which fireflies -were darting and flashing their tiny search-lights. The sultry air held -the aroma of new-cut hay, of crushed and dying clover-blossom. The snarl -of the tree-frog and the chirp of the cricket were heard close at hand, -and in the far distance the doleful howling of a dog came in response to -the voice of another, so much farther away that it sounded softer than -an echo. - -Presently Paul reached a spot on the creek-bank where the creeping -forest-fires had burned the bushes away, and where an abrupt curve of -the stream formed a swirling eddy, on the surface of which floated a -mass of driftwood, leaves, twigs, and pieces of bark. Baiting his hooks, -he lowered them into the water, fastening one pole in the earth and -holding the other in his hands. He had not long to wait, for soon there -was a vigorous jerking and tugging at the pole in his hands. - -"That's an eel now!" the sportsman chuckled; "an' I'll land 'im, if he -don't wind his tail round a snag and break my line." - -Eels are hard to catch, and this one was seen to be nearly a yard in -length when Paul managed to drag it ashore. Even out of water an eel is -hard to conquer, for Nature has supplied it with a slimy skin that aids -it to evade the strongest human grip. The boy sprang upon his prey and -grasped it, but it wriggled from his hands, arms, and knees, and like an -animated rubber tube bounded toward the stream. - -"Nail 'im, nail 'im!" cried out Ralph Rundel, excitedly, quickening his -stride down the path. "Put sand on yore hands! Lemme show you--thar -now, you got 'im--hold 'im till I--" But the snakelike thing, held for a -moment in Paul's eager arms, was away again. The boy and the man bumped -against each other as they sprang after it, and Ralph was fortunate -enough to put the heel of his shoe on it's head and grind it into the -earth. The dying thing coiled its lithe body round the man's ankle like -a boa, and then gradually relaxed. - -Now, fully alive to the sport, Paul gave all his attention to rebaiting -his hook. "This one raised such a racket he has scared all the rest -off," he muttered, his eyes on his line. - -"They'll come back purty soon," Ralph said, consolingly. He sat down -on the sand and began to fill his pipe. His excitement over the eel's -capture had lived only a moment. There was a fixed stare in his eyes, a -dreamy, contemplative note of weariness in his voice, which was that of -a man who had outgrown all earthly interests. - -"How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord!" - -It was the mellow, sonorous voice of Jeff Warren singing at his home -across the fields. - -"Humph! He gits a heap o' fun out of that, fust an' last," Ralph -remarked, sardonically, and he shrugged his frail shoulders. "It ain't -so much the singin' he loves--if I'm any judge--as what it fetches to -his net, as the sayin' is. He is a born lady's man. Jeff knows exactly -when an' how to say the things that tickle a woman's fancy. I think--I -think yore ma loves to hear 'im talk mighty nigh as well as she loves to -hear 'im sing. I don't know"--a slight pause--"I say I don't know, but I -_think_ so." - -Paul thought he had a bite, and he raised his hook to see if the bait -was intact. Ralph sighed audibly. He embraced his thin knees with his -arms, and held the unlighted pipe in his hands. The hook was back in the -water; the boy's face was half averted. - -"Thar's a good many points about Jeff that women like," Ralph resumed, -in a forced, tentative tone. "He's a strappin', fine-lookin' feller, for -one thing; young, strong, an' always gittin' in fights over some'n or -other. The impression is out amongst women an' gals that he won't let -nobody pass the slightest slur ag'in' one o' the sex in his hearin'. -That will take a man a long way in the opinion of females; but all the -same, he's a sly devil. He'll do to watch--in my opinion, that is. -I've thought some that maybe--well, I don't know that I'd go that fur -neither; but a feller like me, for instance, will have odd notions once -in a while, especially if he ain't actively engaged an' busy, like I am -most o' the time since I've been so porely. I was goin' to say that I -didn't know but what I ort to sorter, you know"--Ralph hesitated, and -then plunged--"warn yore mother to--to go it sorter slow with Jeff." - -Paul turned his back on the speaker and began to examine the bait on -his hook; he shrugged his shoulders sensitively, and even in the -vague starlight evinced a certain show of awkwardness. But Ralph was -unobservant; his mental pictures were evidently more clear to him than -material ones. - -"Yore aunt Mandy is right," Ralph resumed. "She shorely did spoil yore -ma for any real responsibility in life. La me! it was the talk of the -neighborhood--I mean Mandy's love-affair was. She was just a gal when -she took a big fancy to a Yankee soldier that come along in one o' -Sherman's regiments. He was to come back after the war was over, but he -never did. It mighty nigh killed 'er; but yore ma was then growin' up, -and Mandy just seemed to find comfort in pamperin' and indulgin' her. -Addie certainly got all that was a-goin'! No gal in the neighborhood had -nicer fixin's; she was just like a doll kept in a bandbox. Stacks and -stacks o' fellows was after her, me in the bunch, of course. At first it -looked like I didn't stand much of a show; but my grandfather died about -then an' left me the farm I used to own. I reckon that turned the -scale, for the rest o' the fellows didn't own a foot o' land, a stick o' -timber, or a head o' stock. I say it turned the scale, but I don't mean -that Addie cared much one way or the other. Mandy had it in hand. I -begun to see that she sorter held the rest off and throwed me an' Addie -together like at every possible chance--laughin' an' jokin' an' takin' -a big interest an' tellin' me she was on my side. You see, it was a case -o' the real thing with me. From the fust day I ever laid eyes on yore -ma, an' heard 'er talk in her babyish way, I couldn't think o' nothin' -else. I felt a little squeamish over bein' so much older 'an her; but -Mandy laughed good an' hearty, an' said we'd grow together as time -passed. Addie kept me in hot water for a long while even after -that--looked like she didn't want Mandy to manage for her, an' kicked -over the traces some. I remember I had to beg an' beg, an' Mandy argued -an' scolded an' nagged till Addie finally consented. But, la me! how a -feller's hopes kin fall! Hard times came. I borrowed on my land to keep -Addie supplied with nice things, an' my crops went crooked. I lost money -in a sawmill, an' finally got to be a land-renter like I am now, low -in health an' spirits, an' dependent on you for even my -tobacco--_tobacco_." Ralph repeated the word, for his voice had become -indistinct. - -"That's all right," Paul said, testily. "Go on to bed. Settin' up like -this ain't goin' to do you no good." - -"It does me more good'n you think," Ralph asserted. "I hold in all day -long with not a soul to talk to, an' dyin' to say things to somebody. I -ain't hardly got started. Thar's a heap more--a heap that I'm afraid you -are too young to understand; but you will some day. Yore time will come, -too. Yore lady-love will cross yore track, an' you'll see visions in her -eyes that never was on land or sea. I look at you sometimes an' think -that maybe you will become a great man, an' I'll tell you why. It is -because you are sech a hard worker an' stick to a job so steady, and -because you've got sech a hot, spicy temper when folks rile you by -treatin' you wrong. Folks say thar is some'n in blood, an' I don't -want you to think because I'm sech a flat failure that you have to be. -Experts in sech matters say that a body is just as apt to copy after -far-off kin as that which is close by, and I want to tell you something. -It is about the Rundel stock. Three year ago, when I was a witness in -a moonshine case at government court, in Atlanta, my expenses was paid, -an' I went down, an' while I was in the city a feller called on me at my -boardin'-house. He said the paper had printed my name in connection with -the case, an' he looked me up because he was interested in everybody by -the name o' Rundel. He was writin' a family history for some rich -folks that wanted it all down in black an' white to keep for future -generations to look at. He was dressed fine, and talked like a presidin' -elder or a bishop. He told me, what I never had heard before, that the -name ought to be spelled with an A in front--Arundel. He had a short way -o' twistin' it that I can't remember. He said thar was several ways o' -callin' the name, an' he laughed an' said he met one old backwoods chap -in Kentucky that said his was 'Runnels' because his neighbors called -'im that, an' he liked the sound of it. He set for a good hour or more -tellin' me about the ups an' downs of folks by the name. He said what -made the whole thing so encouragin' was that the majority of 'em was -continually on the rise. He'd knowed 'em, he said, to be plumb down an' -out for several generations, an' then to pop up an' produce a man of -great fame an' power. He had a list o' big guns as long as yore arm. I -knowed I was too far gone to benefit by it myself, but I thought about -you, an' I felt comforted. I've always remembered with hope an' pride, -too, what Silas Tye told me about the tramp phrenologist that examined -heads at his shop one day. He said men was payin' the'r quarters an' -listenin' to predictions an' hearin' nothin' of any weight; but that the -feller kept lookin' at you while you set waitin', an' finally Tye said -the feller told the crowd that you had sech a fine head an' eye an' -shaped hands an' feet an' ankles, like a blooded hoss, that he would -pass on you for nothin'. Tye said you got mad an' went off in a big -huff; but the feller stuck to what he'd said. He declared you'd make -yore way up in the world as sure as fate, if you wasn't halted by some -accident or other." - -Paul saw his line moving forward, his tense hands eagerly clutching his -rod, but the swishing cord suddenly became slack on the surface of the -water. An impatient oath slipped from his lips. - -"Snapped my line right at the sinker!" he cried. "He was a jim-dandy, -too, bigger than that one." He threw the pole with the broken line on -the bank and grasped the other. If he had heard the rambling talk of his -father it was completely forgotten. - -"Folks laugh at me'n you both," Ralph ran on, a softer cadence in his -voice. "They say I've been a mammy to you, a nuss' an' what not. Well, I -reckon thar's truth in it. After I found--found that me'n yore ma wasn't -the sweethearts I thought we would be, an' you'd come an' looked so -little an' red an' helpless in the pore little cradle I made out of a -candle-box with wobbly rockers--I say, I reckon then that I did sorter -take yore ma's place. She wasn't givin' milk, an' the midwife advised a -bottle, and it looked like neither one o' the women would keep it filled -an' give it at the right time. I'd go to the field an' try to work, but -fearin' you was neglected I'd go to the house an' take you up an' tote -you about. It was turnin' things the wrong way, I reckon, but I was a -plumb fool about you. Yore mother seemed willin' to shift the job, an' -yore aunt was always busy fixin' this or that trick for her to wear. But -I ain't complainin'--understand that--I liked it. Yore little warm, soft -body used to give me a feelin' no man kin describe. An' I suffered, too. -Many a night I got up when you was croupy, an' uncovered the fire an' -put on wood an' set an' rocked you, fearin' every wheezy breath you -drawed would stop in yore throat. But I got my reward, if reward was -deserved, for you gave me the only love that I ever knowed about. Even -as a baby you'd cry for me--cry when I left you, an' coo an' chuckle, -an' hold out yore little chubby hands whenever I come. As you got older -you'd toddle down the field-road to meet me, yore yaller, flaxen head -hardly as high as the broom-sedge. I loved to tote you even after you -got so big folks said I looked ridiculous. You was about seven when my -wagon run over me an' laid me up for a spell. I'll never forget how you -acted. You was the only one in the family that seemed a bit bothered. -You'd come to my bed the minute you got home from school, an' set thar -an' rub my head. While that spell lasted I was the baby, an' you the -mammy, an' to this day I ain't able to recall a happier time." - -Ralph rose and stood by his son for a moment, his gaze on the steady -rod. "I'll take the eel to the house," he said, "an' skin it an' slice -it up an' salt it down for breakfast. You may find me in yore bed. This -is one o' the times I feel like sleepin' with you--that is, if you don't -care?" - -"It is all right, go ahead," Paul said; "there is plenty of room." - -With the eel swinging in his hand, his body bent, Ralph trudged toward -the house, which, a dun blur on the landscape, showed in the hazy -starlight. A dewy robe had settled on every visible object. An owl -was dismally hooting in the wood, which sloped down from the craggy -mountain. In the stagnant pools of the lowlands frogs were croaking, -hooting, and snarling; the mountain-ridge, with its serried -trees against the sky, looked like a vast sleeping monster under -cloud-coverings. - -Now and then Jeff Warren was heard singing. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -|AT certain times during the year Paul was en abled to earn a little -extra money by hauling fire-wood to the village and selling it to the -householders. One morning he was standing by his wagon, waiting for -a customer for a load of oak, when Hoag came from the bar-room at the -hotel and steered toward him. The planter's face was slightly flushed -from drink, and he was in a jovial mood. - -"Been playing billiards," he said, thickly, and he jerked his thumb -toward the green, swinging doors of the bar. "Had six tilts with a St. -Louis drummer, an' beat the socks off of 'im. I won his treats an' I'm -just a little bit full, but it will wear off. It's got to. I'm goin' in -to eat dinner with my sister--you've seen 'er--Mrs. Mayfield. She's up -from Atlanta with her little girl to git the mountain air an' country -cookin'." - -At this moment Peter Kerr, the proprietor of the hotel, came out ringing -the dinner-bell. He was a medium-sized man of forty, with black eyes and -hair, the skin of a Spaniard, and an ever-present, complacent smile. He -strode from end to end of the long veranda, swinging the bell in front -of him. When Kerr was near, Hoag motioned to him to approach, and Kerr -did so, silencing the bell by catching hold of the clapper and swinging -the handle downward. Hoag laid his hand on Paul's shoulder and bore down -with unconscious weight. - -"Say, Pete," he said, "you know this boy?" - -"Oh, yes, everybody does, I reckon," Kerr answered patronizingly. - -"Well, he's the best hand I've got," Hoag said, sincerely enough; "the -hardest worker in seven States. Now, here's what I want. Paul eats -out at my home as a rule an' he's got to git dinner here at my expense -to-day. Charge it to me." - -Paul flushed hotly--an unusual thing for him--and shook his head. - -"I'm goin' _home_ to dinner," he stammered, his glance averted. - -"You'll do nothing of the sort," Hoag objected, warmly. "You've got that -wood to sell, an' nobody will buy it at dinner-time. Every livin' -soul is at home. Besides, I want to talk over some matters with you -afterward. Fix 'im a place, Pete, an' make them niggers wait on 'im." - -There was no way out of it, and Paul reluctantly gave in. With burly -roughness, which was not free from open patronage, the planter caught -him by the arm and drew him up the steps of the hotel and on into the -house, which Paul knew but slightly, having been there only once or -twice to sell game, vegetables, or other farm produce. - -The office was noisily full of farmers, traveling salesmen, lawyers, -merchants, and clerks who boarded there or dropped in to meals at the -special rate given to all citizens of the place and vicinity. On the -right hand was a long, narrow "wash-room." It had shelves holding basins -and pails of water, sloping troughs into which slops were poured, towels -on wooden rollers, and looking-glasses from the oaken frames of which -dangled, at the ends of strings, uncleanly combs and brushes. - -When he had bathed his face and hands and brushed his hair, Paul -returned to the office, where the proprietor--with some more -patronage--took him by the arm and led him to the door of the big -dining-room. It was a memorable event in the boy's life. He was -overwhelmed with awe; he had the feeling that his real ego was -encumbered with those alien things--legs, arms, body, and blood which -madly throbbed in his veins and packed into his face. He would not have -hesitated for an instant to engage in a hand-to-hand fight with a man -wearing the raiment of an emperor's guard, if occasion had demanded it; -but this new thing under the heavens gave him pause as nothing else ever -had done. The low-ceiled room, with its many windows curtained in white, -gauzy stuff, long tables covered with snowy linen, glittering glass, -sparkling plated-ware, and gleaming china, seemed to have sprung into -being by some enchantment full of designs against his timidity. There -was a clatter of dishes, knives, forks, and spoons; a busy hum of -voices; the patter of swift-moving feet; the jar and bang of the door -opening into the adjoining kitchen, as the white-aproned negroes darted -here and there, holding aloft trays of food. - -Seeing Paul hesitating where the proprietor had left him, the negro head -waiter came and led him to a seat at a small table in a corner somewhat -removed from the other diners. It was the boy's rough aspect and poor -clothing which had caused this discrimination against him, but he was -unaware of the difference. Indeed, he was overjoyed to find that his -entrance and presence were unnoticed. He felt very much out of place -with all those queer dishes before him. The napkin, folded in a goblet -at his plate, was a thing he had heard of but never used, and it -remained unopened, even after the waiter had shaken it out of the goblet -to give him ice-water. There were hand-written bills of fare on the -other tables, but the waiter simply brought Paul a goodly supply of food -and left him. He was a natural human being and unusually hungry, and -for a few moments he all but forgot his surroundings in pure animal -enjoyment. His appetite satisfied, he sat drinking his coffee and -looking about the room. On his right was a long table, at which sat -eight or ten traveling salesmen; and in their unstudied men-of-the-world -ease, as they sat ordering cigars from the office, striking matches -under their chairs, and smoking in lounging attitudes, telling yams and -jesting with one another, they seemed to the boy to be a class quite -worthy of envy. They dressed well; they spent money; they knew all the -latest jokes; they traveled on trains and lived in hotels; they had seen -the great outer world. Paul decided that he would like to be a drummer; -but something told him that he would never be anything but what he was, -a laborer in the open air--a servant who had to be obedient to another's -will or starve. - -At this moment his attention was drawn to the entrance. Hoag was coming -in accompanied by a lady and little girl, and, treading ponderously, -he led them down the side of the room to a table on Paul's left. Hoag -seemed quite a different man, with his unwonted and clumsy air of -gallantry as he stood holding the back of his sister's chair, which he -had drawn out, and spoke to the head waiter about "something special" he -had told the cook to prepare. And when he sat down he seemed quite out -of place, Paul thought, in the company of persons of so much obvious -refinement. He certainly bore no resemblance to his sister or his niece. -Mrs. Mayfield had a fair, smooth brow, over which the brown tresses fell -in gentle waves; a slender body, thin neck, and white, tapering hands. -But it was Ethel, the little girl, who captured and held from that -moment forth the attention of the mountain-boy. Paul had never beheld -such dainty, appealing loveliness. She was as white and fair as a lily. -Her long-lashed eyes were blue and dreamy; her nose, lips, and chin -perfect in contour. She wore a pretty dress of dainty blue, with white -stockings and pointed slippers. How irreverent, even contaminating, -seemed Hoag's coarse hand when it rested once on her head as he smiled -carelessly into the girl's face! Paul felt his blood boil and throb. - -"Half drunk!" he muttered. "He's a hog, and ought to be kicked." - -Then he saw that Hoag had observed him, and to his great consternation -the planter sat smiling and pointing the prongs of his fork at him. Paul -heard his name called, and both the lady and her daughter glanced at him -and smiled in quite a friendly way, as if the fork had introduced them. -Paul felt the blood rush to his face; a blinding mist fell before his -eyes, and the whole noisy room became a chaos of floating objects. -When his sight cleared he saw that the three were looking in another -direction; but his embarrassment was not over, for the head waiter came -to him just then and told him that Mr. Hoag wanted him to come to his -table as soon as his dinner was finished. - -Paul gulped his coffee down now in actual terror of something -intangible, and yet more to be dreaded than anything he had ever before -encountered. He was quite certain that he would not obey. Hoag -might take offense, swear at him, discharge him; but that was of no -consequence beside the horrible ordeal the man's drunken brain had -devised. Hoag was again looking at him; he was smiling broadly, -confidently, and swung his head to one side in a gesture which commanded -Paul to come over. Mrs. Mayfield's face also wore a slight smile of -agreement with her brother's mood; but Ethel, the little girl, kept -her long-lashed and somewhat conscious eyes on the table. Again the -hot waves of confusion beat in Paul's face, brow, and eyes. He doggedly -shook his head at Hoag, and then his heart sank, for he knew that he was -also responding to the lady's smile in a way that was unbecoming in a -boy even of the lowest order, yet he was powerless to act otherwise. -Like a blind man driven desperate by encroaching danger that could not -be located, he rose, turned toward the door, and fairly plunged forward. -The toe of his right foot struck the heel of his left, and he stumbled -and almost fell. To get out he had to pass close to Hoag's table, and -though he did not look at the trio, he felt their surprised stare on -him, and knew that they were reading his humiliation in his flaming -face. He heard the planter laugh in high merriment, and caught the -words: "Come here, you young fool, we are not goin' to bite you!" - -It seemed to the boy, as he incontinently fled the spot, that the whole -room had witnessed his disgrace. In fancy he heard the waiters laughing -and the amused comments of the drummers. - -The landlord tried to detain him as he hurried through the office. - -"Did you git enough t'eat?" he asked; but, as if pursued by a horde of -furies, Paul dashed on into the street. - -He found a man inspecting his load of wood and sold it to him, receiving -instructions as to which house to take it to and where it was to be -left. With the hot sense of humiliation still on him, he drove down the -street to the rear fence of a cottage and threw the wood over, swearing -at himself, at Hoag, at life in general, but through it all he saw -Ethel Mayfield's long, golden hair, her eyes of dreamy blue, and pretty, -curving lips. She remained in his thoughts as he drove his rattling -wagon home through the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. She was in -his mind so much, indeed, from that day on, that he avoided contact with -the members of his family. He loved to steal away into the woods alone, -or to the hilltops, and fancy that she was with him listening to his -wise explanation of this or that rural thing which a girl from a city -could not know, and which a girl from a city, to be well informed, ought -to know. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -|BY chance he met her a week or so later. She and her mother were -spending the day at Hoag's, and near noon Ethel had strolled across the -pasture, gathering wild-flowers. Paul had been working at the tannery -assisting a negro crushing bark for the vats, and was starting home to -get his dinner when he saw her. She wore a big sailor hat and a very -becoming dress of a different color from the one he had first seen her -in. He wanted to take a good look at her, but was afraid she would see -him. She had her hands full of flowers and fern leaves, and was daintily -picking her way through the thick broom-sedge. He had passed on, and his -back was to her when he heard her scream out in fright, and, turning, -he saw her running toward him. He hurried back, climbed over the rail -fence, and met her. "A snake, a snake!" she cried, white with terror. -"Where?" he asked, boyishly conscious that his moment had arrived for -showing contempt for all such trivialities. - -"There," she pointed, "back under those rocks. It was coiled up right -under my feet and ran when it saw me." - -There was a fallen branch of a tree near by, and coolly picking it up -he broke it across his knee to the length of a cudgel, then twisted the -twigs and bark off. He swung it easily like a ball-player handling a -bat. - -"Now, come show me," he said, riding on a veritable cloud of -self-confidence. "Where did it go?" - -"Oh, I'm afraid!" she cried. "Don't go, it will bite you!" - -He laughed contemptuously. "How could it?" he sneered. "It wouldn't -stand a ghost of a chance against this club." He advanced to the pile -of rocks she now indicated, and she stood aloof, holding her breath, her -little hands pressed to her white cheeks, as he began prying the stones -and boldly thrusting into crevices. Presently from the heap a brownish -snake ran. Ethel saw it and screamed again; but even as he struck she -heard him laugh derisively. "Don't be silly!" he said, and the next -moment he had the dying thing by the tail, calmly holding it up for her -inspection, its battered and flattened head touching the ground. - -"It's a highland moccasin," he nonchalantly instructed her. "They are as -poisonous as rattlers. It's a good thing you didn't step on it, I tell -you. They lie in the sun, and fellers mowing hay sometimes get bit to -the bone." - -"Drop it! Put it down!" Ethel cried, her pretty face still pale. "Look, -it's moving!" - -"Oh, it will wiggle that way till the sun goes down," he smiled down -from his biological height; "but it is plumb done for. Lawsy me! I've -killed more of them than I've got fingers and toes." - -Reassured, she drew nearer and looked at him admiringly. He was -certainly a strong, well-formed lad, and his courage was unquestionable. -Out of respect for her fears he dropped the reptile, and she bent down -and examined it. Again the strange, new power she had from the first -exercised over him seemed to exude from her whole being, and he felt -a return of the cold, insecure sensation of the hotel dining-room. His -heart seemed to be pumping its blood straight to his face and brain. Her -little white hands were so frail and flower-like; her golden tresses, -falling over her proud shoulders like a gauzy mantle, gave out a -delicate fragrance. What a vision of loveliness! Seen close at hand, -she was even prettier than he had thought. He had once admired Sally -Tibbits, whom he had kissed at a corn-husking, as a reward for finding -the red ear which lay almost in Sally's lap, and which, according to -the game, she could have hidden; but Sally had never worn shoes, that -he could remember, and as he recalled her now, by way of comparison, her -legs were ridiculously brown and brier-scratched; her homespun dress was -a poor bag of a thing, and her dingy chestnut hair seemed as lifeless as -her neglected complexion. And Ethel's voice! He had never heard anything -so mellow, soft, and bewitching. She seemed like a princess in one of -his storybooks, the sort tailors' sons used to meet and marry by rubbing -up old lamps. - -"What are you going to do with it?" She looked straight at him, and he -felt the force of her royal eyes. - -"Well, I don't intend to take it to the graveyard," he boldly jested. -"I'll leave it here for the buzzards." He pointed to the cloud-flecked -sky, where several vultures were slowly circling. "They'll settle here -as soon as our backs are turned. Folks say they go by the smell of -rotten flesh, but I believe their sense is keener than that. I wouldn't -be much surprised if they watched and seed me kill that snake." - -"How funny you talk!" Ethel said, in no tone of disrespect, but rather -that of the mild inquisitiveness of a stranger studying a foreign -tongue. "You said _seed_ for _saw_. Why, my teacher would give me awful -marks if I made a mistake like that. Of course, it may be correct here -in the mountains." Paul flushed a deeper red; there was a touch of -resentment in his voice. - -"Folks talk that way round here," he blurted out; "grown-up folks. We -don't try to put on style like stuck-up town folks." - -"Please forgive me." Ethel's voice fell; she put out her hand and -lightly touched his. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, and I never -will say such a thing again--never, on my honor." - -He bitterly repented it afterward, but he rudely drew his hand away, and -stood frowning, his glance averted. - -"I am very sorry," Ethel said, "and I can't blame you--I really can't. -What I said was a great deal worse than your little mistake. My mother -says rudeness is never excusable." - -"Oh, it's all right," he gave in, as gracefully as he could. - -"And are you sure you aren't mad with me?" she pursued, anxiously. - -"Nothin' to be mad about," he returned, kicking the snake with his foot. - -"Well, I hope you won't hate me," she said. "I feel that I know you -pretty well. Uncle told us a lot about you that day at the hotel. He -said you were the bravest boy he ever saw and the hardest worker. I saw -you looked embarrassed that day, and he had no right to tease you as he -did; but he was--of course, you know what was the matter with him?" - -Paul nodded. "I wasn't going to pay any attention to him," he declared. -"I wasn't--wasn't fixed up fit to--to be seen by anybody, any more than -I am now, for that matter; but I can't do the work I have to do and go -dressed like a town dude." - -"Of course not--of course not," Ethel agreed, sympathetically, "and -Uncle says you spend all you make on others, anyway. He was telling us -about how you loved your father and took care of him. You know, I think -that is wonderful, and so does mama. Boys are not like that in Atlanta; -they are lazy and spoiled, and bad, generally. People in a city are so -different, you know. Mama says the greatest men were once poor country -boys. I'd think that was encouraging, if I was--if I _were_ you--see, -I make slips myself! After _if_ you must always say were to be strictly -correct. Just think of it, when I am grown up you may be a great man, -and be ashamed even to know me." - -He shrugged his shoulders and frowned. The flush had partly left his -face, leaving splotches of white here and there. "No hopes of me ever -mak-in' any sort of rise," he declared. "There is too much to do at -home; I don't get time to go to school or study." - -"What a pity!" Ethel sighed. She swept him from head to foot critically. -Touches of pink lay on her cheeks just below her earnest eyes. "You are -good-looking--you--you really are handsome, and so strong and brave! -Somehow I feel certain that you are going to be successful. I--I am -going to pray for it. They say God answers prayers when they are the -right kind, and I know mine would be right." - -"I don't believe any of that rubbish," he said, loftily. "I've heard -your uncle Jim laugh at the preachers and folks that get converted one -day and are plumb over it the next. He says they are the biggest fools -in the world." - -"I know he talks that way, and it worries mama awfully," the girl said. -"I'm afraid he's terribly bad. You see, he drinks, plays cards, curses, -and is hard on the negroes who work for him. Now, the truth is that -the people who go to church really are better than he is, and that, in -itself, ought to show he's wrong--don't you think so?" - -"He just uses his natural brain," Paul returned, philosophically. "He -says there is just one life, an' he's goin' to get all he can out of it. -I don't blame him. He's rich--he can buy and sell the folks round here -that say he don't know what he's talkin' about. He says there ain't no -God, and he can prove it. He made it purty plain one day while he was -talking to a crowd at the tan-yard. He told 'em, if they believed there -was any such thing, for 'em to pray for some'n and see if they'd get it. -He told about a gang of Methodists that was praying for money to make a -church bigger, and the lightning struck it and burned it down." - -"Did you never pray yourself?" Ethel questioned, quite irrelevantly. - -He hesitated; his color flamed again in his face, and he avoided her -gentle, upward gaze. "Not--not since I was very little," he -said, awkwardly. "I don't believe in it; the whole shoutin', -singin-and-prayin' bunch of meetin'-folks make me sick. - -"Uncle is responsible for all that," Ethel declared. "You naturally -would look up to him; but I believe he is wrong--I really do. I like -good people, and, while he is my uncle, I--well, I don't feel the same -toward him as I would if he were a different sort of man." - -"He's all right," Paul defended. "He's rough, and curses some when -he's mad, but you can count on him to keep his word in a deal. He's no -hypocrite. Lots of folks believe as he does, but are afraid to own it; -he stands his ground and tells them all exactly what he thinks, and says -they can lump it." - -They had been walking side by side across the grass, and had reached -the point where their ways parted. He was turning homeward, when she -advanced impulsively and touched him almost timidly on the arm. Her -pretty red lip was quivering and her hand shook visibly. - -"I don't care what uncle says--or what _any one_ says. I believe there -is a God, and I believe He is good, and I am going to pray to Him to -make you have faith." - -There were incipient tears in her eyes, and, as if to avoid his -wondering stare, she lowered her head suddenly and walked away. - -At the front gate his father stood waiting for him, a mild look of -excitement in his weary eyes. "Heard the news?" he inquired. - -"No; what's happened?" Paul answered. - -"Enough, I reckon, to them that's hit by it," Ralph returned. "Old Alf -Rose, over t'other side o' the mountain, was found dead in a thicket -close to his house. He was beat bad, his skull was all mashed in." - -"Who did it?" Paul asked. - -"They don't know for sure; but he was robbed of all he had in his -pockets, an' his hat was gone. A nigger, Pete Watson, is missin', and -they say the sheriff and a passle o' deputies, an' half the county, are -out scourin' the woods for 'im. Ef they ketch 'im thar 'll be a lynchin' -as sure as preachin'." - -A voice now came from the farm-house. It was Amanda leaning out of the -kitchen window. - -"Come on in an' git yore dinner," she cried. "Don't listen to that stuff -or you won't eat a bite. Yore pa's chatter has already turned my stomach -inside out." - -"That's the woman of it," Ralph sniffed, wearily. "They both begged an' -begged for particulars, an' wormed every bit they could out o' me, an' -now they talk about its gaggin' em." - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -|THAT evening, after Hoag had put his sister and niece into his phaeton, -and told Cato, the negro driver, to take them to Grayson, he went back -to the veranda where his wife and her mother, Mrs. Sarah Tilton, stood -waving their handkerchiefs at the departing guests. Mrs. Hoag was a -thin, wanfaced woman of questionable age and health. In honor of the -visitors she wore her best black-silk gown, and its stiff, rigid folds -and white-lace collar gave her a prim and annual-excursion look. There -was a tired expression in her gray eyes, a nervous twitching of her -needle-pricked fingers. Her mother was of a lustier type, having a -goodly allotment of flesh, plenty of blood and activity of limb and -brain, and a tongue which occupied itself on every possible occasion -with equal loquacity in small or large affairs. - -"I couldn't help from thinkin' what an awful time we'd have had," she -was saying to her daughter, "if they had stayed here this summer instead -of at the hotel. I can stand it for a day or two, but three months on -a stretch would lay me stark and stiff in my grave. Did you ever in all -yore bom days see such finicky ways? They nibbled at the lettuce like -tame rabbits eatin' cabbage-leaves, and wiped their lips or fingers -every minute, whether they got grease on 'em or not, and then their -prissy talk! I _presume_, if Harriet said _presee-um_ once she did fully -a dozen times, an' I didn't know any more what it meant than if she'd -been talkin' Choctaw." - -"They are simply not used to our country ways," Mrs. Hoag sighed. "I -don't feel like they are, to say, stuck up. I think they was just tryin' -to be easy an' natural-like." - -"Maybe she'd find it easier to go back to the way she used to live -before her pa sent 'er off to that fine boardin'-school in Macon," -Mrs. Tilton retorted, with a smile that froze into a sort of grimace of -satisfaction. "She used to go barefooted here in the mountains; she was -a regular tomboy that wanted to climb every tree in sight, slide down -every bank, and wade in every mud-puddle and branch anywheres about. She -was eternally stuffin' her stomach with green apples, raw turnips, an' -sweet potatoes, an' smearin' her face with 'lasses or preserves. She -laid herself up for a week once for eatin' a lot o' pure licorice an' -cinnamon-bark that she found in the drug-store her uncle used to keep at -the cross-roads." - -Hoag sat down in a chair, tilted it back against the wall, and cast a -summarizing glance toward his com, wheat, and cotton fields beyond the -brown roofs of the long sheds and warehouses of the tannery at the -foot of the hill. He seldom gave the slightest heed to the current -observations of his wife or her mother. If they had not found much to -say about the visitors, it would have indicated that they were unwell -and needed a doctor, and of course that would have meant money out of -his pocket, which was a matter of more moment than the most pernicious -gossip. Hoag's younger son, Jack, a golden-haired child three years of -age, toddled round the house and putting his chubby hands on the lowest -of the veranda steps, glanced up at his father, and smiled and cooed. -Hoag leaned forward, crude tenderness in his look and movement. - -"That's right!" he cried, gently, and he held his hands out -encouragingly. "Crawl up to daddy, Jack. I was lookin' for you, little -boy. I was wonderin' where you was at. Got scared o' the fine town -folks, an' hid out, didn't you?" - -Slowly, retarded as Jack was by his short skirt, he mounted step after -step, constantly applauded by his father, till, red in the face and -panting, he reached the top and was eagerly received into the extended -arms. - -"Bully boy!" Hoag cried. "I knew you'd stick to it and never say die. -You are as full o' pluck as an egg is of meat." And the planter pressed -the bonny head against his breast and stroked the soft, curling hair -with his big, red hand. - -Few of Hoag's friends knew of his almost motherly tenderness and -fondness for his child. In returning home at night, even if it was very -late, he never would go to bed without looking into his wife's room to -see if Jack was all right. And every morning, before rising, he would -call the child to him, and the two would wake The rest of the family -With their romping and laughter. Sometimes Hoag would dress the boy, -experiencing a delight in the clumsy action which he could not have -analyzed. His devotion to Jack seemed all the more remarkable for his -indifferent manner toward his older son, Henry, a lad of fifteen, who -had a mischievous disposition which made him rather unpopular in -the neighborhood. Many persons thought Henry was like his father in -appearance, though quite the reverse in the habit of thrift or business -foresight. Mrs. Tilton, the grandmother, declared that the boy was being -driven to the dogs as rapidly as could be possible, for he had never -known the meaning of paternal sympathy or advice, and never been made -to do any sort of work. Be that as it might, Henry was duly sworn at or -punished by Hoag at least once a week. - -The phaeton returned from the village. Cato drove the horses into the -stable-yard and put them into their stalls, whistling as he fed them -and rubbed them down. The twilight was thickening over the fields -and meadows. The dew was falling. The nearest hills were no longer -observable. Jack, still in his father's arms on the veranda, was -asleep; the touch of the child's breath on the man's cheek was a subtle, -fragrant thing that conveyed vague delight to his consciousness. Henry -rode up to the stable, turned his horse over to Cato, and came toward -the house. He was, indeed, like his father in shape, build, and -movement. He paused at the foot of the steps, glanced indifferently at -Hoag and said: - -"I passed Sid Trawley back on the mountain-road. He said, tell you he -wanted to see you to-night without fail; he said, tell you not to leave -till he got here." - -"Oh, all right," Hoag said, with a steady, interested stare at his son, -who now stood beside him. "I'll be here." - -His voice waked the sleeping child. Jack sat up, rubbed his eyes, and -then put a little hand on his father's face. "Dack hungry; Dack want his -supper," he lisped. - -Hoag-swung him gently to and fro like a woman rocking an infant to -sleep. "Hold on!" He was speaking to Henry, and his tone was harsh and -abrupt. "Did you water that horse?" - -Henry leaned in the doorway, idly lashing his legs with his riding-whip. -"No; the branch was a quarter of a mile out of the way. Cato will lead -him to the well." - -"You know better than that," Hoag growled. "You didn't even tell Cato -the horse hadn't been watered. He would let him stay in the lot all -night without a drop, hot as he is. Go water 'im now. _Go_, I tell you! -You are getting so triflin' you ain't fit to live." - -Henry stared, and his stare kindled into a resentful glare. His whip -hung steadily by his side. It was as if he were about to retort, but -kept silence. - -"Go 'tend to that horse," Hoag repeated, "an' don't you ever do a thing -like that again. You are none too good to do work o' that sort; I did -plenty of it at your age. I had to work like a nigger an' I'm none the -worse for it." - -Henry stood still. He had his father's temper, and it was being roughly -handled. Jack, now thoroughly awake, put both his hands on his father's -face and stroked his cheeks soothingly, as if conscious of the storm -that was about to break. Then, slowly and with inarticulate mutterings, -Henry turned and retraced his steps down the path to the stable. Hoag -leaned over till Jack had to clutch the lapels of his coat to keep from -falling. - -"An' don't you raise a row with that nigger, neither," Hoag called out. -"I won't have it. You are not boss about this place." - -Henry paused in the path, turned a defiant face toward his father, and -stood still for several seconds, then slowly went on to the stable. - -"Dack want his supper, daddy," Jack murmured. - -"All right, baby," Hoag said, in a tone of blended anger and gentleness, -and with the child in his arms he went through the dark hall into the -diningroom adjoining the kitchen in the rear of the house. Here, at the -table next to his own place, he put Jack into the child's high-chair, -and sat down beside him, his massive arm and hand still encircling the -tiny shoulders. - -"Now, make Dilly bring Jack's mush an' milk!" Hoag said, with a laugh. -"Call 'er--call 'er loud!" - -"Dilly!" Jack obeyed. "Oh, Dilly!" - -"Louder; she didn't hear you." Hoag shook with laughter, and patted the -child on the head encouragingly. - -"Dilly! Oh, Dilly!" Jack cried. - -"Oh, I hear you, young marster," the portly negress laughed, as she -shuffled into the room. "I was gittin' yo' mush en milk, honey. I -'clar', 'fo' de Lawd you make me jump out'n my skin, I was so scared." - -"Where's the rest o' the folks?" Hoag inquired, with an impatient glance -toward the door. - -"Bofe of 'em say dey don't want er bite after eatin' all dat watermelon -dis evenin'," the cook answered. "Miz Hoag say she gwine ter lie down -right off, kase she got off dat hot dress en feel weak after so much -doin's terday. She ain't er well 'oman, Marse Hoag--she ain't, suh. I -know, kase I seed er lots of um in my day en time. She hain't got no -spirit, suh; en when 'omen git dat way it's er bad sign o' what may -come." - -Hoag showed no interest in the comment. He reached for the big platter -of cold string-beans and boiled pork, and helped himself abundantly. -He poured out his own coffee, and drank it hot from the saucer without -sugar or cream. He used both hands in breaking the big, oval-shaped pone -of corn-bread. He enjoyed his food as a hungry beast might, and yet he -paused every now and then to feed the child with a spoon or to wipe the -mush from the little chin. It was Jack's drooping head and blinking eyes -that caused Hoag to hasten through the meal. He took the child to the -little bed in its mother's room and put it down gently. - -"Go to sleep," he said. "Now go to sleep." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -|HE went back to the veranda through the unlighted hall, and stood -looking across the lawn toward the gate. There was no moon; but the -stars were out, and cast a soft radiance over the undulating landscape. -Along the steep side of the nearest mountain forest fires in irregular -lines pierced the thicker darkness of the distance, and their blue smoke -drifted in lowering wisps over the level fields. - -"Some'n's surely up, if Trawley wants to see me to-night," Hoag mused. -"I wonder if my men--" He saw a horse and rider emerge from the gloom -down the road leading on to Grayson. There was no sound of hoofs, for -the animal was moving slowly, as if guided with caution. Nearer and -nearer the horse approached, till it was reined in at the barnyard gate. - -"That's him," Hoag muttered, and with a furtive look into the hall -behind him he tiptoed softly down the steps, and then, his feet muffled -by the grass, he strode briskly down to the gate. As he drew near the -horseman, who was a slender young man in a broad-brimmed slouch hat, -easy shirt, and wide leather belt, and with a heavy blond mustache, -dismounted and leaned on the top-rail of the fence. - -"Hello, Cap," was his greeting. "'Fraid you might not be at home. Henry -didn't know whether you would be or not, but I come on--wasn't nothin' -else to do. The klan is all worked up in big excitement. They didn't -want to move without your sanction; but if you'd been away we'd 'a' had -to. Business is business. This job has to go through." - -"What's up now?" Hoag asked, eagerly. - -"They've caught that nigger Pete Watson." - -"Who has--my boys?" - -"No; the sheriff--Tom Lawler an' three o' his deputies." - -"You don't say; where?" - -"In the swamp, in the river-bottom just beyond Higgins's farm. Ten of -the klan happened to be waiting at Larkin's store when Lawler whizzed by -with 'em in a two-hoss hack." - -Hoag swore; his voice shook with excitement. "An' you fellers didn't try -to head 'em off, or--" - -"Head 'em off, hell! an' them with three cocked Winchesters 'cross their -laps an' it broad daylight. Besides, the boys said you'd be mad--like -you have been every time they've moved a peg without orders. You -remember how you cursed an' raved when--" - -"Well, never mind that!" Hoag fumed. "Where did they take the black -devil?" - -"To jail in Grayson; he's under lock an' key all right. We followed, and -saw 'im put in. He's the blue-gum imp that killed old Rose. Lawler told -some o' our boys that he hain't owned up to it yet, but he's guilty. -Sam and Alec Rose are crazy--would 'a' gone right in the jail an' shot -everything in sight if we all hadn't promised 'em you'd call out the -klan an' take action at once." - -"I see, I see." Hoag's head rose and fell like a buoy on a wave of -self-satisfaction. "The boys are right. They know nothin' can be done in -any sort o' decent order without a leader. You know yourself, Sid, -that every time they've gone on their own hook they've had trouble, an' -fetched down public criticism." - -"We all know that well enough, Cap," Trawley said, "an' the last one of -the gang is dependent on you. It is wonderful how they stick to you, -an' rely on yore judgment. But, say, we hain't got a minute to lose. The -thing is primed an' cocked. We kin pass the word along an' have every -man out by twelve o'clock. I just need your sanction; that's all I'm -here for." - -In the starlight the lines, protuberances, and angles of Hoag's face -stood out as clearly as if they had been carved from stone. He stroked -his mustache, lips, and chin; he drew himself erect and threw his -shoulders back with a sort of military precision. He felt himself to be -a pivot upon which much turned, and he enjoyed the moment. - -"Wait," he said, "let me study a minute. I--" - -"Study hell! Look here, Jim Hoag--" - -"Stop!" Hoag broke in sternly, and he leaned on the fence and glared at -Trawley. "You know you are breakin' rules--you know the last one of you -has sworn never to speak my name at a time like this. I was to be called -'Captain,' an' nothin' else; but here you go blurtin' out my name. There -is no tellin' when somebody may be listenin'." - -"Excuse me, Cap, you are dead right. I was wrong; it was a slip o' the -lip. I won't let it happen again." - -Hoag's anger was observable even in the dim light. It trembled in his -tone and flashed in his eyes. - -"Beggin' pardon don't rectify a mistake like that when the damage is -done," he muttered. "You fellers ain't takin' any risk. I'd be the -one to hold the bag if the authorities got onto us. They would nab the -leader first." - -"You are too shaky and suspicious," the other retorted, in sanguine -contempt of caution. "We hain't got a man but would die ruther than turn -traitor, an' thar ain't no court or jury that could faze us. As you said -in yore speech at the last regular meetin', we are a law unto ourselves. -This is a white man's country, Cap, an' we ain't goin' to let a few lazy -niggers run it." - -"The boys sort o' liked that speech, didn't they?" Hoag's voice ran -smooth again. - -"It was a corker, an' tickled 'em all," Trawley smiled. "They will put -you in the legislature by a big vote whenever you say the word." - -"I don't want it--I ain't that sort," Hoag said, grandiloquently. "I'm -satisfied if I can help a little here at home--sorter hold you boys -together an' make you cautious. A thing like this to-night has to be -managed in a cool-headed way that will convince the public that there -is a power that can be relied on outside o' the tardy one that costs -taxpayers so much to keep up. It would tickle a black whelp like Pete -Watson to be tried at our expense. He'd love the best in the world to -set up in court an' be looked at as some'n out o' the general run, an' -incite others o' his stripe to go an' kill helpless white men an' insult -white women. The rope, the torch, an' our spooky garb an' masks are the -only things niggers are afraid of." - -"You think that is it, do you?" Trawley said, with a low, pleased laugh. - -"More'n anything else," affirmed Hoag, "along with our swift action. -Say, I've been thinkin' over some'n Sid. You said when you fust rid -up that the klan won't act without a leader, an' my business sometimes -calls me off to Atlanta or Augusta--now it is important, in case I'm -away at any time, to have some sort o' head, an' I've been thinkin' -that, as you are sech an active member, you ought to be made my -lieutenant--" - -"You don't mean that, do you, Cap--you don't surely--" Trawley's voice -seemed submerged in a flood of agreeable surprise. - -"I do, an' I'm goin' to propose it at the next full meetin'. I want a -young man like you that I can confer with now and then an' chat over -matters. A feller can't always git at a big body like ours by hisself, -an' you seem to be better fitted to the office than any other member." - -"I'm much obliged, Cap." Trawley beamed, and his voice was round and -full. "I'd like to stand in with you an' I'll do my best. I promise you -that. The whole thing is fun to me." - -"You've been more help to me already than anybody else," Hoag said, "and -I'm goin' to propose yore name an' see that it goes through. Now, we -haven't got any time to lose in this job to-night. Send the word -along the line, Tell all hands to meet at Maxwell's cove by eleven -o'clock--that will give us plenty o' time to git things in shape." - -The dawn of the following day was on the point of breaking when Henry -Hoag crossed the garden behind the farm-house, stealthily unlocked -the front door, and crept up the stairs to his room. He had been out -"skylarking" with some of his friends, and did not want his parents to -know the hour of his return home. He did not light the candle on his -bureau, but proceeded to undress in the dark. Suddenly he paused, as he -sat on the edge of his bed removing his shoes, and listened. It was a -soft footfall on the steps of the veranda, the gentle turning of a key -in the lock of the door, the creaking of the hinges, followed by the -clicking of the latch as the door was closed. A moment later a clumsy -tread slurred along the lower corridor to Hoag's room. - -Henry chuckled. "Got in by the skin of my teeth," he said. "If he knew -I watched that thing from start to finish he'd beat me 'in an inch o' my -life. He tried to change his voice, but he was too excited to hide it. -Gee! didn't that poor nigger beg? Ugh, I'm afraid I'll see 'im in my -sleep, and hear that last gurgle." - -Henry cautiously lowered a shoe to the floor and sat still for a moment. -"Poor old Pete!" he mused. "He swore he didn't do it, and somehow it -seemed to me that he wasn't lyin'. I'd have turned him loose and risked -it. Poor fellow! Poor fellow!" - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -|HOAG was in a reflective mood as he rode along his field-road in the -crisp morning air. The sockets of his eyes were puffed out, and he -looked like a man who had lost much sleep, and was braced up for the -duties of the day by drink. Within certain material limits he was -satisfied with himself. The dew seemed to have added succulence to -his fat corn-stalks and sugar-cane; his wheat and cotton were in prime -condition, especially the latter, of which his judgment had prompted an -unusually large planting, and according to the market reports the staple -would bring a fine price. - -The affair of the preceding night had gone off with quiet, order, and -dignity. His followers had listened to his usual speech with respect and -close attention, and he was sure he had never spoken better. His threat -that if his wishes were disobeyed in the slightest he would renounce the -leadership had had the desired effect of proving that he was not a man -to be trifled with. He told them he was giving his valuable time to the -office, and had held himself in duty bound to answer every call, and -would continue to do so as long as they realized the importance of his -advice and services. - -As he rode into Grayson he saw the sheriff and Budd Tibbs, the village -marshal, on a one-horse dray, followed by a motley group of men, women, -and children afoot, and Hoag knew that they were bound for the spot -where the body of the lynched man was still hanging. The sheriff would -cut the rope, an inquest would be held, and the corpse would be taken -away for burial. On the street-corners at the Square stood groups of -storekeepers without their hats and coats, blandly gazing after the -dray and officers. The thought came to Hoag that some of the men on the -street might wonder why he did not stop and chat about the matter, as -would be natural for an ordinary citizen to do, who, living out of the -village, might only just have heard of the happening; but Hoag was not -in the mood for the adroit part he would have to play. His brain felt -heavy and his thoughts were sluggish. The sight of the grave faces -stirred a vague, unaccountable discontent within him, and he urged his -horse to move faster. Suddenly the crude sign of a boot and shoe -painted on a swinging board over the door of Silas Tye's shop caught -his attention, and reminded him of something he wanted to say to the -cobbler, so he dismounted at the door, hitched his horse to a post in -front, and went into the shop. - -Silas was at work putting a half-sole on a shoe which he held tightly -clamped between his knees, and looked up over his murky spectacles and -nodded. - -"Good momin', Brother Hoag," he said. "Some'n I kin do for you?" - -"Not at present, Uncle Si." Hoag sat down in a chair, thrust his hand -into his hip-pocket, and taking out a piece of plug-tobacco, bit off the -corner and rolled it about in his mouth. "No, I hain't got no work for -you to-day. In fact, I come to sponge on you--to see if you can't give -me a piece o' business advice. They say every man to his line, an' -I reckon you know as much about ready-made shoes as anybody else at -Grayson." - -"Oh, I don't know; I don't know much about manufactured stuff." Silas -shook his bald head gently. "I kin tell good leather by the feel, -look, an' smell of it; but mendin' has got to be my chief work now, an' -mendin' shoddy goods at that. I kin make as good a boot as you or any -other man would wear, but not at the machine-made price. A pair o' my -boots will outwear any three from a box sold over a counter, but nobody -round here will believe it." - -"I don't doubt it--I don't doubt it for a minute," Hoag agreed, "and -this is what I want to consult you about. I want your opinion. You know -I've got that tannery, and I sometimes tan bigger quantities of hides, -Uncle Si, than I am willin' to let go at the average price offered in -Atlanta by the jobbers. So you see, in turnin' it over in my mind, it -struck me all at once that I might put up a little factory on my place -for makin' plain shoes by machinery, an' in that way work off surplus -stock, increase my output of leather, and make the middleman's profit. -If you will look out on the Square any day you'll see it perfectly black -with idle niggers, an' I could put some of 'em to work, an'--" - -The shoemaker glanced up and smiled faintly. "I reckon you won't see -many in sight this momin'," he sighed, as he resumed his work. "The pore -devils are scared out o' their senses by that thing last night. It's -awful, awful!" - -There was a pause. Hoag's eyelashes fluttered. "Yes, yes, I reckon so," -he said. "I was goin' on to say--" - -But some sound in the street had caught Tye's attention and, forgetful -of his customer, he rose and stood at the door and looked out. The -wrinkles on his brow and about his kindly eyes were drawn and deepened -as he peered over the brass rims of his glasses. Hoag heard him sigh -again, and saw him rubbing the sole of the shoe absent-mindedly. - -"What's goin' on?" the tanner asked, without moving from his chair. - -"It's that poor nigger Pete Watson's wife an' daughters," was the -answer. "They've come to claim the body--Dick Morgan is showin' 'em -which way to go. Lord, Lord, they do look pitiful! They ain't even -cryin'--niggers seldom do at sech a time. Looks like they won't shed -tears before the whites for fear it will make 'em mad. They learnt who -the'r masters was before the war, an' they ain't over it. I knowed Pete -Watson--I've mended shoes for 'im. He was always a civil nigger, an' -clever enough. I've had talks with 'im, an' I've been astonished to -hear what sensible ideas he had. He appeared to me to be a Christian--a -Christian that understood what the Lord really meant when he was here on -earth, an' that's rare even among the whites." - -Silas came back to his bench and slowly sat down. "Lord, Lord, what a -pity, what a pity!" he continued to mutter. - -"They say he was undoubtedly guilty." Hoag felt his anger rising, and -yet he realized that he must restrain himself. "That is the current -report, anyway," he said. - -"It always _is_ the report," Silas said. "Even if a mistake was made -the public would never know it. The gang that did the work would see to -that." - -"We are gittin' away from what we was talkin' about," Hoag said. "I was -asking you what you thought about me startin' a little shoe-plant?" - -"I'm afraid it wouldn't pay," Silas said, deliberately. "They make shoes -a sight cheaper in the big works up North than you possibly could down -here in the backwoods with untrained help. It's been tried, without -success, several times here an' thar. The Yankees understand the knack -o' splittin' leather an' usin' both halves, an' even the middle, for -different purposes. You can't make shoes right an' put in good stock at -the prices Northern made-up goods fetch." Silas selected a woman's shoe -from a pile on the floor, and with his blackened thumb pried the worn -bottom open. "Look at that--stuffed with leather shavin's an' glue! -That's what you'd have to contend with. When folks go to buy they go -by looks, not quality. Then yore help would fall down on you. You can't -turn easy-goin', jolly singin' an' dancin' black boys an' gals into -drudgin' machines all at once. They come from a drowsy, savage race -an' a hot climate, an' you can't make 'em over in a day. La, la--" The -shoemaker bent sideways to look out of the doorway toward the spot where -the lynching had occurred. "That's why that thing seems so pitiful." - -Hoag felt his ire rising, but he curbed himself. "They say--folks -say, I'm told--that the nigger was _guilty_," he muttered. "When the -neighbors first went to his house they found the old hat Rose had on -when he was murdered. That fact may not be generally known." - -"Yes, it is," Silas replied; "but if that's all the mob acted on they -acted on powerful flimsy evidence. I've heard men say so this -mornin'--good lawyers right here in town. Besides, I myself heard--why, -a man set right whar you are a-settin' at this minute, Brother Hoag, an' -told me not ten minutes ago that he seed Pete with his own eyes pick up -the hat on the side o' the road long after the killin'. Now, you see, -the fact that Pete had Rose's hat wouldn't actually condemn 'im in a -court of law, while it would be proof enough for a drunken gang o' -hotheaded nigger-haters. For all we know, somebody else done the killin' -an' thro wed the hat down. I myself don't believe that even a _fool_ -nigger would kill a man an' tote his hat along a public road for -everybody to see, an' take it home an' give it to one o' his boys to -wear. It don't stand to reason." - -A grim look of blended anger and chagrin had settled on Hoag's face, He -crossed his legs and tapped the heel of his boot with the butt of his -riding-whip. - -"I'm not takin' up for the--the men that did the job," he said. "I -have no idea who they are or whar they come from--all abouts in the -mountains, I reckon; but any man with an eye in his head can see that -the niggers in this country are gettin' out of all bounds. Thar is not a -day that some white woman ain't mistreated or scared out o' her -senses. I wouldn't trust a nigger an inch. I've seed the best of -'em--psalm-singers an' exhorters in meetin'--turn right round an' commit -acts that only hell itself could devise." - -"I know, I know," Silas sighed; "an' in my opinion that's exactly why -we need law--an' good law at that. Niggers are natural imitators of the -whites; they see lawlessness, an' they git lawless. Mob law stirs up the -worst that's in 'em. They see injustice done--the wrong man lynched, -for instance--an' they brood over it in secret an' want to hit back, an' -they do it the first chance. I don't see you at meetin' often, Brother -Hoag, an' you may not depend much on Scripture--many busy men don't, -these days; but it is my chief guide, an' our Lord an' Master laid down -rules of conduct that if they was half obeyed thar wouldn't be a speck -o' strife betwixt white an' black. Lovin' the humblest--'the least of -these,' as our Saviour put it--an' turnin' t'other cheek as a daily -practice wouldn't leave an openin' for such as that last night." - -Silas put some wooden pegs into his mouth, and began to make holes -in the shoe-bottom with an awl and a flat-headed hammer. Hoag glared -steadily at the bald pate for a moment, and then, shrugging his -shoulders, he stood up. There was a red spot on each of his cheeks, a -sullen, thwarted sort of flare in his eyes. - -"Well, I'll have to be goin'," he said, winding his pliant whip around -his hand. "I see you won't help me build that shoe-factory. I may do it, -an' I may not. Thar is another deal I may put the money in, but that's -plumb out o' your line. So long." - -The cobbler raised his eyes and muttered an inarticulate something from -his peg-filled mouth, and watched Hoag as he went out and unhitched his -horse. - -"He's one o' the big men o' the county," Silas mused, "an' yet he don't -seem to have the slightest inkling o' what rail justice means. I reckon -the almighty dollar has plumb blinded him. He wasn't any more concerned -with what I told 'im about that pore darky than if I'd been talkin' -about a dead hog. Well, they say he's give up believin' in a God or a -future life, an' if he has he's livin' up to his lights, or _down_ to -'em--I don't know which." - - - - -CHAPTER X - -|IN morbid ill-humor, and vaguely discontented under an intangible -something that seemed to press upon him from external sources, Hoag went -to his horse. At another time the conviction that a mere cobbler had -convinced him of his lack of judgment in regard to a business venture -would have irritated him beyond expression; but, strange to say, Silas -had said other things that were even more objectionable, and Hoag had -been obliged to sit and listen, and by his silence leave the impression -on the stupid lout that he was right. The fellow was no doubt talking -that way to others, and others were talking to him in the same vein. - -Diagonally across the street was the front entrance to a big -livery-stable. It had a high board front, on which was painted a horse -in a racing-gig and a driver in a jockey's cap leaning forward whip in -hand, feet firmly braced. Beneath the picture were the words: - - -"TRAWLEY'S FEED AND SALE STABLES" - - -And thither Hoag led his horse. On the edge of the sidewalk a negro was -washing the dust from a new buggy with a sponge and a pail of water. -Another negro close by was trimming the mane and tail of a horse with -a big pair of clicking shears. They had been conversing in low, earnest -tones, but they ceased and applied themselves vigorously to work as the -tanner approached. - -"Hold my hoss," he said to the man with the pail. "Is Sid about?" - -"Back inside, boss." The negro touched his hat, swept a broad, flat foot -backward, and took the bridle. "Leastwise, he was, suh, des er minute -ergo. He was talkin' ter er gipsy dat had er muel ter swap. Dey didn't -come ter no trade, dough. I know, kase de gipsy rid his muel off up de -street." - -Hoag turned into the stable, which was a spacious structure with wide -doors at each end, bare, brown rafters overhead, and a storm-shattered -shingle roof, which in places let in rifts of sunshine and exposed -bits of sky. On either side of a wide passage, from end to end of the -building, were stalls, some occupied by horses, and all smelling of -manure and musty hay. There was a sound of the champing of feeding -animals, the swishing of tails, for the flies were plentiful, and the -satisfied accompaniment of pawing hoofs on the soggy ground. - -In the rear doorway stood a man who had just stepped into view from the -yard in the rear. It was Trawley. He had a stick of soft pine in his -hand, and was nervously whittling with a big pocket-knife, his broad, -slouch hat pushed back on his head and turned up in front. Sid was quite -as well known for the good stable he ran as for his fighting tendencies, -the quick use of a "gun," and general habits of brave recklessness. - -Toward him, with a forced smile of companionship, Hoag walked, -cautiously looking into the stalls as he passed. - -"They are all in front," Trawley said, reassuringly when they met; "but -we don't want to be seen confabbin' together, to-day of all days." He -jerked his knife toward the yard. "Come out here whar it's quiet." - -With a steady stare of awakening wonder over Sid's unwonted caution Hoag -followed, first into the open glare of the sun and then under the roof -of a wagon-shed. - -"If you hadn't come in, I was goin' to ride out to see you," Trawley -said, with a frown which lay heavily on his sharp-cut features. "I -reckon you've heard--bad news travels fast." - -"News? I hain't heard nothin'." Hoag held the butt of his whip against -his lower lip and stared questioningly. "Say, what's up?" - -"Enough, God knows--hell's to pay. We've got to git together right away -an' take action o' some sort. Say--wait a minute." - -The negro who had been cleaning the buggy was drawing it through the -stable toward them, and his master strode angrily to the rear door. - -"Leave that buggy thar," he ordered, "an' go back to the front an' stay -till I come." - -With a blank look of astonishment the negro dropped the tongue of the -buggy, and turned back to the front. Hoag heard Trawley softly grumbling -as he came back. - -"I'll break a board over that nigger's head one o' these days," he -growled. "He was try in' to get back here to see what me'n you are up -to." - -"Oh, I reckon not--I reckon not," Hoag said, his gaze anxiously fixed on -Trawley's face. "Just now you said somethin' about news." - -"You'll think it's news when you hear it," the stable-man said, taking -off his hat and mopping his hot brow with a soiled handkerchief. "Cap, -the last thing me or you could possibly expect has done happened. The -sheriff of Canton County has just telegraphed that he's got the man that -killed old Rose." - -"Got the man that--bosh! Why _we_--" The words fell from Hoag's lips -like bits of metal, and he broke off with a low oath. For a moment -neither he nor Trawley spoke. Hoag laughed defiantly, mechanically, and -without mirth. Then his face glowed faintly. "Oh, I see, the sheriff -over thar don't know what--what took place here last night. He's nabbed -some triflin' nigger that had a suspicious look, an' is holdin' 'im -for--" - -"'Twasn't no nigger," Trawley said. "It is a tramp--a white man that the -sheriff says passed Rose's farm yesterday afoot." - -"Well, what o' that?" Hoag showed irritability. "We'll have to wire the -sheriff to turn the man loose--that's all--that's all!" - -"If that _was_ all, it _would_ be easy; but it ain't, by a long shot," -Trawley sniffed. "The tramp had Rose's old silver watch with his name -cut on it!" - -"You mean--" But Hoag knew well what he meant, and was in no mood for -idle remarks. When thwarted in anything, justly or unjustly, he became -angry; he felt his rage rising now over his sheer inability to cope -with a situation which certainly demanded all his poise, all his mental -forces. - -"We are simply in a hole," Trawley muttered, still wiping the sweat from -his brow. "In a hole, an' a deep one at that." - -"What makes you think so?" Hoag was glaring into the eyes of his -companion, as a man in dense darkness trying to see. - -"Because we are," Trawley answered. "The sheriff over thar in Canton -won't want to admit he's made a mistake with the proof he holds. He'll -bring his man to trial an' the fellow will be convicted. The fact that -we--that us boys in this county strung up a nigger for the crime won't -make any difference over thar, but it will make a lot here." - -"I don't see how." - -"Well, I do, if you don't, Cap. We are in, an' we are in deep. You have -a curious way about you--you git so mad when things go ag'in' you that -you won't admit facts when they are before you. As for me, I've been -here thinkin' over it all momin'. It is nasty--the whole damn thing is -nasty. The niggers are gittin' bold enough anyway, along with what the -Atlanta papers have been sayin' in their favor, an' the Governor talkin' -about orderin' troops out, an' the like, an' now this will simply stir -up the State. We kin keep the main body of niggers down by what we -done--what was done last night; but thar are some sly ones with white -blood an' hell in 'em. We are all in danger. Look at this stable." -Trawley waved his damp handkerchief toward the big building and -surrounding wagon-sheds. "One of the devils could sneak up here any -night and set fire to all I got an' burn it to the ground. It is so dry -it would go up like powder. I've got several thousand dollars' worth of -vehicles, to say nothin' of live-stock that can't be driv' out at such -a time, an' I don't carry insurance, because the rate is too high, -owin' to the risk bein' so heavy; Land as for you--your tannery, house, -cotton-gin, warehouse, an'--" - -"Thar's no good talkin' about all _that!_" Hoag broke in, with a -lowering frown. "We've got to do something, an' do it quick." - -"Wait a minute," Trawley said. "I hear one o' them niggers whistlin' for -me; it may be one o' our--one of--may be somebody lookin' for us now. -Thar'll be excitement, big excitement, when it spreads about through the -mountains." - -There was an oak in the yard which shaded the well, and Hoag went to the -well and sat down on the end of a long dug-out watering-trough. He was -beginning to perspire freely, and he took off his hat and fanned himself -in a nervous, jerky fashion. His hands were damp, and on their red -backs, and along his heavy wrists, the hairs stood like dank reeds in -a miniature swamp. He was in high dudgeon; everything seemed to have -turned against him. Tye's unconscious lecture and crude object-lessons, -combined with the old man's spiritual placidity and saintly aloofness -from the horrors he shrank from, were galling in the extreme. Then -Trawley's fears that certain property might be destroyed by way -of retaliation were worth considering; and, lastly, there was the -humiliation of such a grave mistake becoming public, even though the -perpetrators themselves might not be known. From where Hoag sat he -could look into the stable, and he saw Trawley going from stall to -stall showing the horses to a well-dressed stranger, who looked like -a traveling salesman of the better class. Presently the man left the -stable, and Trawley, still holding his stick and knife in hand, came -back to Hoag. - -"Damn fool from up North," he explained, angrily. "Wanted to hire a rig -an' hosses to go over the mountain, whar he's got some lumber interests. -He talked to me like--I wish you'd a-heard 'im. I couldn't hardly pin -'im down to business, he was so full o' the hangin'. He happened to see -'em cut down the body an' haul it away. Of course, he had no idea that -I--he seemed to lay it to a gang o' cutthroats from over whar he was -to go, an' wondered if it would be safe for a Northern man to drive out -unarmed an' without a bodyguard." - -"Why didn't you slap his jaw?" Hoag growled, inconsistently. - -"Yes, an' had 'im ax what it was to me," Trawley snarled. "I did, in -a roundabout way, try to show up our side, an' what we have to contend -with; but he just kept groanin', 'My Lord, my Lord,' an' sayin' that -old woman an' her children was the pitifulest sight he ever saw! He -said"--Trawley shrugged his shoulders and made a grimace as he tugged -at his mustache--"he said all of us _civilized_ citizens--them was his -words--ought to band together an' 'force law an' order--that it was -killin' our interests. He had been countin' on locatin' here, he said, -but was afeard, when the thing got in the papers, his company would back -out an' not develop their property. He seemed awfully put out. I tried -to tell 'im that if he knowed niggers as we do he'd see it our way; but -the truth is, I was so bothered over that dang tramp's arrest that--" - -"I've been studyin' over that." Hoag dismissed the stranger from his -mind with a fierce frown. "There is only one thing to do. Set down -here--set down!" - -Sid complied. "If you can think of any way out o' the mess you can beat -me," he said, dejectedly. - -"Thar is just one thing for us to do." Hoag was to some extent regaining -his self-possession, his old autocratic mien had returned. "You fellows -are all goin' to git rattled an' somebody's got to keep a clear head an' -plan how to act. The klan will naturally look to me; it is really on my -shoulders; we'll sink or fall by my judgment. Some of us have got to git -together to-night an' march over thar to the Canton jail an' take that -tramp out." - -"An' lynch 'im? Good Lord, Cap--" - -"No, fool, not lynch 'im--that wouldn't do--that never would do in -the world; we must send 'im about his business--hustle 'im out o' the -country an'--an' circulate the report that he was arrested by mistake, -which--which I've no doubt he was. Pete Watson sold 'im the watch. -That's plain enough." - -"Oh, ah, I see--by gum, I see; but what about the sheriff over thar? -Fellers o' that sort are sometimes proud o' makin' an arrest in a case -like that." - -"That's the only hill to climb an' we may fail; but we've got to try it. -I know 'im purty well. He expects to be re-elected, an' half of our boys -live in his county an' vote thar. We must show 'im the damage the thing -would work among the niggers, an' sort o' make a--a political issue of -it; show 'im that he'll git beat, an' beat bad, if he goes ag'in' so -many." - -"By gum, you _are_ a corker, Cap--you sure are." Hoag's eyes gleamed, -a look of pride settled on his face; he crossed his legs and tapped the -spur on his heel with the butt of his whip till the little pronged wheel -spun like a circular saw, "When I'm driv' clean to the wall like this -I generally see a loophole," he said. "Now, let's set to work; you send -out the word in the usual way, an' have 'em meet at the Cove." - -"Good, good! It's worth tryin', anyway." Trawley breathed more freely. -"I'll notify most o' the boys--especially them that live in Canton -County." - -"Order out as many as you can," Hoag said. "At night it will be hard -for the sheriff to know who they all are, an' the bigger the crowd the -better; but, say--I've just thought of something important. You'll have -to leave Sam an' Alec Rose out. You see it stands to reason that they'd -never consent to let the tramp off, an'--an'--well, we can't kill 'im. -He's got to go free." - -"Yes, Sam an' Alec will have to be left out--they are crazy enough as it -is. I'll caution the other boys not to let 'em know a thing about it." - -"That's the idea." Hoag was starting away, when Trawley, still seated on -the trough, called him back. - -"Wait; thar was something else I had on my mind to tell you, but it has -clean slipped away. I intended to tell you last night, but we had so -much to do, an' thar was so much excitement. Lemme see--oh yes, now -I remember!" Trawley stood up and caught the lapel of Hoag's thin coat. -"Say, Cap, I want to warn you, as a friend, you are goin' to have more -trouble with Jeff Warren. He hain't never been satisfied since you an' -him had that fight last spring. He says he licked you, an' that you've -been denying it. He was here at the stable yesterday talkin' about what -he was goin' to do with you when he meets you. He's heard some'n he -claims you said about him an' Ralph Rundel's wife. I reckon he is actin' -the fool about 'er, an' maybe he is takin' advantage of a sick man; but -nobody knows, for sure. Some think Jeff is honorable. Anyway, -you'll have to look out an' not let 'im git the drop on you. He's a -bloodthirsty devil when he's mad, an' he hain't got sense enough to know -that he'd compromise the woman worse by fightin' for her than lettin' -the matter blow over." - -Hoag stood silent, facing his companion. His countenance became rigid -and his heavy brows fell together; there was a peculiar twitching about -his nostrils. "I don't know what I said about him an' her, an' I care -less." He spoke in halting, uncertain tones. "I've got no use for 'im, -an' never had." - -"Well, I thought there'd be no harm in puttin' you on yore guard." -Trawley looked at his chief as if perplexed over his mood. "He's a -hot-headed devil, that will shoot at the drop of a hat." - -Hoag stood rigid. There was a fixed stare in his eyes. His lips -quivered, as if on the verge of utterance, and then he looked down at -the ground. Trawley eyed him in slow surprise for a moment, then he -said: - -"I hope, Cap, you don't think I am meddlin' in yore private business. It -is not often that I tote any sort o' tale betwixt two men; but Jeff is -such a rampant daredevil, an' so crazy right now, that--" - -"I'm not afraid of 'im. Good God, don't think that!" Hoag was quite -pale. "It was only--say, Sid, it's like this: do you think that a man -like me, with all I've got at stake, one way or another, can afford -to--to take even chances with a shiftless fool like Jeff Warren?" - -"It ain't what you, or me, or anybody can _afford_ to do," the -stable-owner returned, "or _want_ to do, for that matter; when a chap -like Jeff is loaded for bear an' on our trail we've either got to git -ready for 'im or--or swear out a peace-warrant, an' me or you'd rather -be hung than do the like o' that. As for me, in all rows I treat -everybody alike. If a black buck nigger wants satisfaction out o' me he -can git it--you bet he can." - -"Yes, yes, I know," Hoag said, his eyes shifting restlessly in their -deep sockets, his fingers fumbling his whip. "I was just wondering; did -he--did you notice whether Warren was totin' a gun or not?" - -"I think he was; that's why I mentioned the matter to you. In fact, he -was inquiring if anybody had seen you--said he knowed enough law to know -that if he went to yore house on such serious business that he'd be held -accountable, wharas, if you an' him met on a public highway it would be -all right, beca'se it was your unjustified remark ag'in' a woman that -started the thing." - -Hoag stared into the face of his companion for another minute. It was as -if he wanted some sort of advice and did not know how to ask for it. He -shrugged his shoulders, lashed the hot air with his whip, cleared his -throat, and said: - -"I hope you don't think I'm afraid o' the dirty puppy, Sid?" - -"Afraid, oh no!" Trawley replied, indifferently. "Of course not. You kin -shoot as straight as he can. Besides, if it come to the worst--if he did -happen to git the best of it--you are in as good a shape to die as any -man I know. You'd leave your wife an' family well provided for. Take my -advice and don't give 'im a chance to draw a gun. Pull down, and pull -down quick!" - -Trawley led the way back into the stable, and at the front the two men -parted. Hoag was on the sidewalk when Trawley called to him, and came to -his side. - -"If you hain't got a gun on you, you kin take mine," he said, in a low -tone. - -"I've got one," Hoag answered, a far-off look in his eyes, and he slid a -hand over his bulging hip-pocket. "I never go without it." - -"Well, if nothin' happens, then I'll meet you tonight," Trawley reminded -him. "We must put that thing through." - -Hoag nodded. "All right," he returned, abstractedly. "All right--all -right." - -"If nothin' happens!" The words fairly stung his consciousness as he -walked away. "If nothin' happens!" His feet and legs felt heavy. There -was a cold, tremulous sensation in the region of his pounding heart. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -|HOAG had some important business to transact in the little bank on one -of the comers of the Square, and he was detained there half an hour or -more. The thought flashed on him, as he sat alone at the banker's desk -in the rear, that a prudent man at such a time would make a will; but -the idea chilled him, horrified him. This feeling was followed by a -desperate sort of anger over the realization that a low, shiftless -clodhopper could so materially upset a man of his importance. He had -recalled the idle remark which had reached Warren's ears, and knew it -was the kind of thing the man would fight to the death about. And there -was no way out of it--no way under the sun. He could not--as Trawley had -said--appeal to the law for protection; such a course would make him -the laughing-stock of all his followers, who thought him to be a man -of unquestioned courage. Hoag drew a sheet of paper to him and began to -write, but was unable to fix his mind on the matter in hand. It seemed -utterly trivial beside the encroaching horror. Jeff Warren might walk -in at any moment and level his revolver; Jeff Warren would kill the -traducer of a woman in a church or in a group of mourners over a new -grave and feel that he had done his duty. Hoag crumpled up the sheet of -paper and dropped it into a waste-paper basket under the desk. He thrust -his hand behind him and drew out his revolver and looked at it. He -noticed, as he twirled the polished cylinder, that his fingers shook. He -ground his teeth, uttered a low oath, and put the revolver back into his -pocket. How could he defend himself with nerves such as the combination -of tobacco and whisky had given him? He rose and went through the bank -to the street, returning the banker's smiling salutation from the little -grated window as he passed out. - -He drew a breath of relief when he reached the sidewalk, for Warren was -not in sight. To Hoag an irrelevant sort of mocking placidity rested -on the scene. Storekeepers, clerks, and cotton-buyers were moving about -without their coats, pencils behind their ears. Countrymen from the -mountains in white-hooded wagons were unloading grain, potatoes, apples, -chickens in coops, and bales of hay, with their hearts in their work, -while he, the financial superior of them all, was every minute expecting -to grapple with a bloody and ignominious death. He had a deed to record -at the Court House, and he went into the big, cool building and turned -the document over to the clerk with instructions to keep the paper till -he called for it. Two lank, coatless farmers, seated near the desk, were -playing checkers on a worn, greasy board. - -"Ah, ha!" one of them said, "cap that un, an' watch me swipe the -balance." - -Hoag was going out when he saw, carelessly leaning in the doorway at the -front of the hall, the man he was dreading to meet. For an instant he -had an impulse to fall back into the clerk's office, and then the sheer -futility of such a course presented itself. Besides, the tall, slender -man, with dark hair and eyes and waxed mustache, who had no weapon in -sight, was calmly addressing him. - -"I want to see you, Jim Hoag," he said. "Suppose we step back in the -yard at the end o' the house?" - -"Oh, hello, Warren, how are you?" Hoag said, forcing a desperate smile -to his stiff mouth and chilled cheeks. - -"I'll try to show you how I am in a few minutes," Warren answered, -coldly, and he led the way down the hall, his high-heeled boots ringing -on the bare floor, toward the door at the end. "Or maybe it will be -t'other way--you may show me. Well, if you can, you are welcome." - -"I see you are lookin' for trouble, Jeff," Hoag began. "I heard you -wanted to see me, an' I heard you was mad at some fool lie or other -that--" - -"You step out here on the grass," Warren said. "I never seed the day -I wouldn't give even a bloated skunk like you a fair chance. Draw your -gun. You've got more money 'an I have, Hoag; but, by God! my honor an' -the honor of a respectable lady of my acquaintance is worth as much to -me as--" - -"Look here, Jeff, I ain't armed." Hoag lied flatly as he saw Warren -thrust his hand behind him. "You say you want to act fair, then be -fair--be reasonable. The truth is--" - -"Oh, I see--well, if you ain't ready, that alters it! No man can't -accuse me of pullin' down on a feller that ain't fixed. I know you ain't -a-goin' to back down after what I've said to your teeth, an' I'll -set here on this step an' you go across to the hardware store an' fix -yourself. Mine's a thirty-eight. I don't care what size you git. I want -you to be plumb satisfied. Don't tell anybody, either. We don't want -no crowd. This is our affair." Hoag moved a step nearer to the offended -man. He smiled rigidly. His voice fell into appealing, pleading -gentleness. - -"Looky here, Jeff, you an' me 've had differences, I know, an' thar's -been plenty o' bad blood betwixt us; but as God is my judge I never had -any deep ill-will ag'in' you. I've always known you was a brave man, -an' I admired it in you. You are mad now, an' you are not seein' things -straight. You've heard some'n or other; but it ain't true. Now, I don't -want any trouble with you, an--" - -"Trouble!" Warren's dark eyes flashed; his voice rang like steel -striking steel. It was an odd blending of threat and laughter. "If we -don't have trouble the sun won't set to-night. I'm talkin' about what -you said at the post-office t'other day to a gang about me an' a certain -neighbor's wife." - -"I think I can guess what you are talkin' about, an' you've got it plumb -crooked, Jeff." Hoag bent toward the man and laid a bloodless hand full -of soothing intent on his shoulder. "You say you are a fair man, Jeff, -an' I know you are, an' when a man like me says he's sorry and wants to -fix things straight--without bloodshed--be reasonable. I didn't mean to -reflect on the lady. I just said, if I remember right, that it looked -like she admired you some. An' if you say so, I'll apologize to her -myself. No man could ask more than that." - -The fierce dark eyes blinked; their glare subsided. There was a -momentous pause. - -"I wouldn't want 'er to hear a thing like that," Warren faltered. "Too -much has been said anyway, one way an' another, by meddlin' gossips, -an' it would hurt her feelin's. I didn't want to fight about it, but -couldn't hold in. An' if you say you didn't mean nothin' disrespectful, -why, that will have to do. We'll drop it. I don't want bloodshed myself, -if I kin get around it." - -"I don't want any either, Jeff," Hoag said, still pacifically, and yet -his fury, contempt for himself, and hatred for the man before him were -already returning, "so we'll call it settled?" - -"All right, all right," Warren agreed; "it will have to do. When a man -talks like you do nothin' more is to be said. I never yet have whipped -a man that didn't want to fight. I'd as soon hit a suckin' baby." They -parted, Warren going into the Court House and Hoag to the stable for his -horse. Trawley was at the front waiting for him. - -"Hello," he cried, "I see he didn't plug you full o' holes. I watched -'im follow you into the Court House, an' expected to hear a whole volley -o' shots." - -"He _did_ want to see me," Hoag sneered, loftily. "In fact, he come -while I was havin' a paper recorded an' wanted to see me. He tried to -git me to admit I was slanderin' that woman, an' I gave 'im a piece o' -my mind about it. Her son works for me, an' I think a lot of the boy. I -wouldn't have Paul hear a thing like that for anything. He's all right -an' is tryin' hard to make his way. I told Jeff if he wanted bloodshed -to git up some other pretext an' I'd give 'im all he wanted. A triflin' -scamp like he is can't stamp me in public as a traducer of women." - -"I see, I see," said Trawley, in vague approval. "Well, that's out of -the way, an' we can attend to the other matter. It's a serious thing, -Jim Hoag. The sheriff over in Canton may tell us to mind our own -rat-killin', and then we _would_ be in a box." - -"We've got to bring all our force to bear an' pull 'im round," Hoag -said. "I'm goin' to see a few of our main men here in town, an' sorter -map out a plan. If we go at it right, we'll pull it through. I'll meet -you all at the Cove to-night." - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -|IT was late in the afternoon when Hoag rode up to his house and -delivered his horse to Cato, with instructions to feed and water the -animal and rub him down carefully, as he had to "use him again after -supper." - -In the hall he met his wife. She had a tired, anxious look on her face, -which seemed flushed by the heat of the cooking-stove, over which she -had been working. - -"Have the cows come up?" he asked her. - -"Yes." She glanced at him timidly. "Mother is down attendin' to the -milkin' with Dilly. I'm watchin' the meat in the stove." - -"You'd better take it up as soon as it's good done," he said. "I don't -want supper to be late ag'in--not to-night, anyway. I've got to ride out -to see a man that's got a lot o' land to sell." - -"It's about done," she answered, wearily, "an' I'll take it up an' set -the table." - -He passed on to the kitchen, filled a dipper with water from the pail, -and drank; then he returned to the front veranda and sat down in a -latticed corner, over which honeysuckles climbed. He removed his coat, -for the air was close and hot. He opened the bosom of his moist shirt, -and fanned his face, big neck, and hairy chest with his hat. He was -upset, dissatisfied, angry. So many things had gone contrary to his -wishes. Why had he allowed Silas Tye to talk to him in such a vein? Why -had he not defended the worthy principle he and his followers stood -for? What could an ignorant shoemaker know of such grave and important -issues? Then there was the memory of Jeff Warren's grimly determined -mouth, set jaws, and flaming eyes, as he stood placidly demanding -satisfaction of him--_of him_. Hoag's rage ran through him like streams -of liquid fire, the glow of which hung before his eyes like a mist of -flame. Why had he not--he clenched his brawny fist and the muscles of -his arm drew taut--why had he not beaten the insolent fellow's face to -a pulp for daring to talk of satisfaction to him? The man, even now, -was perhaps recounting what had happened in his stoical, inconsequential -way, and there were some persons--_some_, at least--who would think that -the apology was the last resort of a coward. Men who didn't really -know him might fancy such to be the case. Yes, he must have it out with -Warren. Some day--before long, too--he would call him down publicly -on some pretext or other in which a woman's fame was not involved, and -prove himself to others and, yes--to himself. - -There was a soft step in the hallway behind him. It was his wife. He -felt rather than saw her presence in the doorway. - -"What is it--what is it?" he demanded, impatiently. - -He heard her catch her breath, and knew the delay in replying was due -to habitual timidity. He repeated his question fiercely, for there was -satisfaction in being stern to some one after the humiliating manner in -which he had received Warren. - -"You say you are goin' out after supper?" she faltered. "I hope you -ain't goin' far, because--" - -"I'm goin' as far as I _want_ to go," he hurled at her. "I won't let -you nor your mammy dabble in my affairs. I don't have to make excuses -neither. My business is my business. I'll have to be late; but that's -neither here nor thar, whether I am or not. I see you both with your -heads together now and then, and I know what you say--I know what you -think--but I'll be my own boss in this establishment, an' you may as -well count on it." - -"Don't, don't! Please don't talk so loud!" she implored him, for his -voice had risen almost to a shriek. "Didn't Paul Rundel tell you? I sent -'im in town to find you. Surely you know--" - -"To find me? What for?" - -"Why, the baby's awful sick; he's just dropped to sleep. Paul got Dr. -Lynn as quick as he could, an' then went on after you." - -"Sick--sick--is Jack sick?" - -Hoag lowered the front part of his chair to the floor and stood up. He -stared into the shrinking face for a moment, and then he spoke in a low, -startled voice. - -"What did the doctor say ailed him?" - -"He said he couldn't tell yet. Jack's got a powerful high fever. Dr. -Lynn said it might be very serious, and it might not. He left some -medicine, an' told me to watch the child close. He said he'd be back -as soon as he could possibly get here. He'd have stayed on, but he was -obliged to attend to Mrs. Petty, who ain't expected to last through the -night." - -Silence fell as the woman ceased speaking. Hoag's breathing through his -big, hair-lined nostrils was audible. He put his hand on the door-facing -and swayed toward it. Every trace of his anger had vanished. - -"I didn't see Paul." He had lowered his voice to an undertone. "I had no -idea Jack was sick. When--when did you first notice it?" - -"About four o'clock. He was playin' in the yard, as usual, an' I didn't -dream anything was wrong till Aunt Dilly come to me an' said Jack acted -odd. She said she'd been watchin' 'im through the window, an' he'd quit -playin' an' would lie down on the grass awhile an' then git up an' play -a little an' then lie down ag'in. I went out and found him with the -hottest skin I ever felt an' a queer, glassy look in his eyes. I toted -'im in an' put 'im on the bed, an' then I saw he was plumb out o' his -head, thinkin' he saw ugly things which he said was comin' to git 'im. -He was that way, off an' on, till the doctor come." - -One of Hoag's greatest inconsistencies was the tendency to anger -whenever anything went contrary to his desires. He was angry now, angry -while he was filled with vague fear and while certain self-accusing -thoughts flitted about him like winged imps of darkness. He wanted to -charge some one with having neglected the child, and he would have done -so at any moment less grave. Just then a low moan came from Mrs. Hoag's -room on the right of the hall, and she hastened to Jack's bedside. Hoag -followed on tiptoe and bent over the child, who lay on his little bed -before a window through which the fading light was falling. - -The child recognized his father and held up his flushed arms. - -"Daddy, Dack's hick. It's hot--hot!" - -"I know--I know," Hoag said, soothingly, his hand on the child's brow; -"the medicine will cool you off after a while." - -"Black' things come to catch Dack--oh, Daddy, don't let 'em--don't let -'em!" - -"You was out o' your head," Hoag heard himself saying, almost cooingly. -"It was a bad dream--that's all--a mean, bad dream." - -Then a vague stare of coming unconsciousness crept into the child's eyes -and the long lashes drooped to the flushed cheeks. Hoag drew himself -erect, held his breath lest his exhaling might waken the child, and -crept quietly from the room back to the veranda. - -The twilight was thickening over the fields and meadows. The mountains -loomed up like sinister monsters against the sky. Clouds of blue smoke -from forest fires, far and near, hovered over the valley. The sultry air -was laden with the odor of burning twigs, leaves, and underbrush. There -was a step on the back porch, and, turning, he saw Mrs. Tilton coming -in, bowed between two pails of milk. He went to her as she stood at the -kitchen-table straining the warm, fragrant fluid into a brown jar. "What -do you think ails the baby?" he inquired. "Looks to me like scarlet -fever," she answered, with the stoicism of her age and sex. "I hain't -seen many cases in my time, but from the indications--" He swore -under his breath, angry at her for even suggesting such a horrible -possibility. "I reckon you don't know much about such things. Wait till -the doctor says it's as bad as that before you jump at it so quick." - -"I didn't _say_ I knowed for sure," Mrs. Tilton flared, resentfully. -"But thar's one thing certain, the doctor is worried--I saw that plain -enough; he is worried, an' I never would 'a' thought o' scarlet fever if -he hadn't said a lot of it was goin' round about." - -"Who's got it?" Hoag demanded, as fiercely as a lawyer browbeating a -refractory witness. - -"Why, the McKinneys' youngest gal. They sent 'er over here to borrow -salt t'other day just before she was took down, an' her an' Jack--" - -"I reckon you'll say you let Jack play with 'er next," Hoag blustered, -in the tone of a rough man to a rough man. - -"How could we tell?" was the admission, calmly enough made. "She hadn't -broke out--she _did_ look sort o' red; but it was a hot day, an' I -thought she'd been runnin', as children will do. Jack was playin' in the -straw that was cut last week, an' she come by an'--" - -"Pack of fools--pack of idiots!" Hoag thundered, and he went back to the -veranda, where for several minutes he stood staring dejectedly into the -night. He was there holding his unlighted pipe in his hand, his ears -bent to catch any sound from the sick-room, when Aunt Dilly, the fat -cook, came shuffling in her slipshod way up behind him. - -"Supper's on de table, Marse Jim," she announced, in a low tone of -concern. "Miss Sarah an' 'er ma say dey don't feel like eatin' a -bite--dey is so clean upset an' outdone." - -Hoag was not conscious of any desire for food, but as a matter of form -or habit he followed the negress to the dining-room across the hall from -where the child lay and took his usual seat at the long table. A lamp -with a pink paper shade stood in the center of the board, and threw -a rosy glow over the dishes and cold vegetables and meat. Hoag helped -himself to the cabbage and beans, and broke the corn pone, and poured -out his coffee. He ate slowly and yet without due mastication, for he -was constantly listening, with knife and fork poised in the air, for any -sound from the sick-room. The sight of the high, empty chair in -which the baby usually sat next to him sent a shudder through him and -tightened his throat. Hurrying through his supper, he rose and went back -to his seat on the veranda. The fear that was on him was like a -palpable weight which crushed him physically as well as mentally. Recent -disagreeable occurrences flitted before his mind's eye like specters. It -seemed to him, all at once, that a malignant destiny might be taking -him in hand. An evil sun had risen on him that day, and this was its -setting. Jack, the flower of his life--the only creature he had ever -really loved--was going to die--to die, actually to die! Hoag stifled -an upsurging groan. His head sank till his chin touched his bare breast, -and then he drew himself up in resentful surprise over his weakness. The -night crept on like a vast thing full of omnipotent and crafty design. -It was twelve o'clock, and yet he had not thought of sleep, although -he had not closed his eyes the night before. He heard voices in the -sick-room, and was about to go thither, when the door opened and Mrs. -Tilton came along the hall and stopped at his chair. - -"I thought you was in bed," she said, in a strange, reserved tone. "I'm -awfully worried. I'm afraid it's goin' ag'in' Sarah. She ain't strong -enough to stand up under it. If Jack goes she'll go too. Mark my -prediction." - -"How's the baby?" Hoag impatiently demanded. - -"I don't know; he's tossin' awful. Looks like Dr. Lynn would have been -here by this time; but he said the only thing to do was to wait an' see -how the medicine acted. Are you goin' to stay up?" - -Hoag's head rocked. "Yes, I want to hear what he says. I'll be out here -if--if you--need me." - -"All right." And the old woman slipped away in the unlighted hall, and -he heard her softly opening the door of the sick-room. The silence of -the night grew profound. The moon was rising like a flaming world above -the mountain, throwing its mystical veil over the landscape. There was -a sound of a closing gate at the foot of the lawn, and some one entered -and came up the walk. It was Henry. He had a cane in his hand, and was -idly slashing the flowers which bordered the walk. He was whistling in -a low, contented way. Down the steps crept his father, and they met a -little distance from the house. - -"Stop that infernal noise!" Hoag commanded. "Hain't you got an ounce o' -sense? The baby's sick an' you'll wake 'im. Whar 've you been?" - -"Over at John Wells's house," the boy replied. "Tobe is going off to -Texas, and everybody was saying good-by." - -"I'll believe that when I have to," Hoag growled. "I can smell liquor on -you now. You fairly stink with it." - -"'Twasn't nothing but an eggnog Mrs. Wells made," the boy said, slowly, -studying the face before him. - -"Well, you go on to bed," Hoag ordered. "An' don't you make a bit o' -noise goin' in, either. Don't wake that child." - -"I ain't agoin' to wake 'im," Henry answered, as he turned away. "I'm -sorry he's sick. Can I see him?" - -"No, you can't! Go to bed an' let 'im alone." - -When his son had disappeared into the house Hoag stood for a moment -staring at the light which filtered through the green blinds of his -wife's room, and then, hearing the beating of hoofs on the road, he -moved on to the gate with an eager, tentative step. - -"That's the doctor now," he thought. "What the hell's he creepin' along -like a snail for when we've been waitin'--" But the horse had stopped -in the shadow of the barn, and Hoag saw the rider still in the saddle -leaning sideways and peering at him. - -"What's the matter, Doc?" Hoag called out. "Want me to hitch yo' hoss?" - -"It hain't the doctor--it's me, Cap. Anybody in sight--road clear?" - -An oath of combined surprise and disappointment escaped Hoag's tense -lips. It was Trawley, and for the first time since he had parted with -the man that afternoon he recalled his appointment. He said nothing, but -opened the gate, passed out, and went along the fence to the horse and -rider. - -"I come by to report." Trawley threw a leg over the rump of his steaming -horse and stood down on the ground. "Met Paul Rundel in town searchin' -high an' low for you, an' heard your baby was purty bad off, so when I -met the boys--eighty odd--an' we'd waited as long as we possibly -could, I explained to 'em and took command, an' we went on; we just had -to--time was powerful short, you know. We rode fast, goin' an' comin'." - -Trawley ceased speaking and looked at his chief in slow astonishment, -for Hoag was blankly staring at the ground. - -"My God, Cap, the little chap hain't--dead, is he?" - -"No, no, not yet--not yet," Hoag muttered; "but he may be before -mornin'." - -"You don't say! That's bad, powerful bad, for I know what a great pet -he is, an' a bright, knowin' child, too, if thar ever was one. Well, I -reckon you want to know what we done? We got thar in the neighborhood o' -nine o'clock, an' rid straight to the jail. The sheriff was thar hisself -on guard, an' at first he thought we was a gang bent on lynchin', an' -shet all doors an' talked about firin' on us; but I'd appointed Sim -Cotes as spokesman, an' we raised a white flag an' called the sheriff -out. Then Sim laid down the law in a speech as smooth as goose grease. -As fast as the sheriff would raise an objection Sim would knock it into -a cocked hat, till finally the feller didn't have a leg to stand on. Sim -told 'im that if he didn't act sensible five hundred men would be out in -the mornin' workin' for his defeat in the next election. He wiggled, -an' argued, an' mighty nigh prayed--they say he's a deacon or some'n -or other; but he had his price, an' he finally tumbled. He went in an' -talked with the jailer an' his wife. The woman was on our side; said she -didn't want to see the tramp strung up nohow. It was funny; we had 'im -whar the wool was short, as the sayin' is, an' so--" - -Trawley stopped, for Hoag had turned abruptly and was looking past him -to the cross-roads at the corner of his property. - -"That must be Doc Lynn now," he said, excitedly. - -"No, it ain't," Trawley answered. "That is a drummer in a rig o' mine. -He went over to Tyler Station before daylight, an' was to git back -to-night. I know the hoss's trot. Say, Cap, we shore did act in -hot blood last night. We kin say what we like to the public, but we -certainly sent one innocent coon to judgment. That measly tramp was as -guilty as ever a man was." - -"You think so?" Hoag said, listlessly. - -"Yes; we led 'im down the road apiece after we left the jail. He hadn't -heard our dicker with the sheriff, an' made shore we was in for hangin' -'im. He must o' had a streak o' good old-fashioned religion in 'im, for -all the way we heard 'im prayin' like rips. Even when we all got around -'im to explain he drapped on his knees in the road and confessed to the -whole dern business. He didn't ax for mercy, either, but just begged for -a few minutes to pray. The boys was all feelin' purty good over the way -things was goin' an' was in for some fun, so nobody let on for a while, -an' Sim Cotes, in as solemn a voice as a judge, called out that we'd -'low 'im three minutes, an' we all set down on the grass like Indians -smokin' a pipe o' peace, an' tuck it in like a show. It seemed he didn't -really intend to kill old Rose; he just wanted to stun 'im so he could -get what he had, but the old man put up a regular wild-cat fight, an' -was yellin' so loud for help, that he had to settle 'im to save his own -skin." - -"Then you let 'im go," Hoag prompted. "Hurry up, I don't want to stay -here all night." - -"Yes; some o' the boys was in for givin' the poor devil a sound lashin'; -but he really looked like he wasn't strong enough to stand up under it, -an' we didn't dare disable 'im, so when we explained to 'im that he was -free if he'd get clean out o' the country an' hold his tongue, he was -the funniest lookin' sight you ever saw. By gum, he actually tried to -kiss our hands; he crawled about on his knees in the road, cryin' an' -whimperin' an' beggin' the Lord to bless us. It actually unstrung some -o' the boys--looked like they hardly knowed what to do or say. The tramp -started off, lookin' back over his shoulder like he was afraid somebody -would shoot, an' when he got to the top o' the rise he broke into a run -an' he hit the grit like a scared rabbit." - -Trawley laughed impulsively; but no sign of amusement escaped Hoag. His -eyes were fixed on a horse and buggy down the road. - -"That must be the doctor," he said. "You go on to town." - -"All right, all right, Cap," was the reply. "I just thought I'd stop by -an' let you know how it come out. Good night." - -"Good night," Hoag gloomily echoed, and he went back to the gate, where -he stood waiting for the doctor. - -The physician was a man past middle age, full-bearded, iron-gray, and -stockily built. He got out of his buggy with the deliberation of his -profession. - -"How is the child now?" he asked, as he hitched his horse to the fence. - -"I don't know, Doc; you'd better hurry in an' look at 'im. You think he -is dangerous, don't you?" - -"I thought so when I saw 'im; but I can't tell sure yet. Couldn't get -here a bit sooner--tried my best, but couldn't." - -Hoag opened the gate, and they both passed through. On the still air the -trotting of Trawley's horse fell faintly on their ears. As they neared -the house the light in the sick-room was turned up and Mrs. Tilton came -to the front door. - -"Walk in, Doctor," Hoag said, and he remained at the foot of the steps, -his bare head catching the silvery beams of the moon. Hoag heard his -mother-in-law speaking in a low, explanatory tone, as she led the doctor -along the dark hall. - -What would the verdict be? Hoag asked himself. Other men had lost their -children, why should not he--he, of all men, take his turn at that sort -of fatality? He paced the grass in front of the house impatiently. -He shrank from seeing the child. There was something in the small, -suffering face which he felt would unman him. The minutes seemed to drag -like hours. There was a constant grinding and rumbling of feet on the -floor within, the mumbling of low voices. Hoag strained his ears for the -sound of Jack's voice, but it did not come. Perhaps--perhaps the little -fellow was sinking; children died that way, often without pain or -struggle. Hoag for one instant leaned toward the hereditary instinct -of prayer, and then shrugged his shoulders as he remembered that he had -long since given all that up. Belief in God and a future life belonged -to a period far back in his memory, when, as a smooth-faced youth, he -had erroneously thought himself converted at a revival in which the -whole countryside had given itself over to tears, rejoicings, and -resolutions. No; if Jack was dying, that was the end of the little -life--marvelous as it was--it was the end, the very end. Hoag sat down -on the lowest step of the veranda, gripped his big hands between his -knees, and stared at the pale, pitiless moon. - -The sound of a closing door fell on his ears; a heavy step rang in -the hall. The doctor was coming out. Hoag stood up and faced him as -he crossed the veranda, his medicine-case in hand. How damnably placid -seemed the bearded face; how like that of an official executioner or an -undertaker bent on mere profit. - -"Well, well?" Hoag gulped. "Well, how is it?" - -"I had my scare for nothing." The doctor bent his body to look around -a tree to see if his horse was where he had left it. "It isn't scarlet -fever. The child has eaten something that went against him. He had a -raging fever; but it's down now, and if you will look to his diet for a -day or two he'll be all right." - -Hoag said nothing; something like a blur fell before his eyes, and the -fence, trees, bam, and stables rose and fell like objects floating on -a turbulent cloud. "Good night," he heard the doctor saying as from a -distance. "Goodnight"--it seemed an echo from within him, rather than -a product of his lips. The blur lifted; he steadied himself, and stood -watching the doctor as he unhitched his horse and got into the buggy. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -|ON this same night certain things were happening at Ralph Rundel's -cottage. The hour was late. Paul, who was suddenly roused from the -profound slumber of a tired toiler, was sure of this, though he had no -means of ascertaining the exact time. - -"Don't you dare hit 'er, Rafe Rundel, don't you--don't you, I say!" -was the cry which at first seemed to the boy to be a part of a confused -dream, and which resolved itself into distinct utterance as his eyes and -ears gradually opened. - -"I wasn't tryin' to hit 'er, Mandy, an' you know it." It was Ralph -Rundel's despondent and yet accusing voice which broke the pale -stillness of the night. "I just want 'er to tell me the plain, -unvarnished truth, an' she's got to! She cayn't be a wife o' mine an' -carry on like that, an' do it underhand. I want to know if they met by -agreement. I was on the hill an' saw Jeff waitin' at the creek ford. He -had no business thar, an' stood behind the bushes, an' kept peepin' at -our house till she come out an' went down to 'im. Then they walked to -the spring an' set for a good hour, Jeff bent toward 'er, an' she was -a-listenin' close, an' a-lookin' toward the house every minute like she -was afeard somebody would come." - -It was Amanda Wilks who now spoke as the startled boy put his feet on -the floor and sat on the bed, grimly alert. - -"Looks like Rafe is axin' a reasonable enough question, Addie," she was -heard to say. "At least it seems so to me, an' I know I am tryin' to be -fair to both sides, so I am." - -"It _is_ fair," Ralph passionately supplemented, "an' if she is honest -an' wants to do right she will talk straight an' be as open as day. As -my wife the law gives me the right to--" - -"Law? What's law amount to when a woman's plumb miserable?" Mrs. Rundel -said, in a low, rebellious tone, and Paul heard her bare feet thump on -the floor as she flounced about the room. "I hate you. I've hated you -all along. I can't remember when I didn't hate you. No livin' woman with -any refined feelin's could help it. I want liberty, that's all. I won't -have you prowlin' about in the woods and watchin' me like a hawk every -time a neighbor speaks decent to me. Lemme tell you some'n; you'd better -never let Jeff Warren know you make charges ag'in' me like you are -a-doin'. He'd thrash you 'in an inch o' your life, if you _are_ married -to me. I'll not tell you why I happened to go down to the spring. That's -_my_ business." - -Paul heard his father utter a low, despairing groan as he left the room -and stalked through the corridor and out at the front door. Going to the -window, the boy looked out just as Ralph turned the corner and paused in -the moonlight, his ghastly profile as clear-cut as if it had been carved -in stone. Paul saw him raise his stiff arms to the sky, and heard him -muttering unintelligible words. The window-sash was up, the sill low to -the ground, and dressed only in his night-shirt, the boy passed through -the opening and stood on the dewy grass. - -There he paused a moment, for he heard his aunt speaking to her sister -admonishingly: "Rafe's jest got a man's natural pride an' jealousy. You -know folks in a out-o'-the-way settlement like this will talk, an'--" - -"Well, let 'em talk! Let 'em talk! Let 'em talk!" the wife retorted, -fiercely. "I don't care what they say. I won't be a bound slave to -Rafe Rundel if I _did_ marry 'im. I'm entitled to my natural likes and -dislikes the same now as I ever was. No woman alive could care for a -man hawkin' an' spittin' an' coughin' about the house, with water in his -eyes--sneezin' an' snifflin' an' groanin', as peevish as a spoilt child, -an' wantin' to know every single minute where I am and what I am doin'. -I'm finished with 'im, I tell you--I'm plumb finished with 'im, an' he -knows it. Yes, he knows it, an' that's why he was in sech a tantrum just -now, pullin' my bedclothes off, shakin' his fist like a crazy fool, an' -stormin' around in the dead o' night." - -The pacific voice of Amanda Wilks here broke in; but Paul did not wait -to hear what she was saying, for his father, with bowed and shaking -form, was tottering away in the moonlight toward the cow-lot. Ralph -reached the rail fence, and with an audible moan he bent his head upon -it. Paul's feet fell noiselessly on the dewy grass as he crept toward -him. Reaching him he touched him on the shoulder. - -"Father," Paul said, softly, "what's the matter? Are you sick?" - -Slowly Ralph Rundel raised his head and stared at his son, but he -said nothing. His tattered nightshirt was carelessly stuffed under -the waistband of his gaping trousers, which were supported by a single -suspender over his shoulder. The other suspender hung in a loop over -his hip. His grizzled head was bare, as were his attenuated feet. He -continued to stare, as if he had no memory of the speaker's face, -his lip hanging loose, quivering, and dripping with saliva. The -damp, greenish pallor of death itself was on him, and it gleamed like -phosphorus in the rays of the moon. A tremulous groan passed out from -his low chest, and his head sank to the fence again. - -"Father, father, don't you know me? _Paul!_ Don't you know me?" The boy -touched the gray head; he shook it persuasively, and it rocked like a -mechanical tiling perfectly poised. The man's knees bent, quivered, and -then straightened up again. - -"Father, father, it's me--_Paul!_--your son! What's the matter?" - -Ralph turned his face slowly to one side. - -"Oh, it's you!--my boy! my boy! I thought--" He looked about the cow-lot -vacantly, and then fixed his all but glazed eyes on his son's face, and -said: "You go back to bed, my boy; you can't do me no good--nobody on -earth can. I'm done for. I feel it all over me like the sweat o' death." - -"Father, tell me"--Paul stood erect, his head thrown back, and his young -voice rang sharply on the still air--"do you believe that dirty whelp--" -There was an insane glare in Rundel's watery eyes, and his head rocked -back and forth again. - -"He's after your ma, Paul." Ralph emitted another groan. "He's took with -'er purty face, an' has set in to make a plumb fool of 'er, and make 'er -hate me. He's the kind o' devil that won't pick and choose for hisself, -like an honest man, out in the open among free gals an' women, but -thinks that nothin' ain't as good as another man's holdin's. He thinks -he is sorry fer 'er because she's tied to a sick man; but it hain't -that--it's the devil in 'im!" - -The boy laid his arm on his father's shoulders; his lips moved, but no -sound issued; his face was rigid and white. - -"I ain't talkin' without grounds." Ralph's faint voice trailed away on -its wave of agony. "Friends have come to me an' reported the doin's of -the two at singin'. He fetches her a bunch of flowers every day, -an' they set an' sing out o' the same book with the'r heads plumped -together. He walks mighty nigh all the way home with her through the -woods, an' sneaks off as soon as they git in sight o' the house. He -makes all manner o' fun o' me--tellin' folks, so I've been told, that -I can't last long, an' that she never knowed what rale healthy love was -nohow." - -Paul's hand was now on his father's head, and he was gently stroking the -long, thick hair, though his eyes were blazing, his breast heaving, as -from an inner tempest. - -Ralph turned and looked toward the house. The light was out now, and -there was no sound. - -"I reckon she's gone back to sleep," Ralph wailed, bitterly. "What does -she care how I feel? She could have no idea, you couldn't neither, Paul, -fur you are too young. But maybe some day you will know the awful, awful -sting o' havin' the world look on in scorn, while a big strappin' brute -of a daredevil an' the mother o' yore child--oh, my God! I can't stand -it--I jest _can't!_ I'd die a million deaths rather than--it's in the -Rundel blood, I reckon, planted thar deep by generations an' generations -o' proud folks. I'm goin' to kill 'im, Paul. I don't know when or how, -exactly, but it's got to be done, if God will only give me the strength. -It won't be no sin; it couldn't be; it would be just wipin' out one o' -the slimy vipers o' life." - -"If you don't, I will, father. I swear it here an' now," the boy -solemnly vowed, removing his hand from the cold brow and looking off in -the mystical light which lay over the fields. - -"Huh, we won't _both_ have to do it!" Ralph spoke as if half dreaming, -certainly not realizing his son's frame of mind. "It never would be any -satisfaction to have it said that it took two of us to fix 'im, even if -he _is_ rated high on his fightin' record. No, that's _my_ job; you keep -clean out of it!" - -"Come to my bed, father." Paul caught his arm and drew him gently -from the fence. "You are shakin' from head to foot; your teeth are -chatterin', an' you are cold through an' through." - -Ralph allowed himself to be led along; now and then he would stumble -over a tuft of grass, as if he had lost the power of lifting his feet. -Once he paused, threw his arms about his son's shoulder, and said, -almost in fright, as he bore down heavily: - -"I feel odd, powerful odd. I feel cold clean through to my insides, like -my entrails was turnin' to rock. I can hardly git my breath. I don't -seem to--to send it clean down. It stops in my chest like, an' I am all -of a quiver, an' weak, an' dizzy-like. I can't see a yard ahead of me." - -"You'll feel better when you are in bed," Paul said, soothingly, and he -led his father on to the quiet, house and into his room. He undressed -him, wiped the dew from his numb, bloodless feet on a towel, and made -him lie down. - -"I feel drowsy," Ralph sighed. "Everything is in a sort of dreamy -jumble. I hardly remember what me'n you was--was talkin' about. I'm -weak. I've been so bothered that I hain't eat much in several days." - -Presently Paul saw that he was asleep, and lay down beside the still -form. After a while he, too, fell into slumber, and the remainder of the -night crept along. - -The first hint of dawn was announced by the crowing of cocks, the far -and near barking of dogs, the grunting of pigs, the chirping of early -birds, as they flew about in the dewy branches of the trees. Paul waked -and went to his window and looked out. The gray light of a new day lay -like an aura on the brow of the mountain. The recollection of what had -taken place in the night flashed upon him with startling freshness. He -recalled Jeff Warren's visage, his mother in her dainty dress, ribbons -and flowers, and his blood began to throb and boil. In a storm of hot -pity he glanced toward his father, who in the dark corner lay as still -as the cracked plastering, against which his grim profile was cast. -Suddenly Paul had a great fear; he held his breath to listen, and -strained his eyes to pierce the shadows. Was Ralph Rundel breathing? Did -ever living man lie so still, so silent? Paul went to the bed, drew down -the sheet, and bent over the face. Eyes and mouth open--Ralph was dead. -Paul shook him gently and called to him, but there was no response. The -body was still slightly warm, but fast growing stiff. - -Quickly dressing, Paul went across the corridor and knocked on the door -of his aunt's room. - -"What is it now? Oh, what do you want now?" Amanda called out, in drowsy -impatience. "You've kept me awake nearly all night with your fussin', -an' jest as I am gittin' my fust bit o' rest--" - -"Aunt Manda, you'd better come--" Paul's voice faltered and broke. -"You'd better come see if you think--" - -"What is it? Oh, what is it now?" He heard her feet strike the floor -and the loose planks creak as she groped her way to the door, which she -unlocked and drew open. "It ain't nigh day." She cast inquiring eyes -toward the yard. "What's got into you wantin' breakfast earlier an' -earlier every mornin' you live?" - -Paul swallowed a lump in his throat, mutely jerked his head toward his -room. "I think--I think father's dead," he said, simply. - -"Dead? Dead?" the woman gasped, incredulously. She stared blankly at -her nephew, and then, holding her unbuttoned nightgown at the neck, -she strode across the corridor into Paul's room. He followed to the -threshold, and dumbly watched her as she made a quick examination of -the body. She drew herself up, uttered a little scream, and came to him -wringing her hands. - -"Oh, God will punish us!" she said. "The Almighty will throw a blight on -this house! He's gone, an' his last words was a curse on your ma, an' on -me for spoilin' 'er. O God--God, have mercy! An' he went with revenge in -his heart an' hate in his soul. Oh, Rafe's gone--Rafe's gone!" - -Amanda stood leaning against the wall moaning and ejaculating bits of -prayers. The door of Mrs. Rundel's room opened, and with her hair rolled -up in bits of paper she peered out. - -"What is it?" she inquired, peevishly. "What's the matter? Gone? Did you -say he was gone? What if he _has_ gone? He's been threatening to leave -all summer. He'll be back. You can count on that. He knows a good thing -when he sees it, and he'll lie around here till he dies of old age or -dries up an' is blown away." - -"No, he won't be back!" Paul strode to her and stood coldly staring at -her. "He's dead. He died of a broken heart, an' you done it--you an' -Jeff Warren between you." - -"Dead--dead, you say?" And, as if to make sure, Mrs. Rundel stalked -stiffly across the corridor to Ralph's body and bent over it. They saw -her raise one of the limp hands and pass her own over the pallid brow. -Then, without a word, she drew herself erect and came back to her son -and sister. Her face was white and rigid; the coming wrinkles in her -cheeks and about her mouth seemed deeper than ever before. She faced -Paul, a blended expression of fear and dogged defiance in her eyes. - -"Don't you ever _dare_ to--to talk to me like you did just now," she -said, fiercely. "I won't stand it. You are too young a boy to dictate to -me." - -"I may be that," he snarled, "but I'll dictate to somebody else if I'm -hung for it. You hear me--if I'm _hung_ for it!" - -She shrank under this bitter onslaught. She seemed to waver a moment, -then she went into her room, lighted her candle, and began to dress. - -Her sister followed and stood beside her. "Don't take on," Amanda said. -"Don't go an' fancy it is yore fault. Paul is out o' his head with grief -an' don't know what he's sayin'. Rafe was a sick, dyin' man, anyway; his -mind was unhinged; that was plain by the way he suspicioned you. Now, -I'll git breakfast an' attend to everything; don't set in to cryin' an' -make yourself sick; what is done is done, an' can't be helped." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -|LIKE a human machine obeying the laws of habit, Paul went about his -usual morning duties, feeding and currying the horses, taking slop to -the pigs, driving up the cow from the pasture, and chopping wood for the -fire. Amanda came to him at the woodpile, rolling the flakes of dough -from her fingers. The first direct rays of the sun were breaking over -the brow of the hill. - -"I'll have the coffee an' biscuits done right off," she said, in a -motherly tone, which seemed to be borrowed from some past memory or the -long-worn habit of protecting her sister. "I'll call you purty soon. -Paul, you'll have to make the best of it. I've been expectin' it for -a long time. He's been gettin' peevish an' losin' flesh an' strength. -Then, like most folks in that fix, he let his fancy run rife, an' that -hurried him on. It's awful--awful havin' a dead person right here in -the house; but it comes to high an' low alike. I know you are cut to the -quick, an' inclined to fix the blame on somebody; but that will wear off -an' you 'll git reconciled. You'll miss 'im, I know--an' that sharp, for -he leaned on you as if you an' 'im had swapped places." - -Paul said nothing. He filled his arms with the wood and started into -the kitchen. Amanda saw his dull, bloodshot eyes above the heap as he -turned. - -She followed, and as he noiselessly lowered the wood to the stone -hearth, she stood over him. - -"There is a thing that must be attended to," she said. "I sort o' hate -to be left with just me an' Addie alone with him in thar like that; but -you'll have' to go to town an' order a coffin. Webb an' Wiggins keeps -'em at the furniture-store, an' in hot weather like this they will -want the order early. You just pick out the sort you think we kin -afford--they're got all grades--an' they will trim it. If I was you I'd -make them send it. It would look more decent than for you to haul it -out on the wagon. We'll keep your poor pa till to-morrow; it won't look -right to be in too great a hurry; thar is sech a sight o' talk these -days about bury in' folks alive, here among the ignorant whites an' -blacks." When he had finished his morning's work Paul came in and sat -down at the table to the coffee and eggs and hot cakes his aunt had -prepared, but he ate without his usual relish. He was just finishing -when Abe Langston, a neighboring farmer, a tall, thin man about forty -years of age, with long, brown beard, and without a coat, collar, or -necktie, appeared, hat in hand, at the door. - -"We've just heard it over our way," he said to Amanda. "I told my wife -I'd come over before I set in to cuttin' hay in the bottom. Powerful -sudden an' unexpected, wasn't it?" - -"Yes, he seemed to pass away in his sleep like." Amanda was wiping -her red eyes on her apron. "It was a weak heart, no doubt, an' it is a -comfort to feel that he never suffered." - -"I'll go take a look at 'im," Langston said, laying his hat on the -door-sill. "I sent my oldest gal over after John Tobines an' Andy -Warner, an' when they git here we three will lay 'im out. John's handy -with a razor--he used to work in a barber's shop--an' he'll shave the -pore fellow an' trim his hair. Some o' the young men an' women will want -to set up here to-night, an' give you an' Addie a chance to snatch a -little sleep." - -"That will be obligin' of 'em," Amanda answered, still wiping her -eyes. "You kin tell 'em I'll fix a nice snack an' some coffee to sorter -freshen 'em up. How many do you reckon will come?" - -"Oh, I'd fix for four couples, anyway. Thar is a certain crowd that -always count on sech occasions--you know who they are as well as I do, I -reckon?" - -"Yes, Polly Long an' her bunch." Amanda followed the man across the -corridor into the room where the corpse lay, and as Paul was leaving he -heard her continuing, plaintively: "Death is just the awfulest, -awfulest thing we come across in this life, Brother Langston. We know -so little--so powerful little about it. One minute we see the sparkle of -the soul in the eye, hear a voice full of life; you catch a smile, or a -knowin' look, an' maybe the next minute just a empty shell lies before -you. Rafe was a good, patient man, an' he suffered a lot, fust an' -last." - -"Did he make his _peace?_" Langston inquired. "That is the fust thought -I have when a body dies. Do you think he was all right? He didn't go to -meetin' often, an' I never happened to hear 'im say what his hopes of -reward was." - -"I don't know--I really don't know," Amanda returned, and Paul, -lingering in the kitchen doorway, heard her voice falter. "Brother -Langston, sometimes I was bothered purty sharp on that score. Him and -Paul both used to repeat some o' Jim Hoag's terrible sayin's like they -thought they was smart an' funny, an' neither one of 'em ever would read -the Bible, or seek spiritual advice, an' sech a thing as family prayer, -or a blessin' asked at the table was never heard in this house." - -"I know." The masculine voice sounded louder now, as if its owner had -come back into the corridor. "That's why I was axin'. Folks cayn't -take up notions like Hoag has in a God-fearin' community like our'n an' -flaunt 'em about without causin' comment. My own opinion is that Jim -Hoag is a devil in the garb of a man. He's larnt Paul all the awful -things the boy believes, an' a man that will lead the young off like -that ought to be tarred an' feathered an' rid out o' the community on -a sharp rail. If he didn't have so much money he'd 'a' been called down -long ago." - -Paul was in the stable-yard when Amanda came out to him. - -"I forgot to tell you," she said. "Your pa won't have to have new -clothes; his Sunday suit will do for weather like this when I've ironed -out the wrinkles; but you ought to buy 'im some black slippers, an' a -pair o' white store socks an' a plain black necktie--they keep all sech -at the furniture-store. You just tell 'em what's lackin' an' they will -put 'em in." - -She glanced at her nephew's face in surprise, for it was flushed, and -his eyes were flashing angrily. - -"What's the matter?" she asked, leaning on the fence and eying him in -growing wonder. - -"I heard you an' Langston talkin' in thar, standin' right over 'im," -Paul blurted out, "an' him cold an' dead an' unable to take up for -hisse'f. Make his peace nothin'! He died before he could settle the -things he had to settle. If thar _was_ sech a fool thing as a heaven, -how could he enjoy it with Jeff Warren here gloatin' over him? But that -will be settled. You hear me--that will be settled, an' before many -days, too." - -"I know you are not goin' to act the fool, if you are just a hot-headed -boy," Amanda said. "You are all wrought up now ag'in' your ma an' -everybody; but that will wear off. I know when my _own_ father died I--" - -But the boy refused to hear. He turned into a stall and began to put a -bridle on a horse, which he led out into the yard with only a blanket -on its back. There was uncurbed fury in the very spring he made from -the ground to his seat. His face was fire-red, and he thrust his heels -against the horse's flanks with such force that the animal gave a loud -grunt as he lurched toward the open gate. - -"Wait, Paul, wait!" Amanda cried after him. "You've forgot some'n. I -wouldn't stop you, but you can't do without it." - -He drew rein and glared down on her. - -"You haven't got the measure of--of the body. I never thought of it just -now when Brother Langston was here, an' he's gone to hurry up Tobines -an' Warner. I'd go an' do it myself, but it ain't exactly a woman's -place. I'll hold yo' hoss." - -He stared at her for a moment, the color dying down in his face. Then, -with obvious reluctance, he slid off the horse and went into the room -where the corpse lay covered with a sheet. He was looking about for a -piece of string with which to take the required measurement, when he -recalled that he and his father were exactly the same height, and, with -a sense of relief, he was turning from the room when an uncontrollable -impulse came over him to look upon the face beneath the covering. He -hesitated for a moment, then, going to the bed, he drew the sheet down -and gazed at the white, set countenance. A storm of pity and grief broke -over him. He had a mother's yearning to kiss the cold, pale brow, to -fondle the wasted form, to speak to the closed eyes, and compel the -rigid lips to utter some word of recognition. Glancing furtively toward -the door, then toward the window, and with his face close to the dead -one, he said: - -"Don't you bother about Jeff Warren, father. I'll attend to him. I'll -do it--I'll do it. He sha'n't gloat over you, an' you like this. He -sha'n't--he sha'n't!" - -His voice clogged up, and he tenderly drew the sheet back over the -still, white face. Across the corridor he heard his mother moving about -in her room; but the door was closed, and he could not see her. Going -out, he took the bridle from Amanda's hands, threw it back on the neck -of his horse, clutched a collar-worn tuft of the animal's mane, and -sprang astride of its back. - -"I won't have to bother about a new dress for yore ma," Amanda remarked, -her slow eyes studying the boy's grief-pinched face. "We ain't got time -to get one ready, an' she kin put on my black alpaca an' borrow Mrs. -Penham's veil that she's about through with. I know she didn't wear it -two Sundays ago, an' I reckon her mournin's over. It's in purty good -condition." - -Paul rode toward the village. In the first cotton-field on the left-hand -side of the way the two Harris brothers were cutting out weeds with hoes -that tinkled on the buried stones and flashed in the slanting rays of -the sun. They both paused, looked at him steadily and half defiantly, -and then, as if reminded of the gruesome thing which had come upon him -in the night, they looked down and resumed their work. - -Further on was the farm-house belonging to Jeff Warren, and at the well -in the yard Paul descried Warren turning the windlass to water a mule -which stood with its head over a big tub. Paul saw the man looking at -him, but he glanced away. He swung his heels against the flanks of his -horse and rode on through a mist which hung before his sight. - -Paul went straight to the furniture-store and gave his order, and was -leaving when Mrs. Tye came hastily across the street from her husband's -shop. There was a kindly light in her eyes, and her voice shook with -timid emotion. - -"I saw you ride past jest now," she began. "We heard the news a few -minutes ago, an' me an' Si was awfully sorry. He told me to run across -an' beg you to stop at the shop a minute. He wants to see you. I don't -know when I've seed 'im so upset. Thar, I see 'im motionin' to us now. -Let's go over." - -Paul mechanically complied, and as they turned she laid her hand gently -on his arm. - -"Thar is nothin' a body kin say that will do a bit o' good at sech a sad -time," she gulped. "I've got so I jest hold my tongue when sech a blow -falls. But I wish the Lord would show me some way to comfort you. It -must be awful, for I know how you doted on yore pore pa, an' how he -worshiped you. Maybe it will comfort you if I tell you what he said to -me t'other day. I reckon he was pulled down in sperits by ill health or -some'n, for he told me that if it hadn't been for you he'd 'a' killed -hisse'f long ago. Of course that was a wicked thought, but I reckon he -hardly knowed what he was sayin'. He jest couldn't git through talkin' -about you, an' the way you loved 'im an' looked after 'im at all times. -That will be a comfort, Paul--after a while it will all settle down an' -seem right--his death, I mean; then the recollection that you was so -good to him will be a sweet memory that will sustain an' strengthen you -all through life." - -They had reached the open door of the shop, and Silas rose from his -bench, shaking the shavings of leather and broken wooden pegs from his -apron. In his left hand he held the coarse shoe he was repairing and the -right he gave to Paul. - -"I hain't done nothin' but set here an' pray since I heard it," he -began, sympathetically, his rough fingers clinging to Paul's. "In a -case like this God is the only resort. I sometimes think that one of the -intentions of death is to force folks to look to the Almighty an' -cry out for help. That seems to me to be proof enough to convince the -stoutest unbelievers of a higher power, for when a blow like this falls -we jest simply beg for mercy, an' we know down inside of us that -no human aid can be had, an' that help naturally ought to come from -some'r's." - -Paul made no response. Mrs. Tye had placed a chair for him near her -husband's bench, and the boy sank into it, and sat staring dumbly at the -floor. - -"I've got some hot coffee on the stove," Mrs. Tye said, gently. "You'd -feel better, Paul, maybe, if you'd take a cup along with some o' my -fresh biscuits and butter." - -He shook his head, mumbled his thanks, and forgot what she had said. He -was contrasting Jeff Warren as he stood at the well in the full vigor -of health with a still, wasted form under a sheet in a silent, deserted -room. Mrs. Tye left the shop, and her husband continued his effort at -consolation. - -"I know exactly how you feel, Paul, for I've been through it. I've -served my Heavenly Master as well as I know how ever since His redeemin' -light broke over me away back when I was young; but when He took my only -child He took all that seemed worth while in my life. Folks will tell -you that time will heal the wound; but I never waste words over that, -for I know, from experience, that when a body is bowed down like you -are, that it ain't the future you need as a salve, but somethin' right -now. Thar is one thing that will help, an' I wish I actually knowed you -had it. Paul, empty-minded men like Jim Hoag may sneer and poke fun, but -jest as shore as that light out thar in the street comes from the sun -thar is a spiritual flood from God hisse'f that pores into hearts that -are not wilfully closed ag'in' it. I don't want to brag, but I don't -know how I can make it plain without tellin' my own experience. My boy, -I'm a pore man; I make my livin' at the humblest work that man ever -engaged in, an' yet from momin' till night I'm happy--I'm plumb happy. -As God is my judge, I wouldn't swap places with any millionaire that -ever walked the earth, for I know his money an' gaudy holdin's would -stand betwixt me an' the glory I've got. If I had an idle hour to spare, -do you know whar I'd be? I'd be on the side o' that mountain, starin' -out over the blue hills, a-shoutin' an' a-singin' praises to God. Some -folks say I'm crazy on religion--let 'em--let 'em! History is chock full -of accounts of great men, learned in all the wisdom of earth--princes, -rulers, poets, who, like St. Paul an' our Lord, declared that all things -which was not of the sperit was vanity, dross, an' the very dregs an' -scum of existence. So you see, as I look at it--an' as maybe you don't -just yet--yore pa ain't like you think he is. You see 'im lyin' thar -like that, an' you cayn't look beyond the garment of flesh he has -shucked off, but I can. He's beat you 'n me both, Paul; his eyes are -opened to a blaze o' glory that would dazzle and blind our earthly -sight. Death is jest a ugly gate that we pass through from a cloudy, -dark, stuffy place out into the vast open air of Eternity. O Paul, Paul, -I want you to try to get hold of this thing, for you need it. This is a -sharp crisis in yore life; you've let some things harden you, an' if you -don't watch out this great stunnin' blow may drag you even deeper into -the mire. I feel sech a big interest in you that I jest can't hold in. -I know I'm talkin' powerful plain, an' uninvited, too, but I can't help -it. Knowin' that you've been about Jim Hoag a good deal, an' rememberin' -little remarks you've dropped now an' then, I'm afraid you hain't got as -much faith in the goodness of God as--" - -"Goodness of God! Huh--poof!" Paul snorted, his stare on the ground. - -"Paul, Paul, don't, don't say that!" Tye pleaded, his kindly eyes -filling. "I can't bear to hear it from a young boy like you. Youth is -the time most folks believe in all that's good; doubts sometimes come -on later in life. It sounds awful to hear you say sech rebellious things -when you stand so much in need of, the _only help in all the universe_." - -"I don't believe there _is_ any God," Paul muttered, fiercely, "and if I -did I'd not believe he was a good one, when I know what's took place an' -what's goin' on. The wild beasts in the woods come from the same source -as me, an' they fight for what they get; bugs and worms and flying -things and crawling things live on one another. That's the only way for -us to do if we expect to live. The only difference in men and beasts is -that men can remember wrongs longer and know how to plan revenge, an' -_git_ it." - -"Oh, my Lord!" The shoemaker lowered his head and seemed to be praying. -Presently he looked up, grasped his beard with his blackened fingers, -and pulled his lips apart. "I see, you are like most folks when they are -under a great, fresh grief. I've knowed some o' the best Christians to -turn square ag'in' the'r Maker at sech times--especially women who -had lost the'r young in some horrible way--but even they'd come around -finally to admit that God knowed best. Take my own case. Would I want -my boy back now? No, no, Paul; as great as the pride an' joy would be I -know he's in better hands than mine. It's hard on you now; but, sad -as it is, this may result in good--good that you can't begin to see in -advance. If we had the all-seein' eye we might pass judgment; but we are -blind--blind as moles. You can't see that yore pore pa is better off, -but he is--he is. I know he is--God knows he is." - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -|AT the end of the main street, as he rode homeward, Paul saw Ethel -Mayfield coming toward him, her head down as if in deep thought. His -first impulse was to turn aside, to avoid meeting her, but he saw that -such a thing would be unpardonable. In spite of the weight that was on -him, he felt the warm blood of embarrassment rushing to his face as the -distance shortened between them. - -There was a sweet, startled look of concern in her childish eyes as she -raised them to him. - -"Stop a minute," she said; and as he awkwardly drew rein she continued: -"I've just heard about your father. Two men were talking over there by a -fence on the side of the road and I listened. Oh, it is awful, awful! I -am so sorry for you, for they say you loved him so much, an' were always -so good to him." - -A strange sense of confused helplessness surged over Paul. As she looked -up at him so frankly he feared that she would read in his face the fact -that she had been in his mind almost constantly since their meeting that -day in the meadow. This disturbed him, and also the realization that -common politeness demanded some sort of reply in accord with the -refinement of her easy expression of sympathy. But that was beyond him. -He felt his blood beating into his eyes. She appeared like a spirit -thing poised upon an evanescent cloud; not for him save in fancy, not -for any boy outside of dreams. In sheer desperation, and under the -intuition that he ought not to sit on his horse while she stood, he -dismounted. - -"Thank you, thank you." He seemed to hear the words as if they were -spoken by other lips than his own, and again he had the exquisite sense -of nearness to her, which had so enthralled him before. A wondrous, -delectable force seemed to radiate from her and play upon his whole -enraptured being. - -"I have never seen any one die," she went on, "and they say you were -there alone with him. Oh, how very sad, and you--you are not much older -than I am. Sad things are coming to you very early. I wish I could say -something, or do something, Paul, but I don't really know how. I'm just -a girl. My mother seems to know what to say at such times, but I don't. -Grief like this simply overpowers me. I feel as if--as if I must cry, -I'm so sorry for you." - -He saw her pretty lips quivering, her glorious eyes filling, and he -dug the toe of his worn shoe into the sand of the road. He was becoming -conscious of the tattered appearance of his working-clothes, his -saddleless horse, his rough, perspiring hands and cuffless wrists. How -odd that she, who was so daintily dressed, so wholly detached from his -sordid life, could stand talking to him so kindly, so intimately! - -"You are very good--very!" he stammered. "Better than anybody else. If -they were all like you it wouldn't seem so--so bad." - -"It may seem forward of me and bold," Ethel returned, "for really we -have only been together once before, and yet (I don't know how _you_ -feel)--but _I_ feel, somehow, Paul, as if we were very old friends. I -admire you because you are brave and strong. You are not like--like the -boys in Atlanta. You are different (uncle says you are not afraid of -anything on earth). You know a girl could not keep from wanting _that_ -sort of a friend. I don't mean that I'd want to see you hurt ever--ever; -but it is nice for a girl to feel that she has a friend who would take -any risk for her. My mother says I get a lot of notions that are not -good for me out of novels. Well, I don't know how that is, but I like -you, and I am very, very sad about your father. If I had not met you -here I would have written you a note. Can you tell me when--when he is -to be buried?" - -He told her that the funeral would be at the village church the next -day, and therewith his voice broke, and for the first time his heart -heaved and his eyes filled. - -"I wanted to know because I am going to send some flowers," she said; -and then, observing the signs of his emotion and his averted face, she -suddenly and impulsively caught his hand and pressed it between both of -her own. "Don't, don't cry!" she pleaded. "I couldn't stand to see it!" -Her own lashes were wet and her sweet mouth was drawn tight. "Oh, I wish -there was something I could do or say, but I can't think of a thing. -Yes, there is one thing, and it must help, because the Bible and the -wisest men say it will at such times. I have been praying for you, and I -am going to keep on doing it. Paul, from what you said the other day, I -suppose you--have never been converted?" - -He shook his head, swallowed, but kept his face turned away, conscious -that it was distorted by contending emotions. - -"I have been," she said, still pressing his hand, "and, O Paul, it was -glorious! It happened at a camp-meeting where mother took me and my -cousin, Jennie Buford, in the country below Atlanta, last summer. It -was all so wonderful--the singing, shouting, and praying. I was so happy -that I felt like flying. Since then I have felt so good and secure and -contented. The Bible is full of meaning to me now. I love to read it -when I am alone in my room. It is beautiful when you begin to understand -it, and know that it is actually the Word of our Creator. I am sure I -shall lead a Christian life, as my mother is doing. It has made Jennie -happy, too. We are like two twins, you know. We have been together -nearly every day since we were babies. There is only a fence between our -houses in Atlanta, and she sleeps with me or I with her every night. She -was sick last winter, and they thought she was going to die. She thought -so, too; she told me so, but would not tell her mother because she would -be so broken-hearted. I prayed for Jennie all that night--all night. I -hardly stopped a minute." - -"And she didn't die?" Paul looked at her with a glance of mild -incredulity in his eyes. - -"No; the doctor said she was better and she got well. It would have -killed me if she had been taken, I love her so much. We are so much -alike that I often read her thoughts and she reads mine. Many and many a -time we have told each other exactly what we were thinking about." - -"Thought transference," he said. "I've read about that. It may be true." - -Ethel now released his hand and flushed slightly. "Excuse me," she -faltered, her lashes touching her cheeks. "I hardly knew what I was -doing." - -It was his turn to color now, and they stood awkwardly facing each -other. She, however, recovered herself quickly. - -"I am going to pray for you more and more now," she went on, soothingly. -"It will surely help you. I know that God answers prayers when they -are made in the right spirit. He must help you bear this sorrow, and He -will--He will." - -"Thank you, thank you," Paul muttered, his wavering eyes on the road -leading between zigzag rail fences on to his home. "I must be going now. -I've got a good many things to attend to." - -"Of course, I know--I know," Ethel responded, gravely. - -A wagon was approaching from the direction of the village. It was drawn -by two sturdy mules, which thrust their hoofs into the dust of the road -so deeply that a constant cloud of the fine particles hovered over the -vehicle. A negro man wearing a tattered straw hat, soiled shirt and -trousers, and without shoes, was driving. Ethel caught Paul's hand -impulsively, and drew him and his horse to the side of the road. - -"Wait till they pass," she said. "Oh, what nasty dust!" - -She saw him staring at the wagon, a rigid look on his face. "It's the -coffin," he explained. "It is going out home." - -The wagon rumbled on. There was an unpainted wooden box behind the -negro's seat, and on it rested a plain walnut coffin, thickly coated -with dust. The sun had warmed the new varnish, and there was an odor of -it in the air. - -"Oh, it is so sad!" Paul caught the words from the averted lips of his -companion. "I wish I could do something, or say something, but I can't." - -Again his despair fell upon him. As he mounted his horse it seemed -to him that he was a moving thing that was dead in all its parts. He -couldn't remember that he had ever tipped his hat to any one in his -life, and yet he did so now gracefully enough. He felt that he ought to -reply to the words she had so feelingly uttered, but the muscles of -his throat had tightened. A great sob was welling up within him and -threatening to burst. He started his horse, and with his back to her, -his head bent toward the animal's neck, he slowly rode away. - -"Poor boy!" Ethel said, as the mules, the wagon, the coffin, and Paul -floated and vanished in the mist before her eyes. She turned and moved -on toward the village, her head lowered, softly crying and earnestly -praying. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -|ACCORDING to rural custom the young men and young women of the -neighborhood came that evening to keep watch over Ralph Rundel's body. -In an open coffin resting on two chairs, it occupied the center of the -room in which he died. - -Amanda had been busy all day cooking dainties--pies, cakes, custards, -and making cider from apples gathered in the orchard. She had swept and -dusted the house throughout, put the candles into their places, cleaned -and filled the lamps, and altered her black dress to fit the slender -form of her sister, who had been in her room all day, refusing to show -herself to the constant stream of curious, inquiring visitors--men, -women, and children who sat about the front and rear doors, leaned on -the fences of the yard and cow-lot, and even invaded the kitchen. - -As for Paul, no one seemed to notice him, and of sympathy for him -little was expressed. Mute and dejected he moved about, attending to his -father's former duties as well as his own. - -The night fell. The stars came out. There was a low hum of good cheer -and merriment from the assembled company inside. To escape it, Paul -slipped behind the house and threw himself down on the grass sward -beneath the apple-trees. His awful sorrow, weird and gruesome, for which -there was no outlet, gave him actual physical pain. - -There was singing within the house. The young persons were practising -hymns for the funeral service the next day. Mistakes were made, and -there was merry, spontaneous laughter, which grated on the boy's ears. -He buried his face in the cool, fragrant grass, and thus subdued -the rising sob of which he was ashamed. In his mind's eye he saw the -exquisite face of Ethel Mayfield, but even it held scant comfort, for -how could such as she belong to such deplorable surroundings? The tones -of her gentle voice, as she promised to pray for him, seemed a part of -some vague dream from which sordid fact had roused him. - -"Prayers?" he sneered. "What puny mortal could pray this away, or undo -the damnable thing even by the weight of a hair? There isn't any God to -pray to--there isn't anything but pain, torment, and death." There was a -tentative step on the grass. Amanda was groping her way around the well. -He saw her peering here and there in the shadows under the trees. "Oh!" -she exclaimed, on seeing him, as he suddenly sat up and turned his face -toward her. "You gave me a scare. At sech a time a body is apt to think -they see ghosts, whether they do or not. I've been lookin' high an' -low for you, an' axin' the company whar you was at. You hain't had no -supper, have you?" - -He answered briefly in the negative. - -"Well, come on in the kitchen," she pursued. "I've kept some 'taters and -pork-chops hot, an' thar's plenty o' cold buttermilk." - -"I don't want anything," he said, impatiently, and even roughly. -"I couldn't swallow a bite to save my life--not to save my life, I -couldn't!" - -Her hands on her hips, Amanda stared down at him. "This ain't a-goin' to -do, Paul," she gently protested. "This ain't no time for you to pout an' -be cranky. You are our only man now. Yore ma's shet up in her room with -a mad cryin' spell every half-hour, an' I have to lay down my work an' -run, pacify, an' pet 'er. She's got all sorts o' finicky notions in 'er -head that folks are a-talkin' about her an' a certain party. She heard -'em a-laughin' in thar jest now, an' actually started in to give 'em a -piece o' 'er mind. I got to 'er in time--thank the Lord! She's now in -bed cryin' like 'er heart is broke." - -"Huh, I see, I see!" Paul sniffed. "An' well she may be afraid o' talk, -an' _you_ too, for bringing her up as you have. Folks say she's jest a -doll, and she is--she is, and a fool flimsy one at that!" - -"I ain't a-goin' to listen to you, boy," Amanda broke in, firmly. "You -are too young an' inexperienced to talk that way about the woman that -fetched you into the world an' gave you what life you got. If your ma -was petted an' sp'ilt, that was _my_ fault, not her'n, an' bein' sp'ilt -only makes sech things as this go harder with 'er. If her an' yore pa -wasn't the most lovin' match that could be imagined, that wasn't her -fault, nor his'n either. God made 'em both, an' for all I know He may -have fetched 'em together, an' in makin' a mess o' that He didn't act no -wuss than in lettin' some other folks--folks that I know about--live a -lifetime without _any_ sort o' try at the game. Now, jest shet up, an' -he'p me tote this sad thing through. I got to go set the table for them -folks, an' then I'll slide into bed. Whar do you intend to sleep? That's -what I wanted to see you about. That crowd has got yore room. I can lay -you a pallet down on the floor in the kitchen. It would be sort o' hard, -but--" - -"I'm going to stay outside," he told her. "I'm going down to the -haystack. The house is too hot, anyway; I couldn't go to sleep in there -with all that ding-dong and racket." - -"Well, I'm goin' in," answered Amanda, who was really not listening to -his observations. "It won't hurt you to sleep out once on such a warm -night, anyway, an' they _are_ making' a lot o' noise. They don't get -many such chances through the year. It is the fust time I've fixed -for young folks in a long time. Thar's one pair in thar"--Amanda -tittered--"that will set up housekeepin' inside o' six months. Mark my -predictions. I ketched 'em a-huggin' on the front steps as I come out." - -When his aunt left him Paul threw himself back on the grass and gazed -up at the sky and the far-off blinking stars. How unreal seemed the dead -face and stark form of his father as he had last looked upon it! Could -it be actually all that was left of the gentle, kindly and patient -parent who had always been so dear? Whence had flown the soft, halting -voice, the flash of the eye, the only caressing touch Paul had ever -known? That--that thing in there boxed and ready for burial was all -there ever was, or ever could be again, of a wonderfully appealing -personality, and to-morrow even that would sink out of sight forever and -forever. - -There was an audible footfall at the fence near the farther side of -the cottage. Paul sat up and stared through the semi-darkness. It was a -tall, slender figure of a man in a broad-brimmed hat. He was cautiously -moving along the fence, as if trying to look into the room where the -corpse lay. Suddenly a stream of light from within fell on his face. It -was Jeff Warren. Paul sprang to his feet and stood panting, his muscles -drawn. - -"Don't, don't!" a voice within him seemed to caution him. "Not now--not -now! Be ashamed!" At this juncture some one called out in a low, subdued -tone: - -"Is that you, Jeff?" - -"Yes, Andy. Kin I come in thar with you all?" - -"I dunno; wait a minute, Jeff." Andrew Warner emerged from the shadow -of the house and advanced to the fence. "I railly don't believe I would, -Jeff, if I was you. We've got a-plenty, an' they all intend to spend the -night." - -"I see, I see. Well, I didn't know how you was fixed, an' I heard you -all a-singin' clean across the bottom. Say, Andy, Mrs. Rundel ain't in -thar with you, is she?" - -"No, we hain't any of us seed 'er; she's been shet up tight all day." - -There was a noticeable pause. Paul crept closer and stood behind a trunk -of an apple-tree, the branches of which, laden with unripe fruit, almost -touched the ground. He could still see the two men, and their voices -were quite audible. - -"I see, I see." Jeff Warren was speaking now. "Have you heard anybody -say--do you happen to know, Andy, how she is--takin' it?" - -"Purty hard, purty hard, it looks like, Jeff. We've heard 'er cryin' an' -takin' on several times; she seems powerful upset." - -"I see, I see," Warren repeated, and Paul saw him lean toward his -companion. "Say, Andy, I want you to do me a favor, if you will. I want -you to git Mrs. Rundel to come out here a minute--jest a minute. You -needn't let on to anybody else. The little woman must be awful troubled, -an' me an' her are powerful good friends. I reckon if you told 'er I was -out here, maybe she--" - -Paul saw the other man turn his head and stand, staring irresolutely at -the house. "I can't do that, Jeff," he was heard to say presently. "That -may be all right from the way you look at it, but I don't want no hand -in such. If I was you, I'd wait--that's all, I'd wait. Out of respect -for what folks would say or think, I'd put it off. Seems to me like -she'd want that 'erse'f--in fact, I'm shore any sensible woman would." - -"All right, Andy, all right!" Warren answered, awkwardly, as his hand -tugged at his mustache. "I was jest sorter bothered, that's all. I'll -take yore advice. I know you are a friend an' mean well. I'll go home -an' git to bed. As you say, I kin afford to wait. What surprises me is -to hear you say she's takin' on. I reckon she's sorter upset by havin' a -death in the house. Rafe was at the end o' his string, anyway; you know -that as well as I do." - -"If the poor fellow had lived he would have called you to taw," was the -significant and yet not unfriendly reply. "The devil's light was in his -eye, Jeff. Rafe Rundel was talkin' a lot an' growin' wuss an' wuss." - -"I knowed all that, too," Warren was heard to say. "His wife kept me -posted. Well, well, so long, Andy! I'll git to bed." - -"Not now, not now!" Paul's inner voice cautioned, as with actual lips, -and invisible hands seemed to detain him. "Wait, wait; there is plenty -of time!" He leaned against the tree and saw Warren's form disappear in -the starlight. The man's confident whistle came back on the hot, still -air as he strode along the road, becoming more and more indistinct in -the misty distance. - -Paul went down to the hay-field, looking here and there for a bed to lie -upon. Presently he found a heap of freshly cut, succulent clover, full -of the crushed perfume of the white and pink blossoms, and damp and cool -with the dew. Upon this lair he sank, his tense young face upturned -to the stars. How he loathed the silly woman who had borne him! How he -detested the happy-go-lucky man who had caught her fancy! How he yearned -for the living presence of the dead! His throat felt tight. Unshed tears -seemed to trickle down within him. There was a dull aching about his -heart. Again, as in a dream, the gentle face of Ethel Mayfield came -before him. Her voice was as sweet and soothing as transcendent music. -The lovely child had said she was going to pray for him. Perhaps even -now she was doing so; and she had declared that prayers were answered. -The belief was silly. It was like an inexperienced little city girl to -entertain such thoughts, yet what she had said and the way she had said -it were strangely comforting. A fiercely fought sob broke within him. -Tears swept down his cheeks and trickled into the clover. The pain -within him lessened. He became drowsy. The vision of the child with her -beautiful hair and eyes became an airy, floating thing; the heavens -were full of sweet musical laughter. Ethel seemed to be taken up into -a sunlit cloud, and for a moment was hidden from view. Then he saw her -returning. She was not alone. Holding her hand was Ralph Rundel--Ralph -Rundel transfigured, spirit-like, and yet himself. He was full of the -glow of youth. There were no lines, no shadows in his face. His body was -erect; he was smiling at his son in a fathomless, eternal way. - -"If they tell you I'm dead, don't you believe a word of it," he said. -"For I ain't--I ain't!" - -Paul awoke with a start. The moon was rising; the whole landscape was -flooded with the pale light of a reflected day. Subdued laughter and the -drone of voices came from the window of the room where the body lay. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -|EARLY in the morning following the funeral Hoag sent Cato with a -message to Paul. There was some work to be done, and the boy was to come -at once and see about it. Mrs. Rundel, in her black dress, was near and -heard the negro speaking, but she turned indifferently into her room and -closed the door. - -"Well, I'd go," Amanda advised her nephew. "Mopin' around home like this -won't do any good. At sech a time a body ought to keep the hands an' -feet an' even the brain busy. I'd go stark crazy if I'd allow myself -to set an' brood. It seems to me that I see yore pore pa's white face -everywhar I turn, an' when I ain't seein' that I seem to hear his voice -talkin' like nothin' out o' the way had happened. I even git a whiff -o' his tobacco now an' then. Do you know, I think maybe death is made -horrible like this to warn each of us of what is ahead. Me'n you, as -little as we count on it, have got to be put away exactly like Rafe was, -an' we may not have any more notice than he had, neither. Some o' the -sanctified folks doubt whar he's gone, but I don't--much. Somehow I -can't believe that he's gone to a bad place, because he had sech a hard -time of it here for sech a long, long time. His pride was cut to the -quick, an' he had a lot more o' that than most folks knowed about. Of -course, you can't remember his young sparkin' days like I do. He used to -dress as fine as a fiddle an' held his head powerful high; but time, an' -poverty, an' trouble, an' one thing or other, kept pullin' it down an' -down, till it struck the pillow he died on. Well, well, he's gone, an' -we 'll miss 'im. I shall, I know, for I already do, an' they say the -worst time ain't always right after the buryin'. Thar's always a stir -and excitement over puttin' a person away that keeps you from lookin' -the thing square in the face." - -Fires of anger and resentment were smoldering in the boy's breast, -but he said nothing, and turned down the road to Hoag's. He found the -planter moving about in the bark-strewn tan-yard between the vats, the -black contents of which were on a level with the ground. He was giving -blunt orders to three or four negroes who were piling up and sorting out -a great heap of green hides. The day was dry and hot, and a disagreeable -odor of decaying flesh was on the still air. He noticed Paul, and -carelessly nodded, but for a moment was too busy to speak to him. He -held a note-book in his hand, in which he had found some mistakes of -record and calculations. They were his own errors, but he was no less -angry for that. Finally he approached Paul, and as he moved was actively -scratching, erasing, stabbing the paper with his pencil, and muttering -oaths. - -"How the hell can I do head-work," he growled, giving the boy a blazing -glance, "an' have to watch these black devils like a hawk all the time? -The minute my back is turned they set down an' sulk an' shirk. They -need a thousand lashes on their bare backs. That's the only thing they -understand. Look how that whelp, Sambo, is skulkin'. I hit 'im with a -piece o' plank just now, an' he thinks he's threatening me. Huh! I know -'em from the ground up. Did Cato tell you I wanted to see you?" - -"Yes, an' I come right over," Paul stolidly replied. - -Hoag closed his note-book, keeping the pencil between the leaves, and -thrust it into his pocket. "I saw you comin' back from the graveyard -yesterday, an' I decided I'd try to find regular work for you. I kin -always depend on you gittin' a job done, an' that's sayin' a lot. You -hain't got a lazy bone in your body, if I do say it, an' it will be the -makin' of you in the long run. Now, my mill-race has washed in till the -flow is gittin' sluggish an' thin. The bottom of it, for fully a quarter -of a mile, has got to be shoveled out an' lowered to an even grade. It -will take you a month at least, but it will be regular work. The dam's -all right, so we don't have to bother with that. I want you to come over -every day after breakfast, an' then go to my house for yore dinner. It -will save you the walk home, an' you kin git in more time. How would you -like the job at the old wages?" - -"I'm willin'," Paul answered, listlessly. - -"Well, pick you out a spade in the tool-house right now, an' go to the -dam an' begin to work toward the mill. The mill's shut down, an' the -race bed's just wet enough to make the shovelin' soft. Some o' the banks -are purty steep an' you 'll have to throw purty high, but you are equal -to it." - -Paul went at once to the mill-dam. The work was really arduous, but the -spot was shaded by thickly foliaged trees, and the shallow water, in -which he stood in his bare feet, cooled his blood. Bending under his -heavy implement filled with the heavier mud he worked like a machine, -the sweat streaming from him, and constantly conscious of that strange, -aching vacancy in his heart which nothing could fill. - -At noon he put down his spade and went to Hoag's, as he had often done -before, for his lunch. No one else was in the dining-room, and Mrs. -Tilton brought him his dinner, putting it before him in a gentle, -motherly way. - -"I told Aunt Dilly to let me wait on you," she said, a note of sympathy -creeping into her voice. "I was sorry I couldn't get out to the funeral -yesterday. I've got Jackie to watch now, an' he's just gettin' on his -feet, after his spell. His mother ain't a bit well, either; she ain't -touched hardly a bite since he was so bad off. I think she ought to go -to Atlanta to consult a special doctor, but Jim won't hear to it. He -says, when a body gits too sick for home treatment their natural time's -come, anyway, an' the money would be throwed away. I wish I could tell -you how sorry I am about your pa. I know how much you both thought of -each other. La, he used to come here while you was choppin' wood on the -mountain, an' set in the kitchen door an' talk an' talk with tears in -his old eyes about how sorry he was not to be stronger, so you wouldn't -have to work so hard. He said you was the best boy that ever lived. Now, -I'm just goin' to shet up," Mrs. Tilton said, regretfully. "I see you -are about to cry." She went to the window quickly and looked out into -the yard. "I see Jackie makin' his mud-pies. Oh," she turned to Paul, -"thar's something I wanted to say. You left your gun here t'other day. -It's loaded, an' I don't like to see it around. Jackie might git hold of -it. I wish you would take it home." - -"I'll take it to work with me now," Paul promised, "and take it home -from there." - -Paul toiled diligently that afternoon till the sun was down. He had just -come out of the water, put on his shoes, and with his gun under his arm -was starting home, when Hoag appeared on the embankment of the race and -surveyed the work which had been done. - -"Good, good; prime, prime!" he said, approvingly. "You've done as much -as a couple of buck niggers would have done in twice the time. Keep -up that lick an' you 'll reach the sluice earlier than I counted on. I -won't split hairs with you on the pay for this job. If it goes through -at this rate I'll tack on something extra." - -Paul said nothing. He tried to feel grateful for the praise he had -received, but he was too tired in body and mind to care for anything. -Throughout the long day he had constantly deliberated over the thought -that it would now be impossible for him to continue the life he was -leading. With the death of his father his heart and soul seemed to have -died. - -Hoag joined him as he walked homeward, the gun under his arm. - -"I could see the graveyard from the hill yesterday," he remarked, "an' -I picked you out in the bunch. You looked powerfully lonely, an' the -thought struck me that you was about the only real mourner. Women don't -grieve for any but their own babies, an' them two from your house would -have acted about the same at any other funeral. I was sorry for your -daddy, Paul. He never made much headway in the world, but he deserved -a better shake o' the dice. In his last days he toted an awful load. -He used to talk purty free to me--just like a child would at times. He -talked purty plain to _me_, I reckon, because he knowed I hain't a -speck o' use for the damn snake-in-the-grass that was takin' sech a low, -underhanded advantage of him behind his back. You needn't repeat this; -I'm tellin' it just to you in private. If--you see, Paul--if it ever -does come to words betwixt me an' Jeff Warren, I'll have to shoot 'im as -I would a dog, an' a thing like that is troublesome, especially when I -look on 'im as mud under my feet. I'd hate to have to stand trial for -killin' a puppy, an' the law would demand _some_ form-o' settlement.. -Your pa would have killed 'im if he lived. I was lookin' for it every -day; he was lyin' low for his chance. Preachers, slobberin' revivalists, -an' fools like old Tye will talk to you about turnin' the other cheek; -but the great, all-important first law of life is to fight for what you -git, hold on to it when you git it, an' mash hell out of everything that -tries to run over you. That's been my rule, an' it works like a charm. -If I'd been your daddy I'd have shot that dirty whelp two months ago." - -They had reached the point _where_ their ways parted. The gray twilight -was thickening. Hoag's big white house gleamed through the trees -surrounding it. There were lights in the kitchen and diningroom. All -Nature seemed preparing for sleep. The tinkling of sheep and cow bells -came drowsily to the ear; the church-bell, a creaking, cast-iron affair, -was ringing for the singing-class to meet. - -"Well, so long," Hoag finished, with a wave of his fat hand in the dusk. -"Set in bright an' early in the momin' an' let's see how many yards -you'll wipe out before sundown." - -Paul walked on, so weary now that the gun he was carrying almost slipped -from his inert arm. Presently his own home came into view, beyond the -field of corn. Ralph Rundel had planted and hoed so feebly. Paul's heart -sank into the very ooze of despair. How incongruous was the thought that -his father would not be at the gate to meet him, as had been his habit -for so many years! The boy stopped in a corner of the rail fence at the -roadside and leaned on his gun. An indescribable pain, which was at once -physical and mental, had his whole young being in a crushing grasp. The -kitchen door was open, and the red logs of an open fire shone out on the -sward about the house. Tree-frogs were snarling, fireflies were flashing -here and there over the dewy meadows like tiny, short-lived meteors. -Paul heaved a sigh, stifled a groan, bit his lip, and trudged on. - -As he got nearer to the house, he suddenly became aware of the fact that -two figures, that of a man and a woman, were standing at the bars of -the barnyard. He recognized the white-clad form on the inside as his -mother's. The tall, slender man with the broad hat and square shoulders -was Jeff Warren--that would have been plain even if his voice in some -indistinct utterance had not been heard. The blood of fury, goaded to -the point of insanity, raged within the youth. He felt its close, hot -pressure above his eyes, and a red veil fell before his sight. Hoag's -recent words rang in his ears. Revenge, revenge! Yes, that was the only -thing worth having. Paul bent lower. His gun trailed the ground like the -gun of a pioneer hunter. He crept silently forward, keeping the fence -between him and the pair, till he was close enough to overhear the -colloquy. It was Jeff Warren's voice and his suave, daredevil tone. - -"Oh, I know the boy hates me. I've seed it in the little scamp's -face many a time. Rafe must 'a' put 'im up to it when his mind was so -flighty; but we'll straighten him out between us when we git things -runnin' smooth. He'll think I'm a rip-snortin' stepdaddy when _I_ git -through with 'im." - -The hot pressure on Paul's brain increased. Pausing in a corner of -the fence, he grasped his gun in both hands and cocked it with tense, -determined fingers. His father's dead face rose before him. It seemed -to smile approvingly. Hoag's words came to him like the advice of an -oracle. He strained his ears to hear what his mother was saying, but -her low utterance failed to reach him. Jeff Warren was turning away, his -broad hat gallantly swung toward the ground. - -"Well, I'll see you ag'in 'fore long," he said merrily. "I know how you -feel, but all that will soon wear off. We kin wait a decent time, but -I'm in the race, I tell you. I'll talk all them notions out o' your -purty head." - -Paul saw his mother vanish in the dusk, and, merrily intoning the tune -of a hymn, Warren came on toward Paul. On he Strode, still swinging his -hat. Paul heard him softly chuckling. - -"Halt, you dirty coward!" Paul cried, as he stepped in front of him, the -gun leveled at the broad chest. - -"What--what? Good God!" Warren gasped. "Put down that gun, you young -fool! Drop it, I say, or I'll--" - -Warren was about to spring forward as the only means of self-protection, -but before he could do so there was a flash, a ringing report, a puff of -smoke, and with a groan Warren bent forward, his hands on his breast. -He swayed back and forth, groaning. He reeled, tottered sideways, made a -strenuous effort to keep erect, then fell forward, gasping audibly, and -lay still. - -Paul lowered his gun, and for a moment stood looking at the fallen man. -His blood was wildly beating in his heart and brain. There was a barking -of dogs far and near. Glancing toward the house, he noticed the forms of -his mother and aunt framed by the kitchen doorway, the firelight behind -them. - -"It may be somebody shootin' bats"--Amanda's voice held a distinct note -of alarm--"but I was shore I heard somebody speak sharp-like just before -the shot was fired. Let's run down thar an' look." - -They dropped out of sight. Paul heard the patter of their feet, knew -they were coming, and, for no reason which he could fathom, he retreated -in the direction from which he had come. As if in a flash he caught and -held the idea that, having done his duty, he would turn himself over -to an officer of the law, as he had read of men doing in similar -circumstances. - -He had gone only a few hundred yards when he heard the two women -screaming loudly; and why he did so he could not have explained, but he -quickened his gait into a slow, bewildered sort of trot, the gun -still in his hands. Perhaps it was due to the thought that he wanted -voluntarily to give himself up before any one should accuse him of -trying to flee. He was nearing Hoag's barn, and thinking of making a -short cut to the village across the fields, when a man suddenly burst -from the thicket at the side of the road and faced him. It was Hoag -himself. - -"Hold thar!" he cried, staring through the dusk at Paul. "What's -all that screamin' mean? I heard a gun go off, an' rememberin' that -you--say, did you--Good God! What you comin' back this way for?" - -"I've killed Jeff Warren," Paul answered, calmly. "I'm goin' to Grayson -to give myself up." - -"Good Lord, you don't say--why, why--" Hoag's voice trailed away into -silence, silence broken only by the voices of the two women in the -distance calling for help. - -"Yes, I shot 'im--you know why; you yourself said--" - -Hoag suddenly laid a trembling hand on Paul's arm. The boy had never -seen his employer turn pale before, or show so much agitation. "Looky' -here, you didn't go an'--an' do that because I--on account o' anything -_I_ said. Shorely you didn't--shorely you didn't! Come into the thicket, -quick! Folks will be passin' here in a minute. Them fool women will rip -the'r lungs out. Say, you didn't really _kill_ 'im, did you--actually -kill 'im?" - -Paul avoided his eyes. "You go back there an' see if I didn't," he said, -doggedly. - -Hoag stared incredulously for a moment, then, with a firm grip on Paul's -arm, he drew him deeper into the thicket. - -"Something's got to be done," he panted. "If you give yourself up for -trial they will worm out o' you that I said--that I was talkin' to you, -an'--Looky' here, boy, do you know what this means? Are you plumb out o' -your senses?" - -"I don't care _what_ it means," Paul retorted. "I've put _him_ out o' -the way for good and all." - -"Good Lord, you are a cool un! Wait here; don't stir! I'll come back. -I'll run down thar to make sure." - -Hoag moved excitedly toward the road. He had just reached it when a man -came running past at full speed in the direction of the village. "Hold, -hold!" Hoag cried. "What's wrong?" - -The runner slackened his speed a little; but did not stop. It was Abe -Langston. - -"Somebody's shot Jeff Warren down thar by the fence. He's as dead as a -door-nail. I'm goin' to send out the alarm an' git the sheriff." - -In a cloud of self-raised dust Langston dashed away. Hoag stood -hesitating for a moment, then turned back to Paul, finding him seated -on the decaying trunk of a fallen tree, the gun resting on his slender -knees. Hoag stood before him. - -"You've got to git out o' this," he panted, excitedly. "You've done a -thing that the court will hold you responsible for. I ain't sure you was -justified nohow. The fellow was just in love, that's all. A jury will -call it unprovoked, cold-blood, deliberate, what-not. You ain't in no -fix to fight it, an' you'd be a plumb idiot to stay here an' let 'em lay -hold of you.' The only sensible thing for you to do is to show a clean -pair o' heels, an' git out for good an' all. You don't seem overly -satisfied here with them women on your hands nohow, an' the world is big -and wide. I don't want my name used--_mind that_. If you _do_ git caught -an' fetched back, I hope you'll have the decency not to lug me an' -this advice in even under oath. I'm tryin' to help you. Make a bee-line -through the mountains to North Carolina an' board the first train. -Throw that gun down. Don't be caught red-handed; it would be a plumb -give-away." - -"What's the use?" Paul shifted his feet, and raised his sullen eyes. - -"Thar's a heap o' use," Hoag returned, impatiently. "You may not think -so now, but you will after you've laid in that dang dirty jail in town, -an' been tuck to court to be gazed at by the public, with no money to -pay fees with, no friends on hand, an' nothin' before you but to be hung -by the neck till you are dead, dead, dead. Take my advice. Git away off -some'r's in the world, change your name, burn yore bridges behind you, -an' start life 'new all for yoreself without any load like the one -you've always had like a millstone round your neck." - -Paul rose to his feet, rested the stock of his gun on the trunk of the -tree; he looked off through the twilight wistfully. - -"You really think that would be best?" he faltered. - -"It certainly will, if you kin manage to git away," Hoag said. "Why, if -you stay here, you will be in a damn sight wuss fix than the skunk you -shot. He's out o' _his_ trouble, but if you stay here yours will just be -beginnin'." - -"Well, I'll go," Paul consented. "I can get away all right. I know the -woods and mountains." - -"Well, throw your gun down behind that log an make off. Say, if they -press you hard on your way through the country, an' you find yourself -near the farms of Tad Barton, Press Talcot, Joe Thomas, or old man -Jimmy Webb, say this to 'em--tell 'em I said--No, I won't give you no -password. I haven't got the right to do it without due form. It's ag'in' -the rules; but you tell either of 'em that I said put you out of sight, -give you grub or a place to sleep, an' that I said pass you along to -the railroad. Got any money? Here is five dollars. I owe you that much, -anyway, and it's all I happen to have in my pocket. Now, you hit the -grit." - -Paul took the money and indifferently thrust it into his pocket. Hoag -held out his hand. "I don't want you to go away with the idea that I -had anything much ag'in' the feller you shot; that's done away with now. -We've had one or two little scraps, but they didn't amount to anything. -Say"--Hoag pointed to the creek--"if I was you I'd wade along that -watercourse for a mile or two. The sheriff might take a notion to put -bloodhounds on your track, an' the stream will wash away the scent. -Good-by. Make the best of it. I'd ask you to drop me a line, but that -wouldn't be safe for me or you either. Cut this section clean out--it's -been tough on you, anyway. You can make a livin'. You've got a great -head on you for learnin'--I've heard plenty o' sensible folk say so. -Good-by." They parted. Hoag went deliberately toward the constantly -growing group where Jeff Warren had fallen. He had almost reached it -when he met Aunt Dilly, who had been anxiously inquiring for him. She -was whimpering and wiping her eyes on her apron. - -"Oh, Marse Hoag," she cried, "I'se been searchin' fer you everwhar. Dey -want you up at de house right off." - -"Want me? What's the matter?" - -"I dunno, suh; but Miz Hoag drapped off ter sleep-like in 'er chair, en -her ma cayn't wake 'er up. Cato done run fer de doctor. Suppen's wrong, -suh, suppen powerful wrong. Hit don't look lak des er faintin' spell." - -Hoag stifled an oath of impatience, glanced at the silent group, -hesitated a moment, and then turned homeward. At the gate he saw Mrs. -Tilton waving her hands wildly in a signal for him to hurry. - -"She's dead!" she sobbed. "She's growing cold." Hoag passed through the -gate which she held open. - -"Keep the baby away," he said. "There is no use lettin' 'im look at her. -He's too young to--to see a thing like that." - - - - -II - - - - -CHAPTER I - -|SEVEN years passed. It was early summer. - -Externally James Hoag had changed. He was a heavier man; his movements -were more sluggish, his hair was turning white, his face was wrinkled -and had the brown splotches indicative of a disordered liver. There was -on him, at times, a decided nervousness which he more or less frankly, -according to mood, attributed to his smoking too much at night and the -habit of tippling. He had grown more irritable and domineering. Beneath -the surface, at least, he had strongly objected to his mother-in-law's -continuing to look to him for support after her daughter's death. But -Mrs. Tilton had told him quite firmly that she now had only one duty in -life, and that was the care of her grandchild, Jack; and Hoag, quick, -harsh, and decided in his dealings with others, knew no way of refusing. - -He had really thought of marrying again; but the intimate presence of -the mother-in-law and his inability to quite make up his mind as to -which particular woman of his acquaintance could be trusted not to have -motives other than a genuine appreciation of himself had delayed the -step. Indeed, he had given the subject much thought, but objections -more or less real had always arisen. The girl was too young, pretty, and -spoiled by the attention of younger and poorer men, or the woman was too -old, too plain, too settled, or too wise in the ways of the world. So -Hoag had all but relinquished the thought, and if he had any heart he -gave it to Jack, for whom he still had a remarkable paternal passion, -as for his son Henry he still had little love or sympathy. For the last -three or four years he had regarded Henry as an idle fellow who would -never succeed in anything. - -The "klan" of which Hoag was still the leader continued to hold its -secret meetings, framed crude laws under his dictation, and inflicted -grim and terrible punishment. And these men honestly believed their -method to be more efficacious than the too tardy legal courts of the -land. - -Hoag had been to one of these meetings in a remote retreat in the -mountains one moonlit night, and about twelve o'clock was returning. -He was just entering the gate of his stable-yard when his attention -was attracted to the approach along the road of a man walking toward -Grayson, a traveler's bag in his hand. It was an unusual thing at that -hour, and, turning his horse loose in the yard, Hoag went back to -the gate and leaned on it, curiously and even officiously eying the -approaching pedestrian. As the man drew nearer, lightly swinging his -bag, Hoag remarked the easy spring in his stride, and noted that he was -singing softly and contentedly. He was sure the man was a stranger, for -he saw nothing familiar in the figure as to dress, shape, or movement. - -"Must be a peddler in some line or other," he said to himself; "but a -funny time o' night to be out on a lonely road like this." - -It would have been unlike Hoag to have let the pedestrian pass without -some sort of greeting, and, closing the gate, he stepped toward the -center of the road and stood waiting. - -"Good evening," he said, when the man was quite close to him. - -"Good evening." The stranger looked up suddenly,'checking his song, -and stared at Hoag steadily in apparent surprise. Then he stopped and -lowered his bag to the ground. "I wonder," he said, "if this is--can -this possibly be Mr. Jim Hoag?" - -"That's who it is," was the calm reply; "but I don't know as I've ever -laid eyes on you before." - -"Oh yes, you have." The stranger laughed almost immoderately. "You look -closely, Mr. Hoag, and you'll recognize a chap you haven't seen in many -a long, long year." - -Hoag took the tall, well-built young man in from head to foot. He was -well and stylishly dressed, wore a short, silky beard, and had brown -eyes and brown hair. Hoag dubiously shook his head. - -"You've got the best o' me," he said, slowly. "I'm good at recollectin' -faces, as a rule, too; but my sight ain't what it used to be, an' then -bein' night-time--" - -"It was after dark the last time you saw me, Mr. Hoag." The stranger -was extending his hand and smiling. "Surely you haven't forgotten Ralph -Rundel's son Paul?" - -"Paul Rundel--good Lord!" Hoag took the extended hand clumsily, his eyes -dilating. "It can't be--why, why, I thought you was dead an' done for -long ago. I've thought many a time that I'd try to locate you. You -see, after advisin' you--after tellin' you, as I did that night, that I -thought you ought to run away, why, I sort o' felt--" - -Hoag seemed unable to voice his train of thought and slowed up to an -awkward pause. - -"Yes, I know--I understand," Paul Rundel said, his face falling into -seriousness, his voice full and earnest. "I know I'm late about it; -but it is better to be late than never when you intend to do the right -thing. I committed a crime, Mr. Hoag, and the kind of a crime that can't -be brushed out of a man's conscience by any sort of process. I've fought -the hardest battle that any man of my age ever waged. For years I tried -to follow your advice, and live my life in my own way, but I failed -utterly. I started out fair, but it finally got me down. I saw I had to -do the right thing, and I am here for that purpose." - -"You don't mean--you can't mean," Hoag stammered, "that you think--that -you actually _believe_--" - -"I mean exactly what I say." The young, bearded face was all -seriousness. "I stood it, I tell you, as long as I could in my own way, -and finally made up my mind that I'd let God Almighty take me in hand. -It was like sweating blood, but I got to it. In my mind, sleeping and -waking, I've stood on the scaffold a thousand times, anyway, and now, -somehow, I don't dread it a bit--not a bit. It would take a long time to -explain it, Mr. Hoag, but I mean what I say. There is only one thing I -dread, and that is a long trial. I'm going to plead guilty and let them -finish me as soon as possible. I want to meet the man I killed face to -face in the Great Beyond and beg his pardon in the presence of God. Then -I will have done as much of my duty as is possible at such a late day." - -"Oh, I see!" Hoag fancied he understood. One of his old shrewd looks -stoic into his visage. If Paul Rundel thought he was as easily taken -in as that, he had mistaken his man, that was certain. Hoag put his big -hand to his mouth and crushed out an expanding smile, the edge of which -showed itself' in his twinkling eyes. "Oh, I see," he said, with the -sort of seduction he used in his financial dealings; "you hain't heard -nothin' from here since you went off--nothin' at all?" - -"Not a word, Mr. Hoag, since I left you down there seven years ago," was -the reply. "I must have walked thirty miles that night through the worst -up-and-down country in these mountains before day broke. I struck a band -of horse-trading gipsies at sun-up in the edge of North Carolina, and -they gave me breakfast. They were moving toward the railroad faster than -I could walk. I was completely fagged out, and they took pity on me and -let me lie down on some straw and quilts in one of their vans. I slept -soundly nearly all day. I wasn't afraid of being caught; in fact, I -didn't care much one way or the other. I was sick at heart, blue and -morbid. I suppose conscience was even then getting in its work." - -"I see." Hoag was studying the young man's face, voice, and manner in -growing perplexity. There was something so penetratingly sincere about -the fellow. Hoag had heard of men being haunted by conscience till they -would, of their own volition, give themselves up for punishment, but he -had never regarded such things as possible, and he refused to be misled -now. "Then you took a train?" he said, like a close cross-questioner. -"You took the train?" - -"Yes, I left the gipsies at Randal's Station, on the B: A. & L., and -slipped into an unlocked boxcar bound for the West. It was an awful -trip; but after many ups and downs I reached Portland in about as sad a -plight as a boy of my age could well be in. I found work as a printer's -devil on a newspaper. From that I began to set type. I studied hard at -night, and finally got to be an editorial writer. You see, I kept myself -out of view as much as possible--stayed at my boardinghouse from dark -till morning, and, having access to a fine library, I read to--to kill -time and keep my mind off my crime." - -"Your _crime?_ Oh, you mean that you thought--" - -"I couldn't possibly get away from it, Mr. Hoag." Paul's voice quivered, -and he drew his slender hand across his eyes. "Night or day, dark or -light, Jeff Warren was always before me. I've seen him reel, stagger, -and fall, and heard him groan millions and millions of times. It -would take all night to tell you about those awful years of sin and -remorse--that soul-racking struggle to defy God, which simply had to -end, and did end, only a few days ago. When I left here I believed as -you did about spiritual things, Mr. Hoag, and I thought I could live my -life out as I wished, but I know better now. My experience during those -seven years would convince any infidel on earth that God is in every -atom of matter in the universe. The human being does not live who will -not, sooner or later, bow down under this truth--if not here, he will in -the Great Beyond." - -"Bosh!" Hoag growled, his heavy brows meeting in a fierce frown of -displeasure. - -"Oh, I see you still think as you used to think," - -Paul went on, regretfully; "but you'll come to it some day--you'll come -to it in God's own good time. It is a satisfaction to me to know that I -am giving you a proof of _my_ reformation, anyway. You know, if you will -stop to think about it, Mr. Hoag, that I am giving vital proof that I, -at least, am convinced or I would not be willing to give my life up -like this. It isn't hard to die when you know you are dying to fulfil -a wonderful divine law; in fact, to mend a law which you yourself have -broken!" - -"I don't know what you are trying to git at, an' I don't care," Hoag -blustered. "I don't know what your present object is, what sort of an -ax you got to grind; but I'll tell you what I think, Paul, an' you kin -smoke it in your pipe if you want to. Somebody round here has kept you -posted. You know how the land lays, an' have made up your mind to turn -preacher, I reckon--if you ain't already one--an' you think it will be -a fine card to make these damn fools here in the backwoods think you -really _was_ ready to go to the scaffold, an' the like o' that. But -the truth will leak out. Sooner or later folks--even the silliest of -'em--will git onto your game. You can't look _me_ square in the eye, -young man, an' tell _me_ that you don't know Jeff Warren didn't die, an' -that when he married your mammy an' moved away the case ag'in' you was -dismissed. Huh, I ain't as green as a gourd!" - -Paul started, stared incredulously at the speaker, his mouth falling -open till his white teeth gleamed in the moonlight. He leaned forward, -his breath coming and going audibly, his broad chest swelling. He laid -his hand on Hoag's shoulder and bore down on it heavily. Hoag felt -it quivering as if it were charged with an electric current. Paul -was trying to speak, trying to be calm. He swallowed; his lips moved -automatically; he put his disengaged hand on Hoag's other shoulder and -forced him to look at him. He shook him. In his face was the light of a -great nascent joy. - -"Don't say he's alive unless--my God, unless it's true!" he cried, -shaking Hoag again. "That would be the act of a fiend in human shape. -I couldn't stand it. Speak, speak, speak, man! Don't you understand? -Speak! Is it true--is it possible that--" Paul's voice broke in a great -welling sob of excitement and his quivering head began to sink. - -Hoag was quite taken aback. This was genuine; of that he was convinced. -"Thar's no use gittin' so worked up," he said. "Jeff is sound an' well. -I'm sorry I talked like I did, for I see you must 'a' been in the dark, -an'--" - -He went no further. Paul had removed his hands. A light was on his face -that seemed superhuman. He raised his eyes to the sky. He swerved toward -the side of the road like a man entranced till he reached the fence, and -there he rested his head on his arms and stood bowed, still, and silent. - -"Huh, this is a purty pickle!" Hoag said to himself. He stood nonplussed -for several minutes, and then advanced to Paul, treading the ground -noiselessly till he was close to him. And then he heard the young man -muttering an impassioned prayer. - -"I thank thee, O God, I thank thee! O, blessed Father! O, merciful -Creator, this--this is thy reward!" - -Hoag touched him on the shoulder, and Paul turned his eyes upon him, -which were full of exultant tears. "Say," Hoag proposed, kindly enough, -"thar ain't no need o' you goin' on to Grayson to-night. The hotel ain't -runnin' this summer, nohow. Pete Kerr an' his wife closed it for a month -to go off on a trip. I've got a big, cool room in my house that ain't -occupied. Stay with me as long as you like. We are sort o' old friends, -an' you are entirely welcome. I'd love the best in the world to have -you." - -"It is very good of you." Paul was calmer now, though his countenance -was still aglow with its supernal light. "I really am very tired. I've -walked ten miles--all the way from Darby Crossroads. The hack broke -down there a little after dark, and as I wanted to give myself up before -morning--before meeting anybody--I came on afoot. The driver was a new -man, and so he had no idea of who I was or what my intentions were. Oh, -Mr. Hoag, you can't imagine how I feel. You have given me such a great -joy. I know I am acting like a crazy man, but I can't help it. It is so -new, so fresh--so glorious!" - -"The _whole thing_ seems crazy to me," said Hoag, with a return of his -old bluntness; "but that's neither here nor thar. You seem to be in -earnest. Pick up yore valise an' let's go in the house." - -"Are you sure you have room for me?" Paul asked, as he went for his bag. - -"Plenty, plenty. My sister, Mrs. Mayfield, an' Ethel, from Atlanta--you -remember them--they are spending the summer here, as they always do -now. They went to Atlanta yesterday--some o' their kin is sick--Jennie -Buford. They will be back tomorrow by dinner-time. But when they come -you needn't stir. We've got plenty o' room. You are welcome to stay as -long as you like. I want to talk to you about the West." - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -|HOAG led the way through the gate and up the walk toward the house. - -"Do you think you'll be likely to settle down here again?" he inquired. - -"Oh, I shall now--I shall now," Paul returned, eagerly. "I've been so -homesick for these old mountains and valleys that I shall never want to -leave them. It is that way with most men; they never find any spot so -attractive as the place where they were brought up." - -"The reason I asked," Hoag said, with a touch of pride, "was this. I've -increased my interests here a powerful sight since you went away. I've -added on two more good-sized farms. My tannery is double what it was, -an' my flour-mill's a new one with the patent-roller process. Then I run -a brickyard t'other side o' town, and a shingle-mill and a little spoke -an' hub factory. I tell you this so you'll understand the situation. I'm -gittin' too stiff an' heavy to ride about much, an' I've got to have a -general superintendent. The fellow that was with me for the last four -years left me high an' dry a week ago, after a row me an' him had over -a trifle, when you come to think about it. It just struck me that you -might want to think it over an' see how you'd like the job." - -"I should like it, I am sure," Paul said, gratefully. - -"I am going to stay here, and I'll have to keep busy." - -"Well, we'll talk it over to-morrow," Hoag said, in quite a tone of -satisfaction. "I reckon we'll agree on the price. If you are as hard a -worker as you used to be I'll be more 'an pleased." - -They were now at the veranda steps. The front door was locked; Hoag -opened it with a key which was fastened to his suspenders by a steel -chain, and the two went into the unlighted hall. The owner of the house -fumbled about in the dark until he found a couple of candles on a table, -and, scratching a match on his thigh, he lighted them. - -"Now we are all hunky-dory," he chuckled. "I'm goin' to give you a good -room, an' if I don't live on the fat of the land as to grub nobody else -does. If we come to terms, I'll want you to stay right here, whar I can -consult you at a moment's notice." - -"That would be nice indeed," Paul returned, as he followed his host up -the uncarpeted stairs to a hall, which was the counterpart of the one -below. - -At the front end of the hall Hoag pushed a door open and entering a -large bedroom, put one of the candles on the mantelpiece. "Here you -are," he said, pleasantly, waving his heavy hand over the furniture, -which consisted of a table, a couple of chairs, a bureau, wardrobe, and -a fully equipped wash-stand. "You 'll have to admit"--Hoag smiled -at this--"that it is better than the place you was headed for. The -last time I peeped in that jail thar wasn't any beds that I could -see--niggers an' tramps was lyin' on iron bars with nothin' under 'em -but scraps o' blankets." - -Just then there was the sound of a creaking bed in the room adjoining. - -Hoag put his own candle down on the table. "It's Henry," he explained. -"He's been poutin' all day. Me'n him had some hot words at supper. He -wants me to furnish some money for him to go in business on. Him an' -another man want to start a produce store in Grayson, but I won't put -hard cash in inexperienced hands. It would be the same as stickin' it -in a burnin' brush-heap. He's quit drinkin' an' gamblin', but he won't -work." - -"I've seen young men like him," Paul said. "Henry wasn't brought up to -work, and he may be helpless. He ought to be encouraged." - -"Well, I'll not encourage him by puttin' a lot o' cash in his clutches," -Hoag sniffed. "If he'd set in an' work like you used to do, for -instance, thar's no tellin' what I would do for him in the long run. -Well, I'm keepin' you up. I'll see you in the mornin'. Good night." - -"Good night," Paul said. - -With his lighted candle in his hand Hoag went down-stairs and turned -into his own room, adjoining the one in which Jack and his grandmother -slept. Putting his candle on a table, he began to undress. He had -finished and was about to lie down when he heard a light footfall in the -next room. A connecting door was pushed open and a tall, slender boy -in a white nightgown stood in the moonlight which streamed through a -vine-hung window and fell on the floor. - -"Is that you, Daddy?" - -"Yes, son." There was an odd note of affection in Hoag's welcoming tone. -"Do you want anything?" - -The boy crept forward slowly. "I got scared. I woke and heard you -talkin' up-stairs like you was still quarreling with Henry." - -"You must have been dreaming." The father held out his arms and drew the -boy into a gentle embrace. "Do you want to sleep with your old daddy?" - -"Oh yes!" Jack crawled from his father's arms to the back part of the -bed and stretched out his slender white legs against the plastered wall. -"May I sleep here till morning, and get up when you do?" - -"Yes, if you want to. Do you railly love to sleep in my bed?" - -Hoag was now lying down, and Jack put his arm under his big neck and -hugged him. "Yes, I do; I don't like my little bed; it's too short." - -"Thar, kiss daddy on the cheek and go to sleep," Hoag said, under the -thrill of delight which the boy's caresses invariably evoked. "It's -late--awful late fer a chap like you to be awake." - -Jack drew his arm away, rolled back against the cool wall, and sighed. - -"Daddy," he said, presently, just as Hoag was composing himself for -sleep, "I don't want Grandma to tag after me so much. She watches me -like a hawk, an' is always saying if I don't look out I'll grow up and -be good for nothing like Henry. Daddy, what makes Henry that way?" - -"I don't know; he's just naturally lazy. Now go to sleep." - -"Some folks like Henry very, very much," the boy pursued, getting -further and further from sleep. "Grandma says he really is trying to be -good, but don't know how. Was you like him when you was young, Daddy?" - -"No--I don't know; why, no, I reckon not. Why do you ask such silly -questions?" - -"Grandma told Aunt Dilly one day that you always did drink, but that you -didn't often show it. She said Henry had quit, and that was wonderful -for any one who had it in his blood like Henry has. Is it in my blood, -too, Daddy?" - -"No." Hoag's patience was exhausted. "Now go to sleep. I've got to rest, -I'm tired, and must work to-morrow." - -"Are you a soldier, Daddy?" Jack pursued his habit of ignoring all -commands from that particular source. - -"No, I'm not. Now go to sleep; if you don't, I'll send you back to your -own bed." - -"Then why does Mr. Trawley call you 'Captain'?" - -"Who said--who told you he called me that?" Hoag turned his massive head -on his pillow and looked at the beautiful profile of his son, as it was -outlined against the wall. - -"Oh, I heard him the other day, when he rode up after you to go -somewhere. I was in the loft at the barn fixing my pigeon-box and heard -him talking to you down at the fence. Just as he started off he said, -'Captain, your men will wait for you at the usual place. They won't stir -without your commands.'" - -Hoag's head moved again; his eyes swept on to the ceiling; there was a -pause; his wit seemed sluggish. - -"Are you really a captain, Daddy?" Jack raised himself on his elbow -and leaned over his father's face, "No; lie down and go to sleep," Hoag -said, sternly. "Some people call me that just out of--out of respect, -just as a sort o' nickname. The war is over; thar ain't no real captains -now." - -"I think I know why they call you that." Jack's delicate face was warm -with pride, and his young voice was full and round. "It is because you -are the bravest an' richest and best one. That's why Mr. Trawley said -they wouldn't stir till you told them. I asked Grandma about it, and she -looked so funny and acted so queer! She wouldn't say anything to _me_, -but she went straight to Aunt Dilly, and they talked a long time, and -Grandma looked like she was bothered. That was the night the White Caps -rode along the road after that runaway negro. I saw Grandma watching -from the window. She thought I was asleep, but I got up and looked out -of the other window and she didn't know it. Oh, they looked awful in -their long, white things. Aunt Dilly was down in the yard, and she told -Grandma that God was going to have revenge, because the Bible said so. -She said Cato had left his cabin and was hiding in the woods for fear -they might get _him_. She said Cato was a good nigger, and that it was a -sin to scare him and all the rest like that. Daddy, what _are_ the White -Caps? Where do they come from?" - -"Oh, from roundabout in the mountains!" Hoag returned, uneasily. "Now go -to sleep. You are nervous; you are shaking all over; those men won't -hurt you." - -"But they _do_ get white folks sometimes, and take them out and whip -them," Jack said, tremulously. "Aunt Dilly said one day to Cato that -they begun on the blacks, but they had sunk so low that they were after -their own race now. What would we do if they was to come here after--" -The little voice trailed away on the still air, and glancing at the -boy's face Hoag saw that the pretty, sensitive lips were quivering. - -"After who?" he asked, curious in spite of his caution. - -"After Henry," Jack gulped. "They might, you know, to whip him for not -working. They did whip a poor white man last summer because he let his -wife and children go hungry. Daddy, if they was--really _was_ to ride -up here and call Henry out, would you shoot them? What would be the use, -when there are so many and every one has a gun?" - -"They--they are not coming after Henry." Hoag was at the end of his -resources. "Git all that rubbish out o' your head an' go to sleep!" - -"How do you know they won't come, Daddy? Oh, Daddy, Henry really is -my only brother an' I love 'im. You don't know how good he is to me -sometimes. He mends my things, and makes toys for me with his knife, and -tells me stories about sailors and soldiers and Indians." - -Hoag turned on his side and laid a caressing hand on the boy's brow. -"Now, now," he said, soothingly, "let's both go to sleep." - -"All right, Daddy." Jack leaned over his father's face and kissed him. -"Good night." - -"Good night." Hoag rolled over to the front side of the bed, -straightened himself out and closed his eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -|ON finding himself alone in his room, Paul began to realize the full -import of the startling information Hoag had imparted to him. He stood -before an open window, and with the sense of being afloat on a sea of -actual ecstasy he gazed into the mystic moonlight. Northward lay the -village, and to the left towered the mountains for which he had hungered -all the years of his absence. How restful, God-blessed seemed the -familiar meadows and fields in their drowsy verdure! He took deep -draughts of the mellow air, his broad chest expanding, his arms extended -wide, as if to clasp the whole in a worshiping embrace. - -"Thank God," he cried, fervently, "I am not a murderer! My prayers -are answered. The Lord is showing me the way--and _such_ a way--such a -glorious, blessed way!" - -And to-morrow--his thoughts raced madly onward--to-morrow the dawn -would break. The land he loved, the hills and vales he adored, would be -flooded with the blaze of his first day of actual life. Ethel would -be there--little Ethel, who, of course, was now a young woman--there, -actually there, in that very house! Would she remember him--the ragged -boy whom she had so unselfishly befriended? What must she think of -him--if she thought of him at all--for acting as he had? Oh yes, that -was it--if she thought of him at all! He had treasured her every word. -Her face and voice, in all their virginal sympathy, had been constantly -with him during the terrible years through which he had struggled. - -The dawn was breaking. Paul lay sleeping; his bearded face held a frown -of pain; his lips were drawn downward and twisted awry. He was dreaming. -He saw himself seated at his desk in the editorial room of the paper -on which he had worked in the West. He seemed to be trying to write an -article, but the sheets of paper before him kept fluttering to the floor -and disappearing from sight. There was a rap on the door, the latch was -turned, and an officer in uniform entered and stood beside him. - -"I'm sorry," he said, "but you'll have to come with me. You are wanted -back in Georgia. We've been looking for you for years, but we've landed -you at last." - -Paul seemed to see and hear the jingle of a pair of steel handcuffs. -A dead weight bore down on his brain as the metal clasped his wrists. -Dense darkness enveloped him, and he felt himself being jerked along at -a mad pace. - -"I intended to give myself up," he heard himself explaining to his -captor. "I'm guilty. I did it. Day after day I've told myself that I -would go back and own it, but I put it off." - -"That's the old tale." The officer seemed to laugh out of the darkness. -"Your sort are always intending to do right, but never get to it. They -are going to hang you back there in the mountains, young man, hang you -till you are dead, dead, dead! Ethel Mayfield's there--she is the same -beautiful girl--but she will be ashamed to acknowledge she ever knew -you. She used to pray for you--silly young thing!--and this is the -answer. You'll die like a dog, young man, with a rope around your neck." - -Paul waked slowly; his face was wet with cold perspiration. At first he -fancied he was in a prison cell lying on a narrow cot. Such queer sounds -were beating into his consciousness--the crowing of cocks, the barking -of dogs, the gladsome twittering of birds! Then he seemed to be a boy -again, lying in his bed in the farm-house. His father was calling him -to get up. The pigs were in the potato-field. But how could Ralph -Rundel call to him, for surely he was dead? Yes, he was dead, and -Jeff Warren--Jeff Warren--Why, Hoag had said that he had--recovered. -Recovered! - -Paul opened his eyes and looked about him in a bewildered way. The room, -in the gray light which streamed in at the windows, was unfamiliar. He -sat up on the edge of his bed and tried to collect his thoughts; then he -rose to his feet and sprang to the window. - -"Thank God, thank God!" he cried, as he stared out at the widening -landscape and the truth gradually fastened itself upon him. "Thank God, -I'm free--free--free!" - -He told himself that he could not possibly go to sleep again, and -hurriedly and excitedly he began to put on his clothes. - -When he had finished dressing he crept out into the silent hall and -softly tiptoed down the stairs. The front door was ajar, and, still -aglow with his vast new joy, he passed out into the yard. The dewy lawn -had a beauty he had never sensed before. The great trees, solemn and -stately, lifted their fronded tops into the lowering mist. The air held -the fragrance of flowers. Red and white roses besprent with dew bordered -the walks, bloomed in big beds, and honeysuckles and morning-glories -climbed the lattice of the veranda. Down the graveled walk, under the -magnolias, the leaves of which touched his bare head, Paul strode, his -step elastic, his whole being ablaze with mystic delight. Reaching the -road, he took the nearest path up the mountain. He waved his arms; he -ran; he jumped as he had jumped when a boy; he whistled; he sang; -he wept; he prayed; he exulted. Higher and higher he mounted in the -rarefied air, his feet slipping on the red-brown pine-needles and dry -heather till he reached an open promontory where a flat ledge sharply -jutted out over the gray void below. Like a fearless, winged creature -he stood upon the edge of it. The eastern sky was taking on a tinge of -lavender. Slowly this warmed into an ever-expanding sea of pink, beneath -the breathless waves of which lay the palpitating sun. Paul stretched -out his arms toward the light and stood as dumb and still as the gray -boulders and gnarled trees behind him. He was athrob with a glorious -sense of the Infinite, which seemed to enter his being like a flood at -its height. - -"Free! Free!" he shouted, as the tears burst from his eyes and streamed -down his cheeks. "Forgiven, forgiven! I was blind and now I see! I stand -on the fringe of the eternal and see with the eyes of truth. All is -well with God and every created thing, vast and infinitesimal! O Lord, I -thank Thee; with my whole being, which is spirit of Thy spirit and flesh -of Thy flesh, I thank Thee! Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty! -He is in me, and I am in Him!" - -Paul covered his face with his hands and the hot tears trickled through -his fingers. His body shook with sobs. Presently he became calmer, -uncovered his face, and looked again toward the east. The day, like a -blazing torrent, was leaping into endless space, lapping up with tongues -of fire islands and continents of clouds. Raising his hands heavenward, -Paul cried out, in a clear, firm voice that rebounded from the cliffs -behind him: - -"O God, my blessed Creator, Thou hast led me through the agony of -travail, through the pits and caverns of sin and remorse to the foot -of Thy throne. Dimly I see Thy veiled face. I hear the far-off hosts of -eternal wisdom chanting the deathless song of Love. Take me--command -me, body, mind, and soul! Burden me again, and yet again; torture me, -afflict me; grind me as a filthy worm beneath the heel of Thy Law; but -in the end give me this--this wondrous sense of Thee and transcendent -knowledge of myself. Here, now and forever, I consecrate myself to Thy -cause. O blessed God, who art love and naught but love. I thank Thee, I -thank Thee!" - -The sun, now a great, red disk, had burst into sight. The golden light -lay shimmering on hill and vale. Every dewy blade of grass, stalk of -grain, and dripping leaf seemed to breathe afresh. From the lower boughs -of the trees night-woven cobwebs hung, the gauzy snares of creatures -as wise as Napoleon and materially as cruel. The scattered houses of -Grayson were now in view. Paul feasted his eyes on the Square, and the -diverging streets which led into the red-clay mountain roads. The hamlet -was almost devoid of life. He saw, or thought he saw, his old friend, -Silas Tye, go out to the public pump in front of his shop, fill a pail -with water, and disappear. In the wagon-yard were two canvas-covered -wagons and a camp-fire, over which men, women, and children were cooking -breakfast. Paul's glance swept down the rugged slope to Hoag's house. -Cato was feeding the horses and cattle in the stable-yard. Aunt Dilly, -in a red linsey frock, was chopping stove-wood close to the kitchen, the -thwacks of her dull ax sharply audible. Paul suddenly had a desire to -speak to these swarthy toilers, to take them by the hand and make them -feel his boundless friendliness to them, and so, with a parting look at -the view below, he turned and began to retrace his steps. - -Cato was near the kitchen door helping Dilly take in the wood when Paul -went up the front walk, turned the corner of the house, and approached -him. The negro stared in astonishment, then laid down his burden and -held out his hands. - -"My Gawd, Mister Paul, is dis you? Lawd, Law'd 'a' mussy!" - -"Yes, it is I," the young man answered; "I've got back at last." - -"It's a wonder I knowed you wid dat beard, an' dem fine riggin's on." -Cato was eying Paul's modern raiment with a slow, covetous glance. "But -it was dem eyes o' your'n I knowed you by. Nobody ain't gwine ter forgit -dem peepers. Somehow dey look as saft as 'er woman's. What yer been done -ter yo'se'f--you ain't de same. My Gawd, you ain't de same po' boy dat -tried yo' level best ter kill dat white man wid er gun." - -Paul was saved the embarrassment of a reply by the sudden appearance of -Aunt Dilly, who was literally running down the steps from the kitchen -porch. - -"Don't tell me dat is Marse Paul Rundel?" she cried. "I ain't gwine -believe it. De gen'man's er foolin' you, you blockhead idiot!" - -"That's who it is, Aunt Dilly." Paul held out his hand cordially and -clasped her rasping, toil-stiffened fingers. "I've got back, never to -leave again." - -"Lawd, Lawd, it is--it sho is dat ve'y boy!" Dilly cried. "You right, -Cato, he got de eyes en de voice. I'd know 'em anywhar. My, my, my, but -you sho is changed er sight! I ain't never expect ter see dat raggety -white boy turn inter er fine gen'man lak dis. Lawd, what gwine ter -happen next?" - -Paul conversed with the two for several minutes, and then went up to his -room on a hint from Dilly that breakfast would soon be served. Paul -had been in his room only a short while when he heard the door of Henry -Hoag's room open and Henry appeared. - -"Hello, Paul!" he said, cordially extending his hand. "I wouldn't have -known you from a side of sole-leather if I hadn't heard you talking to -Cato and Dilly down there. I didn't know you were back. I thought you'd -cut this section off your map. I'm goin' to do it some day, if I can get -up enough money to start on. What you ever came back here for is one on -me. It certainly is the jumpin'-off place." - -"It is the only home I ever knew," Paul returned. "You know it is -natural for a man to want to see old landmarks." - -"I reckon so, I reckon so." Henry's roving glance fell on. Paul's -valise. "I suppose you've seen a good deal of the world. I certainly -envy you. I am tired of this. I am dying of the dry-rot. I need -something to do, but don't know how to find it. I tried life insurance, -but every man I approached treated it as a joke. I made one trip as a -drummer for a fancy-goods firm in Baltimore. I didn't sell enough to -pay my railroad fare. The house telegraphed me to ship my sample trunks -back. My father had advanced me a hundred to start on, and when I came -home he wanted to thrash me. I'll give you a pointer, Paul; if you are -lookin' for a job, you can land one with him. He's crazy to hire -an overseer, but he wouldn't trust it to me. The chap that left 'im -wouldn't stand his jaw and the old man can't attend to the work himself. -Take a tip from me. If you accept the job, have a distinct understandin' -that he sha'n't cuss you black an' blue whenever he takes a notion. He's -worse at that than he used to be, an' the only way to git along with him -is to knock 'im down and set on him right at the start. He hasn't but -one decent trait, an' that is his love for little Jack. He'd go any -lengths for that kid. Well, so would I. The boy is all right--lovely -little chap. He hasn't a jill of the Hoag blood in him." - -"I haven't seen Jack yet," Paul said. "He was a baby when I left." - -There was the harsh clanging of a bell below; Cato was vigorously -ringing it on the back porch. - -"That's breakfast now." Henry nodded toward the door. "Don't wait for -me--I usually dodge the old man. We've got summer boarders--kin folks. -Cousin Eth' and her mammy are here with all their finicky airs. Eth's -a full-fledged young lady now of the Atlanta upper crust, and what she -don't know about what's proper and decent in manners never was written -in a book of etiquette. She begun to give me lessons last year about how -and when to use a fork--said I made it rattle between my teeth. I called -her down. She knows I don't ask her no odds. There is a swell fellow in -Atlanta, a banker, Ed Peterson, that comes up to spend Sunday with her -now and then. I never have been able to find out whether Eth' cares -for him or not. The old man likes him because he's got money, and he's -trying to make a match of it. I think Aunt Harriet leans that way -a little, too, but I'm not sure. Oh, he's too dinky-dinky for -anything--can't drive out from town without a nigger to hold his horse, -and wears kid gloves in hot weather, and twists his mustache." - -Glad to get away from the loquacious gossip, Paul descended the -stairs to the dining-room. Here nothing had been changed. The same -old-fashioned pictures in veneered mahogany frames were hanging between -the windows. The same figured china vases stood on the mantelpiece over -the fireplace, which was filled with evergreens, and the hearth -was whitewashed as when he had last seen it. Mrs. Tilton, looking -considerably older, more wrinkled, thinner, and bent, stood waiting for -him at the head of the table. - -"I'm glad to see you ag'in, Paul," She extended her hand and smiled -cordially. "I've wondered many and many a time if you'd ever come back. -Jim was telling me about you just now. How relieved you must feel to -find things as they are! Set down at the side there. Jim's out among the -beehives with Jack. They have to have a romp every momin'. Jack is a big -boy now, and powerful bright. There, I hear 'em coming." - -"Get up! Get up! Whoa!" the child's voice rang out, and Hoag, puffing -and panting, with Jack astride his shoulders, stood pawing like a -restive horse at the edge of the porch. - -"Jump down now," Hoag said, persuasively. "One more round!" the boy -cried, with a merry laugh. - -"No; off you go or I'll dump you on the porch." - -"You can't!" Jack retorted. "You ain't no Mexican bronco. I'll dig my -heels in your flanks and stick on till you are as tame as a kitten." - -"No; get down now, I'm hungry," Hoag insisted; "besides, we've got -company, an' we mustn't keep 'im waiting." - -That seemed to settle the argument, and in a moment Jack entered, -casting shy glances at the visitor, to whom he advanced with a slender -hand extended. - -"You can't remember me, Jack," Paul said. "You were a little tot when I -left." - -Jack said nothing. He simply withdrew his hand and took a seat beside -his father, against whom he leaned, his big brown eyes, under long -lashes, studiously regarding the visitor. The boy was remarkably -beautiful. His golden-brown hair was as fine as cobwebs; his forehead -was high and broad; his features were regular; his limbs slender and -well-shaped. An experienced physiognomist would have known that he -possessed a sensitive, artistic temperament. - -Paul heard little of the casual talk that was going on. His elation -clung to him like an abiding reality. The sunshine lay on the grass -before the open door. The lambent air was full of the sounds peculiar -to the boyhood which had seemed so far behind him and yet had returned. -Hens were clucking as they scratched the earth and made feints at -pecking food left uncovered for their chirping broods. Waddling ducks -and snowy geese, with flapping wings, screamed one to another, and -innumerable bird-notes far and near, accompanied by the rat-tat of the -woodpecker, were heard. A donkey was braying. A peacock with plumage -proudly spread stalked majestically across the grass, displaying every -color of the rainbow in his dazzling robe. - -Breakfast over, Hoag led Paul into the old-fashioned parlor and gave him -a cigar. "I've got to ride out in the country," he said, "an' so I -may not see you again till after dark. I've been thinkin' of that -proposition I sorter touched on last night. Thar ain't no reason why -me'n you can't git on. We always did, in our dealin's back thar, an' I -need a manager powerful bad. I paid t'other man a hundred a month an' -his board throwed in, an' I'm willin' to start out with you on the same -basis, subject to change if either of us ain't satisfied. It's the best -an' easiest job in this county by long odds. What do you say? Is it a -go?" - -"I'm very glad to get it," Paul answered. "I shall remain here in the -mountains, and I want to be busy. I'll do my best to serve you." - -"Well, that's settled," Hoag said, in a tone of relief. "Knock about -as you like to-day, and tomorrow we'll ride around an' look the ground -over." - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -|PAUL'S first impulse, on finding himself alone, was to walk to Grayson -and look up his old friends; but so new and vivifying was his freedom -from the cares which had so long haunted him that he wanted to hug -the sense of it to himself still longer in solitude. So, leaving the -farm-house, he went to the summit of a little wooded hill back of the -tannery and sat down in the shade of the trees. In his boundless joy he -actually felt imponderable. He had an ethereal sense of being free from -his body, of flying in the azure above the earth, floating upon the -fleecy clouds. He noticed a windblown drift of fragrant pine-needles -in the cleft of a rock close by, and creeping into the cool nook like a -beast into its lair, he threw himself down and chuckled and laughed in -sheer delight. - -Ethel, little Ethel, who had once been his friend--who had prayed for -him and wept with him in sorrow--was coming. That very day he was to see -her again after all those years; but she would not look the same. She -was no longer a child. She had changed as he had changed. Would she know -him? Would she even remember him--the gawky farm-hand she had so sweetly -befriended? No; it was likely that he and all that pertained to him -had passed out of her mind. The memory of her, however, had been his -constant companion; her pure, childish faith had been an ultimate factor -in his redemption. - -The morning hours passed. It was noon, and the climbing sun dropped its -direct rays full upon him. He left the rocks and stood out in the open, -unbaring his brow to the cooling breeze which swept up from the fields -of grain and cotton. His eyes rested on the red road leading to the -village. Wagons, pedestrians, droves of sheep and cattle driven by men -on horses, were passing back and forth. Suddenly his heart sprang like -a startled thing within him. Surely that was Hoag's open carriage, -with Cato on the high seat in front. Yes, and of the two ladies who sat -behind under sunshades the nearer one was Ethel. Paul turned cold from -head to foot, and fell to trembling. How strange to see her, even at -that distance, in the actual flesh, when for seven years she had been a -dream! A blinding mist fell before his eyes, and when he had brushed it -away the carriage had passed out of view behind the intervening trees. -In great agitation he paced to and fro. How could he possibly command -himself sufficiently to face her in a merely conventional way? He had -met women and won their friendship in the West, and had felt at ease in -good society. But this was different. Strange to say, he was now unable -to see himself as other than the awkward, stammering lad clothed in the -rags of the class to which he belonged. - -Hardly knowing what step to take, he turned down the incline toward -the farm-house, thinking that he might gain his room unseen by the two -ladies. At the foot of the hill there was a great, deep spring, and -feeling thirsty he paused to bend down and drink from the surface, as he -had done when a boy. Drawing himself erect, he was about to go on, when -his eye caught a flash of a brown skirt among the drooping willows that -bordered the stream, and Ethel came out, her hands full of maiden-hair -ferns. At first she did not see him, busy as she was shaking the -water from the ferns and arranging them. She wore a big straw hat, a -close-fitting shirt-waist, and a neat linen skirt. How much she was -changed! She was taller, her glorious hair, if a shade darker, seemed -more abundant. She was slender still, and yet there was a certain -fullness to her form which added grace and dignity to the picture he had -so long treasured. Suddenly, while he stood as if rooted in the ground, -she glanced up and saw him. - -"Oh!" he heard her ejaculate, and he fancied that her color heightened a -trifle. Transferring the ferns to her left hand, she swept toward him as -lightly as if borne on a breeze, her right hand held out cordially. "I -really wouldn't have known you, Paul," she smiled, "if Uncle Jim had not -told me you were here. Oh, I'm _so_ glad to see you!" - -As he held her soft hand it seemed to him that he was drawing -self-possession and faith in himself from her ample store of cordiality. - -"I would have known you anywhere," he heard himself saying, quite -frankly. "And yet you have changed very, very much." - -Thereupon he lost himself completely in the bewitching spell of her face -and eyes. He had thought her beautiful as a little girl, but he had not -counted on seeing her like this--on finding himself fairly torn asunder -by a force belonging peculiarly to her. - -He marveled over his emotions--even feared them, as he stole glances -at her long-lashed, dreamy eyes, witnessed the sunrise of delicate -embarrassment in her rounded cheeks, and caught the ripened cadences of -the voice which had haunted him like music heard in a trance. - -"You have changed a great deal," she was saying, as she led him toward -the spring. "A young man changes more when--when there really is -something unusual in him. I was only a little girl when I knew you, -Paul, but I was sure that you would succeed in the world. At least I -counted on it till--" - -"Till I acted as I did," he said, sadly, prompted by her hesitation. - -She looked at him directly, though her glance wavered slightly. - -"If I lost hope then," she replied, "it was because I could not look -far enough into the future. Surely it has turned out for the best. Uncle -told me _why_ you came back. Oh, I think that is wonderful, wonderful! -Till now I have never believed such a thing possible of a man, and yet I -know it now because--because you did it." - -He avoided her appealing eyes, looking away into the blue, sunlit -distance. His lip shook when he answered: - -"Some day I'll tell you all about it. I'll unfold it to you like a -book, page by page, chapter by chapter. It is a story that opens in the -blackness of night and ends in the blaze of a new day." - -"I know what you mean--oh, I know!" Ethel sighed. "The news of that -night was my first realization of life's grim cruelty. Somehow I felt-- -I suppose other imaginative girls are the same way--I felt that it was -a sort of personal matter to me because I had met you as I had. I didn't -blame you. I couldn't understand it fully, but I felt that it was simply -a continuation of your ill-luck. I cried all that night. I could not go -to sleep. I kept fancying I saw you running away through the mountains -with all those men trying to catch you." - -"So you didn't--really blame me?" Paul faltered. "You didn't think me so -very, very bad?" - -"No, I think I made a sort of martyr of you," Ethel confessed. "I knew -you did it impulsively, highly wrought up as you were over your poor -father's death. You can't imagine how I worried the first few days -after--after you left. You see, no one knew whether Jeff Warren would -live or not. Oh, I was happy, Paul, when the doctor declared he was out -of danger! I would have given a great deal then to have known how to -reach you, but--but no one knew. Then, somehow, as the years passed, the -impression got out that you were dead. Everybody seemed to believe it -except old Mr. Tye, the shoemaker." - -"My faithful old friend!" Paul said. "He was constantly giving me good -advice which I refused to take." - -"I sometimes go into his shop and sit and talk to him," Ethel continued. -"He is a queer old man, more like a saint than an ordinary human being. -He declares he is in actual communion with God--says he has visions of -things not seen by ordinary sight. He told me once, not long ago, that -you were safe and well, and that you would come home again, and be -happier than you ever were before. I remember I tried to hope that he -knew. How strange that he guessed aright!" - -"I understand him now better than I did when I was here," Paul returned. -"I didn't know it then, but I now believe such men as he are spiritually -wiser than all the astute materialists the world has produced. What they -know they get by intuition, and that comes from the very fountain of -infinite wisdom to the humble perhaps more than to the high and mighty." - -"I am very happy to see you again," Ethel declared, a shadow crossing -her face; "but, Paul, you find me--you happen to find me in really great -trouble." - -"You!" he cried. "Why?" - -Ethel breathed out a tremulous sigh. "You have heard me speak of my -cousin, Jennie Buford. She and I are more intimate than most sisters. We -have been together almost daily all our lives. She is very ill. We were -down to see her yesterday. She had an operation performed at a hospital -a week ago, and her condition is quite critical. We would not have come -back up here, but no one is allowed to see her, and I could be of no -service. I am afraid she is going to die, and if she _should_--" Ethel's -voice clogged, and her eyes filled. - -"I'm so sorry," Paul said, "but you mustn't give up hope." - -"Life seems so cruel--such a great waste of everything that is really -worth while," Ethel said, rebelliously. "Jennie's mother and father are -almost crazed with grief. Jennie is engaged to a nice young man down -there, and he is prostrated over it. Why, oh why, do such things -happen?" - -"There is a good reason for everything," Paul replied, a flare of gentle -encouragement in his serious eyes. "Often the things that seem the worst -really are the best in the end." - -"There can be nothing good, or kind, or wise in Jennie's suffering," -Ethel declared, her pretty lips hardening, a shudder passing over her. -"She is a sweet, good girl, and her parents are devout church members. -The young man she is engaged to is the soul of honor, and yet all of us -are suffering sheer agony." - -"You must try not to look at it quite that way," Paul insisted, gently. -"You must hope and pray for her recovery." - -Ethel shrugged her shoulders, buried her face in the ferns, and was -silent. Presently, looking toward the farm-house, she said: "I see -mother waiting for me. Good-by, I'll meet you at luncheon." She was -moving away, but paused and turned back. "You may think me lacking in -religious feeling," she faltered, her glance averted, "but I am very, -very unhappy. I am sure the doctors are not telling us everything. I am -afraid I'll never see Jennie alive again." - -He heard her sob as she abruptly turned away. He had an impulsive -desire to follow and make a further effort to console her, but he felt -instinctively that she wanted to be alone. He was sure of this a moment -later, for he saw her using her handkerchief freely, and noted that she -all but stumbled along the path leading up to the house. Mrs. Mayfield -was waiting for her on the veranda, and Paul saw the older lady step -down to the ground and hasten to meet her daughter. - -"Poor, dear girl!" Paul said to himself, his face raised to the -cloud-flecked sky. "Have I passed through my darkness and come out into -the light, only to see her entering hers? O merciful God, spare her! -spare her!" - - - - -CHAPTER V - -|THAT afternoon Paul went to Grayson, noting few changes in the place. -The sun was fiercely beating down on the streets of the Square. Two or -three lawyers, a magistrate, the county ordinary, and the clerk of the -court sat in chairs on the shaded side of the Court House. Some were -whittling sticks, others were playing checkers, all were talking -politics. Under the board awnings in front of the stores the merchants -sat without their coats, fighting the afternoon heat by fanning -themselves and sprinkling water on the narrow brick sidewalks. A group -of one-horse drays, on which idle negroes sat dangling their legs and -teasing one another, stood in the shade of the hotel. The only things -suggesting coolness were the towering mountains, the green brows of -which rose into the snowy, breeze-blown clouds overhead. - -Paul found Silas Tye at his bench in his shop. He was scarcely changed -at all. Indeed, he seemed to be wearing exactly the same clothing, using -the same tools, mending the same shoes. On his bald pate glistened -beads of sweat which burst now and then and trickled down to his bushy -eyebrows. Paul had approached noiselessly, and was standing looking in -at him from the doorway, when the shoemaker glanced up and saw him. With -an ejaculation of delight he dropped his work and advanced quickly, a -grimy hand held out. - -"Here you are, here you are!" he cried, drawing the young man into the -shop. "Bearded and brown, bigger an' stronger, but the same Paul I used -to know. How are you? How are you?" - -"I'm all right, thank you," Paul answered, as he took the chair near the -bench and sat down. "How is Mrs. Tye?" - -"Sound as a dollar, and simply crazy to see you," Silas replied, with a -chuckle. "If you hadn't come in we'd 'a' got a hoss an' buggy from Sid -Trawley's stable an' 'a' rid out to see you. Jim Hoag this mornin' -was tellin' about you gittin' back, an' said he'd already hired you -to manage for him. Good-luck, good-luck, my boy; that's a fine job. -Cynthy's just stepped over to a neighbor's, an' will be back purty soon. -Oh, she was tickled when she heard the news--she was so excited she -could hardly eat her dinner. She thought a sight of you. In fact, both -of us sort o' laid claim to you." - -"Till I disgraced myself and had to run away," Paul sighed. "I'm ashamed -of that, Uncle Si. I want to say that to you first of all." - -"Don't talk that way." Silas waved his awl deprecatingly. "Thank the -Lord for what it's led to. Hoag was tellin' the crowd how you come back -to give yourself up. Said he believed it of you, but wouldn't of anybody -else. Lord, Lord, that was the best news I ever heard! Young as you -are, you'll never imagine how much good an act o' that sort will do in a -community like this. It is a great moral lesson. As I understand it, you -fought the thing with all your might and main--tried to forget it, tried -to live it down, only in the end to find that nothin' would satisfy -you--nothin' but to come back here and do your duty." - -"Yes, you are right," Paul assented. "I'll tell you all about it some -time. I'm simply too happy now to look back on such disagreeable things. -It was awful, Uncle Si." - -"I know, and I don't blame you for not talking about it," the old man -said. "Sad things are better left behind. But it is all so glorious! -Here you come with your young head bowed before the Lord, ready to -receive your punishment, only to find yourself free, free as the winds -of heaven, the flowers of the fields, the birds in the woods. Oh, Paul, -you can't see it, but joy is shining out o' you like a spiritual fire. -Your skin is clear; your honest eyes twinkle like stars. It's worth -it--your reward is worth all you've been through, an' more. Life is -built that way. We have hunger to make us enjoy eatin'; cold, that we -may know how nice warmth feels; pain, that we may appreciate health; -evil, that we may know good when we see it; misery, that we may have -joy, and death, that we may have bliss everlasting. I've no doubt you've -suffered, but it has rounded you out and made you strong as nothing -else could have done. I reckon you'll look up all your old acquaintances -right away." - -Paul's glance went to the littered floor. "First of all, Uncle Si, I -want to inquire about my mother." - -"Oh, I see." The cobbler seemed to sense the situation as a delicate -one, and he paused significantly. "Me an' Cynthy talked about that this -momin'. In fact, we are both sort o' bothered over it. Paul, I don't -think anybody round here knows whar your ma an' Jeff moved to after they -got married. But your aunt went with 'em; she was bound to stick to your -ma." - -"They married"--Paul's words came tardily--"very soon after--after -Warren recovered, I suppose?" - -"No; she kept him waitin' two years. Thar was an awful mess amongst 'em. -Your ma an' your aunt stood for you to some extent, but Jeff was awful -bitter. The trouble with Jeff was that he'd never been wounded by -anybody in his life before, an' that a strip of a boy should shove 'im -an inch o' death's door an' keep 'im in bed so long was a thing that -rankled. Folks about here done 'em both the credit to think you acted -too hasty, an' some thought Jim Hoag was back of it. The reason your ma -kept Jeff waitin' so long was to show the public that she hadn't done -nothin' she was ashamed of, an' folks generally sympathized with 'er. -Finally she agreed to marry Jeff if he'd withdraw the case ag'in' you. -It was like pullin' eye-teeth, but Jeff finally give in an' had a lawyer -fix it all up. But he was mad, and is yet, I've no doubt." - -"I understand." Paul was looking wistfully out of the window into the -street. "And would you advise me, Uncle Si, to--to try to find them?" - -"I don't believe I would," Silas opined slowly, his heavy brows meeting -above his spectacles; "at least not at present, Paul. I'd simply wait -an' hope for matters to drift into a little better shape. Jeff is a -bad man, a fellow that holds a grudge, and, late as it is, he'd want -a settlement o' some sort. I've talked to him. I've tried to reason -with him, but nothin' I'd say would have any weight. I reckon he's been -teased about it, an' has put up with a good many insinuations. Let 'em -all three alone for the present. You've got a high temper yourself, an' -while you may think you could control it, you might not be able to do it -if a big hulk of a man like Jeff was to jump on you an' begin to pound -you." - -"No; I see that you are right," Paul sighed; "but I am sorry, for I'd -like my mother to understand how I feel. She may think I still blame her -for--for fancying Warren, even when my father was alive, but I don't. -Rubbing up against the world, Uncle Si, teaches one a great many things. -My mother was only obeying a natural yearning. She was seeking an -ideal which my poor father could not fulfil. He was ill, despondent, -suspicious, and faultfinding, and she was like a spoiled child. I am -sure she never really loved him. I was in the wrong. No one could know -that better than I do. When I went away that awful night I actually -hated her, but as the years went by, Uncle Si, a new sort of tenderness -and love stole over me. When I'd see other men happy with their mothers -my heart would sink as I remembered that I had a living one who was dead -to me. Her face grew sweeter and more girl-like. I used to recall how -she smiled, and how pretty and different from other women she looked -wearing the nice things Aunt Amanda used to make for her. I'd have -dreams in which I'd hear her singing and laughing and talking, and I'd -wake with the weighty feeling that I had lost my chance at a mother. It -seemed to me that if I had not been so hasty"--Paul sighed--"she and I -would have loved each other, and I could have had the joy of providing -her with many comforts." - -Silas lowered his head toward his lap. The pegs, hammer and awl, and -scraps of leather jostled together in his apron. He was weeping and -valiantly trying to hide his tears. He took off his spectacles and laid -them on the bench beside him. Only his bald pate was in view. Presently -an uncontrollable sob broke from his rugged chest, and he looked at the -young man with swimming eyes. - -"You've been redeemed," he said. "I see it--I see it! Nobody but a Son -of God could look and talk like you do. My reward has come. I don't -take it to myself--that would be a sin; but I want you to know that I've -prayed for you every day and night since you left--sometimes in much -fear an' doubt, but with a better feelin' afterward. You may not believe -it, but I am sure there are times when I actually know that things are -happenin' for good or ill to folks I love--even away off at a distance." - -"That is a scientific fact." Paul was greatly moved by his old friend's -tone and attitude. "It is a spiritual fact according to the laws of -telepathy or thought-transference. Most scientists now believe in it." - -"You say they do?" Silas was wiping his flowing eyes and adjusting his -spectacles. "Well, many and many a time I've had proof of it. I could -tell wonders that I've experienced, but I won't now--that is, I won't -tell you of but one thing, an' that concerned you. Last Christmas Eve -me'n Cynthy had cooked a big turkey for the next day, an' made a lot o' -other preparations. We had toys an' little tricks to give this child and -that one. We had laid in things for pore neighbors to eat and wear, an' -both of us was in about as jolly a mood as ever we was in all our lives. -We set up rather late that night, an' sung an' read from the Bible, an' -prayed as usual, an' then we went to bed. But I couldn't sleep. I got -to thinkin' about you an' wonderin' whar you was at an' what sort o' -Christmas you was to have. I rolled an' tumbled. Cynthy was asleep--the -pore thing was awful tired--an' I got up an' went to the fireplace, -where I had buried some coals in the ashes to kindle from in the momin' -and bent over, still thinkin' o' you. Then all at once--I don't know how -to describe it any other way than to say it was like a big, black, soggy -weight that come down on me. It bore in from all sides, like a cloud -that you can feel, an' I could hardly breathe. Then something--it wasn't -a voice, it wasn't words spoke out of any human mouth, it was -just knowledge--knowledge plainer and deeper than words could have -expressed--knowledge from God, from space--from some'r's outside -myself--that told me you was in a sad, sad plight. I couldn't say what -it was, but it was awful. It seemed to me that you was swayin' to an' -fro between good an' evil, between light and darkness--between eternal -life an' eternal death. I never felt so awful in all my life, not even -when my own boy died. I got down on my knees there in the ashes, and I -prayed as I reckon never a man prayed before. I pleaded with the Lord -and begged 'im to help you--to drag you back from the open pit or abyss, -or whatever it was, that you was about to walk into. For awhile the -thing seemed to hang an' waver like, and then, all at once, it was -lifted, an' I knowed that you was safe. I _knowed_ it--I _knowed_ it." - -Silas ceased speaking, his mild, melting glance rested on the young -man's face. - -Paul sat in grave silence for a moment, his features drawn as by painful -recollection. - -"Your intuition was right," he said. "On that night, Uncle Si, I met and -passed through the greatest crisis of my life. I was tempted to take -a step that was wrong. I won't speak of it now, but I'll tell you all -about it some day. Something stopped me. Invisible hands seemed pushed -out from the darkness to hold me back. Your prayers saved me, I am sure -of it now." - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -|BEFORE the end of his first week's work Paul had reason to believe -that Hoag was highly pleased with his executive ability. Paul had a good -saddle-horse at his disposal, and he made daily visits to the various -properties of his employer. He hired hands at his own discretion, and -had a new plan of placing them on their honor as to the work that was to -be done in his absence. Hoag was surprised. He had found it difficult -to secure sufficient men, while under Paul's management the places were -always filled. There was a clockwork regularity in it all. From his -window every morning at sunrise Hoag could see men diligently at work -in his fields, and at the tannery and mill. There was a fresh, buoyant -activity in it all. The young man had replaced old, worn-out tools and -implements with new ones, in which the workers took pride. - -Paul's room looked as much like an office as a bedchamber. On his -table Hoag discovered a most orderly set of accounts; on the walls hung -charts, time-cards, and maps of the woodlands, with careful estimates -of the cost of felling trees and the best disposition of the bark and -timber. There was little doubt that Paul was infusing the spirit of the -West into the slower habits of the South, and Hoag chuckled inwardly, -finding it difficult to keep from openly expressing his enthusiasm. Paul -convinced him, in a moment's talk, that the steam-engine and machinery -at the cotton-gin were worn out, and that the whole should be renewed. -Hoag saw, too, that the young man was right when he called attention to -the careless manner in which the cotton lands had been fertilized. The -negroes had used no judgment in placing the guano, having often put it -on soil that did not need it--soil which could better be enriched by -the till now unused loam of the marshes and the decayed matter of the -forests. - -"Go ahead with yore rat-killin'," Hoag was fond of saying. "You've got -the right idea. I'm not such a old dog that I can't learn new tricks. -Them fellows out West know a good many twists and turns that we ain't -onto, an' I'm willin' to back you up with the cash on anything you -propose." - -His niece was with him on the lawn one morning as he was opening his -mail. - -"Just look at that letter," he said, with a low, pleased laugh, as he -offered it for inspection. "I'm in a cool thousand dollars on this one -deal. My scrub of a white-trash manager told me last week that the man -in Atlanta who has been handlin' my leather was buncoin' me good an' -strong. I didn't think he knowed what he was talkin' about then, but it -seems he'd been readin' market reports an' freight rates, an' now I know -he was right. He asked me to write to Nashville for prices. I did, an' -here is an offer that is away ahead of any my Atlanta agent ever got, -an' I save his commission to boot. Who'd 'a' thought, Eth', that such -a puny no-account skunk as Ralph Rundel could be the daddy o' sech an -up-to-date chap as Paul?" - -Ethel's sweet face took on a serious cast. "I don't think we ought to -judge our mountain people by their present unfortunate condition," she -said. "I was reading in history the other day that many of them are -really the descendants of good English, Scotch, and Irish families. I -have an idea, from his name alone, that Paul came from some family of -worth." - -"You may be right," Hoag admitted. "I know my daddy used to tell us -boys that the Hoag stock away back in early times was big fighters, not -afraid o' man, Indian, or beast. One of 'em was a pirate of the high -seas, who had his own way purty much, and died with his boots on. Pa was -proud o' that. He used to set an' tell about it. He learnt us boys to -fight when we wasn't more'n knee high. The hardest lickin' Pa ever give -me was for comin' home from school cryin' once because another chap had -got the best of me. I never shall forget it. Pa was as mad as a wildcat -at me, an' t'other fellow too. An' the next mornin', as I started to -school, he tuck me out in the yard an' picked up a sharp rock, he did, -an' showed me how to cup my hand over it and sorter hide it like. He -told me to keep it in my pocket, an' if the fellow said another word to -me to use it on 'im like a pair o' brass knucks." - -"Oh," Ethel cried, "that wasn't right! It was a shame!" - -"That's what the _fellow_ thought." Hoag burst out laughing. "He was -standin' in a gang braggin' about our fight when I got to school an' I -went up to 'im, I did, an' spit on him. He drawed back to hit me, but I -let 'im have a swipe with my rock that laid his jaw open to the bone. -He bled like a stuck pig, an' had to git a doctor to sew the crack -up. After that you bet he let me alone, an' folks in general knowed I -wouldn't do to fool with, either. The teacher o' that school--it was -jest a log shack in the country--used to use the hickory on the boys, -an' I've seen 'im even tap the bare legs o' the gals; but he never -dared touch me. He knowed better. He drawed me up before 'im one day -for stickin' a pin in a little runt of a boy, and axed me what I done it -for. I looked 'im straight in the eyes, an' told 'im I did it because it -would make the boy grow. I axed 'im what he expected to do about it. He -had a switch in his hand, but he turned red an' hummed an' hawed while -the whole school was laughin', an' then he backed down--crawfished on -the spot--said he'd see me about it after school; but I didn't stay, an' -that was the end of it. The man on the farm whar he boarded told Pa that -the fellow was afraid to go out at night, thinkin' I'd throw rocks at -'im. Say, Eth', not changin' the subject, how are you an' Ed Peterson -gittin' on?" - -"Oh, about the same," Ethel answered, with a slight shrug. "I got a -letter from him yesterday. He had been to the hospital to inquire about -Jennie, and he thought I'd like to hear she wasn't any worse." - -"Well, it ain't no business o' mine," Hoag smiled knowingly, "but I hope -you won't keep the fellow in torment any longer than you can help. He -sorter confides in me, you know, an' every time I'm in Atlanta he throws -out hints like he is in the dark an' can hardly see his way clear. He is -a man with a long business head on 'im, an' he certainly knows what -he wants in the woman line. He's powerfully well thought of in bankin' -circles, an', as you know, his folks are among the best in the South." - -Ethel, frowning slightly, was avoiding her uncle's curious gaze. "I -shall not marry any man," she said, quite firmly, "until I know that I -really love him." - -"Love a dog's hind foot!" Hoag sneered. "Looky' here, Eth', take it -straight from me. That is a delusion an' a snare. Many an' many a -good-hearted gal has spoiled her whole life over just that highfalutin -notion. They've tied the'rselves to incompetent nincompoops with low -brows an' hair plastered down over their eyes--chaps who couldn't make a -decent livin'--and let men pass by that was becomin' financial powers in -the land. Ed Peterson is of the right stripe. He ain't no fool. He knows -you've got property in your own name an' that I've set somethin' aside -for you, an' he's jest got sense enough to know that it is as easy to -love a woman with money as without." - -"How does he know?" Ethel's lips were drawn tight; there was a steady -light in her eyes as she stood looking toward the mountain. "How does he -know that you intend, or even ever thought of--" - -"Oh, you see, he has all my papers down thar," Hoag explained. "He -keeps 'em for me in the bank vault. He knows all about my business, and -naturally he'd be on to a thing like that. I hain't never intimated that -I'd coerce you in any way, but he knows I look favorably on the outcome. -In fact, I've told 'im a time or two that, as far as I was concerned, he -had a clean right-o'-way. He's sure I am on his side, but he don't seem -at all satisfied about you. He's a jealous cuss, an' as much as I like -him, I have to laugh at 'im sometimes." - -"Jealous!" Ethel exclaimed, with a lofty frown of vague displeasure. - -"Yes; he gits that way once in a while on mighty slight provocation," -Hoag rambled on. "I was tellin' 'im t'other day, when I was down thar, -about Paul Rundel comin' back, an' what a solid chap he'd turned out to -be with all his bookish ideas an' odd religious notions--givin' hisse'f -up to the law, an' the like. Ed didn't seem much interested till I told -'im that the women round about generally admired Paul, an' loved to hear -'im talk--like your mother does, for instance--an' that most of 'em say -he has fine eyes an' is good-lookin'. Right then Ed up an' wanted to -know whar Paul was livin'"--Hoag tittered--"whar he slept an' ate. An' -when I told 'im he stayed here at the house with us, he had the oddest -look about the eyes you ever saw. I teased 'im a little--I couldn't -help it. I was in a good-humor, for he had just told me about a Northern -feller that wanted to buy some o' my wild mountain-land at a good -figure. But I let up on 'im after awhile, for he really was down in the -mouth. 'Do you know,' said he, 'that I'd tackle any man on earth in -a race for a woman quicker than I would a religious crank or a -spindle-legged preacher of any denomination whatever.'" - -"I don't think you ought to talk me over that way," Ethel returned, -coldly. "You'll make me dislike him. He and I are good friends now, -but no girl likes to have men speak of her as if she were a piece of -property on the market." - -"Oh, Ed Peterson is all right," Hoag declared, his eyes on Jack, who was -climbing a tree near the fence. "That child will fall and hurt hisse'f -one o'these days. Oh, Jack! Come down from there--that's a good boy; -come down, daddy wants you." Looking at Ethel suddenly, he saw that she -was smiling. - -"What in thunder is funny about _that?_" he inquired. - -Ethel laughed softly. "I was just thinking of your sneer at the idea of -any one's loving another. You perhaps never loved any one else in your -life, but your whole soul is wrapped up in Jack." - -"I reckon you are right," Hoag confessed, half sheepishly, as he started -down the steps toward his son. "Sometimes I wonder what's got into -me. He has sech a strange, kittenish way o' gittin' round a fellow. I -believe, if I was to come home some night an' find him sick or hurt I'd -go stark crazy. He ain't like no other child I ever dealt with." - -"He'll be more and more of a mystery to you the older he gets," Ethel -answered. "He has a strong imagination and great talent for drawing. I'm -teaching him. He loves to have me read to him, and he makes up stories -out of his own head that really are wonderful." - -"I always thought he'd make a smart man, a teacher, or a lawyer, or -something like that," Hoag returned, proudly, and he hurried away, -calling loudly to his son to get down. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -|IT is held by many philosophers that in order to appreciate happiness -one must first experience its direct antithesis, and it may have been -Paul Rundel's early misfortunes that gave to his present existence so -much untrammeled delight. For one thing, he was again--and with that new -soul of his--amid the rural scenes and folk he loved so passionately. - -His heart was full of actual joy as he rode down the mountain-side one -Saturday afternoon, for the next day would be a day of rest, and he had -worked hard all the week. There was a particular book he intended -to read, certain fancies of his own which he wanted to note down in -manuscript, and hoped to talk over with Ethel. - -He was a nature-worshiper, and to-day Nature had fairly wrapped her robe -of enchantment about him. The sky had never seemed so blue; space had -never held so many hints of the Infinite. Scarcely a flower on the -roadside escaped his eye. The gray and brown soil itself had color that -appealed to his senses, and the valley stretching away under the bluish -veil of distance seemed some vague dream-spot ever receding from his -grasp. The day was a perfect one. Since early morning a gentle breeze -had been steadily blowing and the air was crisp and bracing. - -It was growing dusk when he reached home. He was just entering the front -gate when he saw Ethel walking back and forth on the lawn. Something -in her hanging head and agitated step told him that her mind was not at -ease. At first he thought she might wish to avoid him, but, hearing the -clicking of the gate-latch, she turned and advanced across the grass to -him. Then he saw that she held a folded letter in her hand and there was -a perturbed look on her face. - -"Not bad news, I hope?" he ventured. - -"I don't know exactly." Her voice quivered, and she looked at him with a -shadow of dumb worry in her eyes. "This letter is from my aunt, Jennie's -mother. She proposes that mother and I come down at once. She--she--" -Ethel's voice shook with rising emotion. "She doesn't say there is -really any _new_ danger. In fact, at the last report the doctors said -Jennie was doing as well as could be expected; but somehow--you see, the -fact that my aunt wants us to come looks as if--" - -"Oh, I hope you won't lose hope," Paul tried to say, consolingly. "At -such a distance, and not being with your cousin, it is natural for you -to exaggerate the--" - -"No; listen," Ethel now fairly sobbed. "I've reflected a good deal over -our recent talk about thought-transference, and I am sure there is much -in it. Jennie and I used to think of the same things at the same time, -and I am sure--I really _feel_ that something is going wrong--that she -is worse. This letter was written last night and mailed this morning. I -was not greatly worried till about three o'clock to-day, but since then -I have been more depressed than I ever was in my life. Somehow I can't -possibly conquer it. Paul, I'm afraid Jennie is going to die--she may -be--be dying now, actually dying, and if she should, if she _should_--" -Ethel dropped her eyes, her breast rose tumultuously, and she looked -away from him. - -There was nothing Paul could do or say. He simply stood still and mute, -a storm of pain and sympathy raging within him. - -Ethel seemed to understand and appreciate his silence, for she turned to -him and said, more calmly: - -"Of course, it may be only my imagination--my overwrought fears. I'm -going to try to feel more hopeful. We leave on the eight o'clock train. -Mother's packing our things now. It is good of you to be so sympathetic; -I knew you would be." - -She turned away. With a halting step she went up the veranda steps and -ascended the stairs to her mother's room. Paul was seated on the lawn in -the dusk smoking a cigar, when Mrs. Tilton came out to him. - -"I saw you talkin' to Ethel just now," she began. "I reckon she spoke to -you about her cousin?" - -He nodded and regarded the old wrinkled face steadily as Mrs. Tilton -continued, in a tone of resignation: - -"Harriet ain't told Ethel the worst of it. A telegram come about an -hour by sun, but she didn't let Ethel see it. It said come on the fust -train--the doctors has plumb give up. Harriet is afraid Ethel couldn't -stand the trip on top of news like that, an' she won't let her know. -It's goin' to be awful on the pore child. I'm actually afraid she won't -be able to bear it. In all my born days I've never seen such love as -them two girls had for each other." - -Paul's heart sank in dismay. "Do you think, Mrs. Tilton," he said, "that -I could be of any service? To-morrow is Sunday, and I am not busy, you -know. Could I help by going down with them?" - -"No, I don't believe I would," the old woman answered. "Jim is goin' -along. He don't care nothin' about Jennie, but he'll take that excuse -to get down there to see his friends. Harriet will bring Ethel back here -right after the buryin'. She as good as told me so; she thinks a -quiet place like this will be better than down thar among so many sad -reminders. I want to tell you now, Paul, an' I don't intend to flatter -you neither; but when Jim was talkin' so big on the porch t'other night, -an' pokin' fun at the idea of a future life, an' you sat down on 'im so -flat, an' said all them purty things so full o' hope to old folks like -me, I jest set thar in the dark an' shed tears o' joy. I could 'a' -tuck you in my arms an' 'a' hugged you. He is a-hirin' you, an' would -naturally like for you to agree with him; but you fired your convictions -at him the same as you would 'a' done at anybody else. I'm sick an' -tired o' the way he's always talked--classin' humanity with cattle an' -hogs like he does. I believe thar's a life after this un; if I didn't -I'd go crazy. If I didn't know, actually _know_, that my poor daughter, -who suffered all them years as that man's wife, was happy now, I'd be -a fiend incarnate, an' go rantin' over the world like a she-devil let -loose. I say I don't want to flatter you, but you've been like a ray -o' sunshine in this house ever since you got here. If I had been an' -infidel all my life the sight o' your face and the sound o' your voice -would turn me flat over." - -Mrs. Tilton was crying. She wiped her eyes on her apron and moved away -in the twilight. Paul looked, up at the window of Ethel's room, through -which a light was shining. Then he bowed his head, locked his hands -in front of him. He remained so for several minutes, then he said, -fervently: - -"O God, my Lord and Master, my Creator, my All, be merciful. I pray -Thee, oh, be merciful--be merciful!" - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -|TWO days after this Hoag came back from Atlanta, reaching home just at -noon. - -"I didn't go to the funeral myself," he carelessly remarked at the -dinner-table. "I had some fellers to see on business, an' I ain't much -of a hand at such parades of flowers an' black stuff, nohow. Harriet -is standin' it all right, but Eth' is in a purty bad fix. They've had a -doctor with 'er ever since Jennie died. Eth' had never seen anybody die -before, an' it seems that Jennie knowed enough to recognize 'er, an' -begged 'er to stick by 'er side to the very end. Eth' has been nearly -crazy ever since. She was too upset to go to the buryin', although -plenty o' carriages was on hand, an' she could have rid in comfort. They -offered me a seat at their expense, but, as I say, I had other fish to -fry." - -"I knew it would go hard with Ethel," Mrs. Tilton sighed. "It is a -pity they let 'er see it. Such things are hard enough even on old, -experienced folks. When are they comin' up, or did they say?" - -"To-morrow. That ain't no place for 'em down thar in all that whiz, -hustle, an' chatter, with a nigger fetchin' in a card or a bunch o' -flowers every minute. The fellers that run the flower-stores certainly -are in clover." - -Mrs. Mayfield and Ethel came in on the nighttrain which reached Grayson -at ten o'clock, and, having retired, Paul saw neither of them till the -next day. He had risen for his early morning walk, and gone down to -the front lawn, where he was surprised to see Mrs. Mayfield nervously -walking back and forth, her troubled glance on the ground. He had never -seen her look so grave, so despondent. Her hair was drawn more tightly -across her brow, and there was no trace of color in her pinched and -troubled face. Seeing him, she bowed and made a pathetic little gesture -of welcome. He hesitated for a moment as to whether he might intrude -upon her, but some appealing quality of friendliness in her sad glance -reassured him, and, hat in hand, he crossed the grass to her. - -"I was very sorry to hear your bad news," he said. "I was sorry, too, -that there seemed nothing I could do to help." - -"Thank you; you are very kind," the lady said, her thin lips quivering -sensitively. "I have thought of you, Paul, several times since the blow -came. After our recent talks I am sure you could have given us more -consolation than almost any one else. At a time like this there is -absolutely nothing to lean on except the goodness and wisdom of God." - -"Yes, of course," he responded, simply. - -"I am not worrying about Jennie now," Mrs. Mayfield went on, gravely, -sweeping his face with almost yearning eyes. "At my age one becomes -accustomed to face death calmly, but, Paul, I am actually alarmed about -the effect on Ethel." - -"I know, and I am sorry," Paul said; "very, very sorry." - -"She has hardly touched any sort of food since Jennie died," Mrs. -Mayfield asserted, in a tremulous tone. "She is wasting away. She can't -sleep even under opiates. She cries constantly, and declares she can't -get her mind from it for a moment. We ought not to have allowed her to -see the end, but we could not avoid it. Jennie was conscious almost to -the last minute, though she did not realize she was dying. They thought -it best not to tell her, and she begged Ethel and her parents and me and -the young man she was to marry--begged us not to leave her. She seemed -quite afraid. Then suddenly she had a terrible convulsion. She was -clinging to my daughter's hand when she died. Ethel fainted, and had to -be taken home in a carriage. She--she--Paul, she has lost all faith -in the goodness of God, in an after-life, in everything. She is simply -desperate and defiant. She can't be made to see any sort of justice in -it. She is bitter, very bitter, and hard and resentful. Two kind-hearted -ministers down there tried to talk to her, but she almost laughed in -their faces. Some sweet old ladies--intimate friends of ours--tried to -pacify her, too, but could do nothing. I wish you had been there. You -have comforted me more than any one else ever did. Your faith seems such -a living, active thing, and even while down there under all that sadness -I found myself somehow feeling that your thoughts--your prayers were -with us." - -"Yes, yes," he nodded, his blood mounting to his face, "that was all -I could do. Prayer is a wonderful force, but unfortunately it seems -without great or immediate effect unless it arises out of faith itself, -and perfect faith is very rare." - -"I understand," the lady sighed. "I hear Ethel coming down. I wish you -would talk to her. I am sure you can do her good, and something must -be done. No medicine can help her; her trouble is of the mind. It is -natural for persons to lose faith under a shock like this, and in time -get over it; but--but, Paul, I've known people to die of grief, and that -is really what I am afraid of." - -Ethel, as she descended the veranda steps, saw them. She wavered for a -moment, as if undecided which way to go, and then, as if reluctantly, -she came on to them. Paul noted the drawn whiteness of her face and the -dark rings about her despairing eyes. Her whole being seemed to vibrate -from a tense state of nervousness. Her lips were fixed in a piteous -grimace as she gave Paul her hand. - -"Mother's told you about it, I am sure," were her first words. - -"Yes," he nodded, sympathetically, "it is very sad." - -She took a deep, tremulous breath, and her lips were drawn tight as from -inner pain. "Paul," she said, bitterly, "I didn't know till now that -even an _omnipotent_ God could invent a thing as horrible as all that -was. If--if it would amount to anything I would curse him--actually -curse him." - -"I am going to leave you with Paul," Mrs. Mayfield said, suddenly -catching her breath as if in pain. "I have something to do up-stairs. -Listen to him, my child. He has comforted me, and he can comfort -you. You must not allow yourself to become hard like this. Oh, you -mustn't--you mustn't, darling! You'll break my heart." - -"Oh, I don't know what to do--I don't know what to do!" Ethel shook with -dry sobs, and there was a fixed stare in her beautiful eyes. "I can't -think of Jennie being gone--being put away like that, when she had so -much to live for, and when the happiness of so many depended on her -recovery." - -Without a word, and with an appealing and significant backward glance at -Paul, Mrs. Mayfield moved away. - -"Would you like to walk down to the spring?" Paul proposed, gently. "The -air is so fresh and invigorating, and breakfast won't be ready for some -time yet." - -She listlessly complied, walking along at his side like a drooping human -flower in movement. He heard her sighing constantly. He did not speak -again till they were seated at the spring, then he said: - -"Your mother overrates my power of giving consolation; there is nothing -helpful that any mortal can do at such a time. I cannot give you my -faith. It came to me only after years and years of suffering, sordid -misery, and dense spiritual blindness. But I want to try, if you don't -mind. I'd give my life to--to save you pain, to turn you from your -present despair. Will you listen to me if I'll tell you some of the -things that I passed through? You can't see it as I do, Ethel, but I -am absolutely positive that your cousin is now a thousand times happier -than she was--happier than you or I, or any one on earth." - -"Oh, I know what you will say," Ethel wailed, softly. "I believed such -things once, as you know. But I haven't been frank with you, Paul. -Seeing your beautiful faith which brought you back here in such a -wonderful way, I could not bear to let you know the truth; but I -have been in doubt for a long time, and now I have nothing to hold -to--absolutely nothing. You might argue a thousand years and you -could not--kind and gentle though you are--convince me that a just and -merciful God would allow my poor cousin to suffer as she suffered, and -cause me to feel as I feel only through my love for her. If there _is_ -a good God, He is powerless to avert such as that, and a creator who -is not omnipotent is no God at all. We are a lot of helpless material -creatures staggering through darkness, dragging bleeding hearts after -us, and yearning for what can never be ours. That's the awful, repulsive -truth, Paul. It's unpleasant, but it's the truth." - -"I will tell you what I passed through after I left here, if you will -let me," Paul began, a look of pained sensitiveness clutching his mobile -features. "It is hard to have you--of all persons--know to what depths -of degradation I sank; but I feel--something seems to tell me--that my -story may help you. Will you hear me?" - -"Perhaps you ought not to tell me anything that is unpleasant," Ethel -said, listlessly. - -Paul lowered his head and looked at the ground. "I am not sure, Ethel, -that it is not my duty to go from man to man, house to house, and tell -it word for word, thought for thought, deed for deed. The world, as -never before in its history, is groping for spiritual light, and my -life--my soul-experiences--would shed it upon any thinking person. -No one could pass through what I have passed through and doubt the -existence of God and His inexpressible goodness. It is painful to tell -you, for, above all, I want your good opinion, and yet I must. Will you -listen, Ethel?" - -"Yes, yes," she answered; "but, Paul, if I am absent-minded don't blame -me. I've not thought of a single thing since Jennie died but the way she -looked then, and in her coffin afterward. I don't think I can ever get -those things out of my mind. They are simply driving me insane." - -"Nothing but an absolutely different point of view will help you," Paul -said, gravely, his glance now resting tenderly on her grief-stricken -face. "When my father died I, too, was desperate. When I ran away from -here that terrible night I was as near akin to a wild beast as ever -mortal man was. I was at heart a murderer gloating like a bloodthirsty -savage over another's death. I won't go into detail over the earliest -part of what I went through. I traveled with a band of thieving gipsies -for a while. Later I joined a circus, and there gravitated to the same -sort of associates. Some of the company were not immoral; but I was a -murderer hiding my guilt, and among only the lowest of the low did I -feel at home. All others I hated." - -"Oh, do you think you ought to--ought to--" Ethel faltered. "How can it -do any good to--" Her voice failed her, and she stared at him dumbly. - -"I think I ought to tell you, because it is the hardest thing in the -world for me to do," he said, his tone low and labored. "I want you to -know me as I was at my worst. I can't feel that I have the right to sit -by you and be treated as a friend while you are unaware of what I have -been. For the first two years I was as low as the lowest. I hated life, -man, everything, and yet there was always something holding me back from -absolute crime. Down deep within me there was always a voice, always a -picture, always a sunlit scene--" - -He choked up, pretended to cough, and looked away to avoid her inquiring -eyes. - -"I don't quite understand," she prompted him, with her first show of -interest. - -He turned and looked steadily into her great, shadowy eyes. - -"The scene was the roadside down there, Ethel. The picture was that of -a refined, gentle little girl, her eyes full of sympathy. The voice was -hers, telling me that she was going to pray for--for me." - -"Oh, oh, why do you say that now?" Ethel cried. "Now, now, after I have -told you that I no longer--" - -"Because the little girl ought to know," he answered. "She should -be told of the clinging effect her promise--her prayers--had on a -storm-tossed human soul. The scene, the voice, the picture, never left -the wanderer. They grew like pure flowers in the mire of his deepest -sin. In many cases it is the memory of prayers at a mother's knee in -childhood that haunts the worldly minded in after-life; but my childhood -had no prayers, and that little girl became my guardian angel." - -"Oh, Paul, Paul, don't, don't!" Ethel cried, and for a moment she seemed -to have forgotten her grief. - -"But I must go on," Paul answered. "I finally reached Portland and -settled down. I was tired of roaming, and under a small printer I began -to learn type-setting. I made rapid progress. I had access to a good -public library, and I passed most of my evenings in study. Later I began -reporting on a big newspaper, and from that I gradually drifted into the -writing of editorials. I don't take any credit for the success I met, -for the articles I wrote were readable only because they were without -heart or soul, and appealed only to individuals like myself. I ridiculed -everything, tore down everything. A thing only had to be praised by -others for me to hurl my vitriol upon it. The arrant hypocrisy of -the church-members, the mental weakness of the preachers, and the -gullibility of the public were my choice themes. Birds of my own -particular feather flocked about me and congratulated me. I became vain -of my powers. I was sure that I was a great intellectual force in -the world. My salary was raised, and I found myself in comfortable -circumstances. I belonged to a small society of advanced thinkers, as -we styled ourselves. We held meetings once a week and prepared and read -essays. The great materialistic scientists and writers were our guides -and gods. We pitied all the rest of the world for its inability to reach -our height. That went on for several years, then an odd thing happened." - -"What was that?" Ethel was now almost eagerly leaning forward, her pale -lips parted. - -The color in Paul's cheeks had deepened. "I must tell that, too," he -said. "And I shall not shirk the humiliation of it. There was a young -poet in Boston whose parents lived in Portland. His books had been -widely circulated, and when he came out on a visit the papers had a -great deal to say about him. I don't think I ever sank lower than I did -then." Paul's voice faltered. "I was jealous. I read his books out of -curiosity, and found them wholly spiritual, full of dreams, ideality, -and mysticism. Then I sat up all of one night and wrote the most -caustic and virulent attack on his work that I had ever written. It was -published at once, and created a local sensation. My friends gave me a -dinner in honor of it, and we drank a good deal of beer and filled the -air with smoke. Selections from the poet's books were read and laughed -at. That seemed all right; but an unexpected thing happened. The next -day the young man called at the office and sent in his card, asking -particularly for me. It made me furious; my associates on the paper -thought he had come to demand personal satisfaction, and so did I. I -kept him waiting in the reception-room for some time, and then I went in -to him, fully expecting trouble. So you can imagine my surprise to have -him rise and extend his hand in a timid and yet cordial manner. I -had never seen him before, and I was struck by the wonderful, almost -suffering delicacy of his face and a certain expression in his big, -dreamy eyes that I had never seen before. He seemed greatly embarrassed, -so much so that at first he seemed unable to talk. Presently he managed -to tell me, in the frankest, most gentle manner, that he had come to see -me because, after reading my article, he was afraid he or his work had -offended me personally in some way. I was completely taken aback. -I simply couldn't make him out. I was tempted to speak roughly, but -couldn't. We sat down, and he started to explain more fully why he had -come. He said it was his aim in life to live in harmony with God's law, -and that, as he saw it, the feeling between him and me was spiritual -discord which ought not to exist. He said he was sure, when I understood -him fully, that I could have no personal animus against him for -conscientiously writing the poems I had attacked. He said it was the -highest law of life for all men to love one another, and until they did -there would be human discord. I can't tell you half he said. I know, -somehow, that for the first time in my experience I found myself facing -a human being who was more spirit than matter, and who possessed a power -against which I had no weapon. He seemed to feel my embarrassment, -and rose to go. At the door he gave me his hand again and pressed mine -warmly. 'I am sure,' he said, 'that nothing but good can result from -this visit. Something within me always tells me when I ought to do a -thing like this. It is always hard to do; but if I refuse to obey I -invariably suffer for it.'" - -"How very strange!" Ethel exclaimed. "And what came of it?" - -"Much, much," Paul answered. "When he had gone I remained for some -time in the room with the door closed. I was hot from head to foot with -shame. I felt worse than if I had been thrashed in public. I did not -know what to do, and I was sure something had to be done. I returned to -the office, and the reporters and printers gathered about me, full of -jokes and eager for information. I could say nothing. A mechanical jest -rose to my lips, but I didn't utter it. I could no longer make sport of -him behind his back. I put on my hat and went for a walk. I felt sure -that I owed him a public apology, and I knew that I would not be able to -make it, and that fairly confounded me. I admired him more than any man -I had ever met. During that walk a maddening mental picture rose before -me." Here the speaker's voice quivered. "I fancied, Ethel--I fancied -that I saw you as I last saw you. Some one was presenting that young man -to you. I saw you both walking off together across the meadows in the -sunshine among the flowers. He was gathering them for you. You were -receiving them, and it seemed to me that you and he were mated _as man -and woman never had been mated before_." - -"Oh, Paul, don't!" Ethel protested. "You must not think of me that way; -but go on--go on!" - -"Day after day, week after week," Paul continued, "I fought the -inclination to write that apology. I'd start it, only to throw it aside -as something above and beyond my nature. I began to loath myself. I -had sufficient cause. I was a murderer living under a false name, -continually lying about my past, haunted by remorse, and gradually -losing my reason. Then came the crisis. I call it my 'black day.' You -will despise me when I confess it, but I decided to--kill myself." - -"Oh, Paul, Paul!" Ethel covered her face with her hands. "How _could_ -you--how _could_ you?" - -"I was a blind man, goaded to despair. I was swimming with my last -feeble stroke in a torrent of sin. It was Christmas Eve. The joy of the -rest of the world only added to my loneliness. All my acquaintances had -gone to relatives and friends, and I was alone in my desolate room. I -had never faced myself so plainly as I did that night. I did not believe -there was any future life, and I told myself that I was tired of the -struggle, and wanted to go to sleep never to wake again. I thought -that would solve it, you see, I wrote a note to old Silas Tye, feeling -somehow that I wanted him to know what had happened to me. I got ready. -Forgive me, but I want you to hear it all. The door' and windows were -tightly closed, and I turned on the gas and lay down on the bed. I -folded my hands on my breast. I was sorry for myself. Then, just as I -was beginning to notice the odor of the gas, I seemed to see old Uncle -Si on his knees praying for me, and I asked myself what was he praying -for, to whom or what was he praying? My next thought was of you and your -sweet, girlish faith, and then I recalled the poet and his beautiful -ideas of life. All at once, as if in a flash of light, came the thought -that you three might be right and I wrong; that while I could kill my -body I might never be able to kill my soul. 'God help me!' I cried, -and why I did not know, for I had never prayed before. I sprang up and -turned out the gas and opened the windows and breathed the fresh air -deep into my lungs. Just then the church-bells of the city rang out in -the announcement of the day on which Christ was born. I was tingling all -over with a strange, new hope. What if I should, after all, actually be -immortal? - -"I sat down before the fire and asked myself, for the first time in my -life, 'Am I flesh, blood, and bones, or am I wholly spirit?' Was it a -physical possibility for my brain-cells--tiny fragments of matter--to -evoke the spiritual tempest through which I was passing? Was there a God -and was He good? If not, why was the universe? - -"I had brought home a new book--the _Life of Tolstoi_--to review, and I -began to read it with the first touch of sympathy I had ever given -such a work. It clutched me and held me like a vise. At one time -Tolstoi--like myself--had been tempted to kill himself because he had -no faith, and life was nothing without it. Like myself, he had been -influenced by materialistic thinkers and worldly-minded associates. He -had wealth, a noble's title, and great fame, and yet he had thrown them -all over that he might become as a little child. Among the great men of -the earth--his mental peers--he could not find the peace of soul that he -found reflected in the faces of the poorest peasants on his estate. He -wanted to be like them, because he felt they were more like God than -he. For him the riddle was solved. It struck me that his life was a -wonderful revelation of spiritual truth, if it was anything aside from -senility. To satisfy myself on this point I spent the next day reading -his books, becoming more and more convinced of his rational sincerity -and the unity of his life from beginning to end. Tolstoi's admiration -for Rousseau led me to Rousseau's life and _Confessions_. From him I -went to Plato, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius, and all the great poets. -I neglected my duties on the paper, and fairly buried myself in books -such as I'd never read before. My desire to satisfy myself that my soul -was immortal became a veritable passion. I read everything that could -possibly throw a light on the subject. The first thing that I became -convinced of was my stupendous ignorance. For instance, I had never -dreamt that one could have any faith which was not founded on the -religious creeds of which I had heard all my life; but I soon saw that -it was possible to acquire a belief like that of Emerson, Whitman, -Wordsworth, and Goethe, which soared above all so-called revelation -and reached out into the transcendental. I read the works of many -philosophers, spurning almost angrily those who leaned to the material -side of life and reverently devouring those who, like Kant and Hegel, -were idealistic. Among the modern ones William James seemed inspired. -Then Bergson held me with his idea that the simple intuition of -the trusting masses was a better guide to hidden truth than the -intellectuality of all the scholars." - -"I didn't know you had read so much," Ethel said, when Paul paused and -sat tenderly regarding her grief-stricken face. - -"I was forced to," he smiled. "I was in a corner fighting for life -against awful odds. I was sick and disgusted with existence. In my new -atmosphere I began to breathe for the first time. I was sensing the -eternal meaning of things. I began to see why I had been made to suffer, -and I was glad. The habits of my associates, their cramped and aimless -lives, now seemed horribly sordid. It sounded strange to hear them speak -so seriously and gravely of trivial affairs when a vast new world was -fairly throbbing around me. I ventured to speak with a tentative sort of -respect of some of the books I had read, and they laughed at me. I was -forced into cowardly craftiness. I hid my wonderful secret and continued -to go among them. But that couldn't go on. One cannot serve both the -spirit and the flesh and be true to either, so I gave up my associates. -I apologized to the poet, wrote a strong review of a new book of his, -and we became good friends." - -"Then, then"--Ethel laid an eager hand on his arm--"then you decided -to--to come home?" - -Paul smiled reminiscently, his glance on the gray wisps of clouds slowly -lifting themselves from the mountain-side up into the full blaze of the -sun. - -"I simply had to do it," he said. "It was as inevitable as life itself. -I knew it was right, and that settled it." - -"So you came!" Ethel cried. "You came back." - -"Yes, and when I reached here that night and learned the truth I saw -God's hand in it all. Now, you see why I have told you this. Can you -believe there is any other design than good--infinite good--behind -sorrow, trouble, and agony? Your grief is great--it seems unbearable -now; but behind it, above it, beyond it is a purpose so divinely wise -that no mortal sense can grasp it." - -Just then Cato appeared at the kitchen door ringing the breakfast-bell. -Ethel rose apathetically, and they slowly walked toward the house -together. They saw her mother among the flowers waiting for them. Paul -heard his companion sigh and, looking at her, he saw that she had lapsed -into despair again. - -"I can't bear it," he heard her say. "I can't--I can't. It's awful, -awful!" - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -|HOAG rode into the village the next morning, and as his horse bore him -along through the balmy air he ruminated over the object he had in view. -He had determined to see Sid Trawley and have a straight talk with him -about certain private matters. He no longer doubted that the liveryman -was persistently avoiding him. Sid had not answered to his name at the -last roll-call of the "klan," and vague rumors were afloat. One of the -younger members had jocularly remarked that Sid had simply "got cold -feet, an' was tryin' to shirk the entire thing." At any rate, Hoag was -sure that Trawley was not deporting himself as an aide-decamp should, -and Hoag was determined to have a distinct understanding about it. It -was not Hoag's way to beat about the bush, and Trawley knew too much -regarding matters more or less confidential to be allowed to act as he -was acting without good and sufficient reasons. As his horse cantered -along the street near the livery-stable, Hoag was quite sure that he saw -Trawley in the doorway and that he had purposely withdrawn from view. - -"Huh, that's cheeky!" Hoag muttered, as he reined in at the stable, -dismounted, and threw his bridle-rein to a negro attendant. - -"Which way did Sid go?" he asked the man, suddenly. - -The negro's eyelashes flickered hesitatingly, and he avoided the white -man's stare. - -"I dunno, boss, I hain't seed 'im," the man said. "He was heer dis -mawnin', but I don't know whar he is now." - -"You are a liar, you black imp!" Hoag growled. "I saw 'im right here a -minute ago." - -The negro made no response; he shrugged his shoulders doggedly, and his -bead-like eyes were full of cautious concern as he led the horse to a -stall. - -Hoag stared after him, a sullen, thwarted expression on his face. "Don't -take the saddle off," he yelled. "I'm goin' back right away." And with -that he suddenly turned into the little office on the right, finding -Trawley at his desk, a queer look, half of fear, half of sheepishness, -in his shifting eyes. Hoag was now positive that the man was trying to -avoid him, and a fierce demand for explanation was on his tongue, but he -managed to restrain himself. Indeed, he felt that this was a case that -required diplomatic handling, for Trawley had a temper, and at present -had the look of a man driven into a corner. - -"Hello, Sid," Hoag said. "How goes it?" - -"Oh, so so," Trawley answered, awkwardly. "How's things out your way?" - -"Oh, about as common." Hoag was wondering over Trawley's sallow -complexion, once so ruddy, and the nervousness of a frame which surely -had lost weight and poise. The two did not shake hands. Hoag idly tapped -the green cloth of the desk, beating little ridges of dust into view, -and fixed his purposeful eyes on the dingy, small-paned window which was -hung over with cobwebs. - -"You hain't answered at roll-call lately," he suddenly plunged. - -"I couldn't find the time." Trawley was opening a canvas-backed ledger -with thin, quivering fingers. "I've been powerful busy, Cap. Lots an' -lots o' rigs an' hosses goin' out an' comin' in--can't trust my shebang -with these coons. They don't feed an' water my stock--or rub 'em down -when they come in tired. They git things all balled up--send out hosses -on long trips that hain't had no rest; one o' my best mules dropped dead -t'other day an'--" - -"I understand all that." Hoag's eyes bore down on him impatiently. "But -you didn't _use_ to be so all-fired anxious about this dang stable. It's -a new twist altogether. Say, has anything gone crooked with you?" - -"What makes you ax that?" Trawley's words crept slowly from his stiff -lips, and his glance rose, only to fall precipitately. - -"I don't know," Hoag replied. "Some o' the boys said they didn't know -but what you'd took to doctorin' yorese'f--got a fool notion in yore -head that you was about to git down sick." - -"Well, I _am_ sick--if you want to know," Trawley suddenly declared. -"I'm not a sound man, by a long shot." - -"Oh, come off!" Hoag laughed. "You've been eatin' too much or smokin' -more'n you ought. Maybe yore liquor ain't o' the right brand. There's -a lot o' poison in the truck shoved over bar-counters these days. You -oughtn't to touch any but straight moonshine corn. Some o' our boys make -the best that ever slid down a gullet." - -"'Tain't nothin' o' that sort," Trawley sighed, despondently. "Dr. Lynn -examined me an' wasn't a bit satisfied. He said my stomach had clean -gone back on me. Nothin' I eat won't stay down. I roll an' tumble at -night an' shake all over durin' the day. Doc said it was serious." - -"Oh, now I understand." Hoag seemed slightly relieved. "But you hain't -a-goin' to let _that_ scare the socks off you. Besides, Lynn may be -mistaken." - -Trawley's chin dropped despondently. "He knows as much as any doctor, I -reckon. Looked to me like he considered my case hopeless. He shook his -head all the time he was talkin'. He--he hinted purty strong that I -ought to be prepared, that I might--might have to go any day." Trawley's -scant blood had left his face and his lip hung limply. - -Hoag shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "So you've let that scare you -plumb off from old habits. You set here an' mope instead o' bein' up an' -about with the rest of us. We all got to die some time or other." - -Trawley glared fiercely out from his labyrinth of fears. "You wait till -it gits _you_ down!" he blurted out. "_You_ kin talk, standin' thar with -that solid pouch on you--an' a meal in it that you can hold down. Don't -talk to me; I know when I'm in trouble!" - -"I know when you will be, shore enough, if you don't mark my words." -Hoag was now employing his favorite browbeating method, and his eyes -flashed threateningly. "You have been shootin' off your mouth to -outsiders. You are like a scared old hag with fits. I heard that -hobgoblin tale you told about seein' the ghost o' Pete Watson. The -tale's goin' the rounds, gittin' bigger an' bigger, like a cake o' -beeswax that everybody adds a chunk to, an' thar wasn't a thing in it -but your fool jim-jams." - -"I know what I _know!_" Trawley said, a shadow of superstition in his -eyes. "I was in my right senses--I was seein' as plain as I am now. The -fust time he appeared I was wide awake, settin' up in a chair in the -kitchen. The next time I was in my corn-crib a little after dark. Pete -put his hand to his neck; I heard 'im groan an' gurgle. He comes to my -bed sometimes when I'm asleepin' an' pulls the covers off an' then darts -right through the wall. The last time he told me that me nor none o' the -klan would ever have peace--that black folks was the same as white -whar he was at, an' that accordin' to the book o' judgment to kill the -innocent was the unpardonable sin alluded to in Scripture." - -"Poof, Sid, you are gone clean daffy!" Hoag sneered, though a serious -expression had captured his features, for he was wondering how far this -indiscreet babbler could be trusted to recount such imaginings. - -"He got _you_ in it all right," Trawley said, vindictively. "I ain't the -only one. The last time he come to me I was drivin' the cow home from -the pasture after dark. At fust I thought it was a calf or a stray hog; -but he come on till he was close by my side, limpin' along like he used -to do, with his old flipflap feet. He talked as plain as ever he did in -this life. He said I was to die a slow death an' a terrible one--that my -folks would think I was dead an' put me in the ground, but that I'd lie -thar an' wait till him an' some more come an' twisted my sperit out an' -tuck it on to torment. Then he fetched you in." - -"Me?" Hoag sniffed. "Well, I'm glad he hain't forgot me. I hope he -remembers the time I lambasted 'im for breakin' that new plow o' mine." - -"Yes; he said yore time was comin', too; he said you was the prime mover -an' power in the organization--that you was a rank coward at heart, an' -that you jest loved the fun o' scarin' niggers because you was afraid o' -brave white men. I dunno, I'm jest tellin' you what he told me. He said -your luck was goin' to turn flat ag'in' you--that your present support -would sluff away, an' you'd find yourself alone with nothin' 'twixt you -an' the Almighty but the niggers you'd sent on ahead, an' that you'd git -on your knees to 'em an' beg 'em to speak a kind word for you, but that -they'd turn a deef ear. He may have missed it in yore case, but was -right about _me_. Jim Hoag, I'm a dyin' man, an' I'm in hell already." -Hoag was becoming angry. Had he dared he would have spoken more sharply. -He told himself that Trawley had lost his reason, and that he was a very -unsafe man in his present condition, holding the knowledge he held. - -"You'll have to git out o' this," he said, sternly. "You need a change." - -"I need more'n that," Trawley groaned, and he beat the top of his desk -with a limp, splaying hand. "I need medicine that ain't in no bottle or -doctor's saddle-bags. I know what I need, but I don't know whar to -git it. I need what my good old mammy had when she died, shoutin' an' -talkin' about her folks that had gone on, who she declared was right -thar over the bed holdin' out their hands to her." - -"Take it from me, Sid," Hoag said, carelessly, "all that stuff is pure -poppycock. When a man's time comes the jig is up--that's all; he's done -for; he's put in the ground an' rots. As for me, that's all I want or -expect." - -"I know you've always said that," Trawley answered, "an' I used to -think maybe you was right, bein' sech a big man in your way; but I know -different now. Say, Jim Hoag, what do you make o' Paul Rundel?" - -"Make o' 'im--what do you mean?" - -"I want to know what could 'a' fetched 'imback here to give up to the -halter like he did unless--unless he was led by some'n in 'im bigger, -wider, an' higher than jest his mortal body?" - -Hoag smiled significantly, and idly tapped the leg of his trousers with -his whip. "Just betwixt us two, Sid, I never have knowed just _what_ -Paul's game was. I saw he was a good man for the job I had open, an' I -tuck 'im in. I never have bothered about the tale he told. That was -his lookout. He's got a clear head for business. He understands human -nature, an' he was sharp enough, I reckon, to know that nine juries out -o' ten would be lenient in a case like his'n. He was homesick for these -old mountains, an' was willin' to serve a year or two an' be done with -it." - -"That won't do at all--_not at all_," Trawley protested, with firmness. -"I've never seed an eye like his'n in a human head. He heard I was -ailin', an' come in here last week friendly like to talk to me. -Well"--Trawley averted his face and sat linking his fingers like wooden -prongs--"I just don't know how to tell you about it, Cap. He said--Paul -said some o' the quarest, most comfortin' things that ever a sick man -heard. I want to see 'im ag'in--I just _must_. I've been to preachers, -an' to old Christian men like Tye over thar, an' they all gave me the -same stale song-and-dance; but this young fellow, with his shinin' -face an' happy way, had some'n fresh. Why, he said that the Lord just -couldn't be hard on any repentant soul He'd ever created. I wish I -could tell you how Paul fixed it, but I can't remember. He said the ugly -sights I'd seed was just in _me_--just in my own mind--an' that as soon -as I seed that I was part an' parcel of God Hisse'f all them gloomy -shadows would pass away an' I'd see visions o' true light. He cited the -thief on the cross--you remember about that feller? He was dyin' thar by -the Saviour, you know, an' the Lord said to him, 'This day shalt thou be -with me in Paradise.' As Paul fixed it up nothin' the thief had done in -days gone by was to be helt ag'in' 'im--_nothin'!_ He says it is all a -matter of wrong thought or right thought. He told a purty tale that was -sorter like a new-fashioned parable. He said, take two brothers, for -instance. A lawyer comes away across the ocean from the old country an' -tells 'em, on his word an' honor, that a kinsman has died over thar an' -left 'em a million apiece, but that they will have to be patient an' -wait a year before the money will be paid into the'r hands. Now, Paul -said one of 'em, for example, would believe the lawyer an' spend his -year full o' happy expectations, but t'other wouldn't trust the lawyer's -statement, an' in his doubt an' uncertainty his year would be the most -miserable he ever spent. Both come in at the end on the same actual -level, you see, Cap, but the trustin' fellow got in twelve months -quicker--that's all. Paul says that illustrates what is called havin' -the kingdom of heaven within you--it's our'n if we'll just believe it's -our'n an' move in an' take possession." - -Hoag's countenance was full of shadow. For a moment he seemed undecided -as to what to say. He whipped his leg steadily and cleared his throat. -One of the negro attendants leaned in at the door and asked Trawley a -question, and the liveryman replied sharply: - -"Give 'im any pair he wants, an' don't disturb me ag'in while I'm -talkin'." He uttered a low groan as the negro withdrew and looked up -at his frowning companion. "I tell you, Jim Hoag, when a man gits in -trouble like I am in, a puny thing like whether he rents a turnout, or a -hub is split, or a tire off, amounts to so little that it makes 'im mad -to think about it." - -"Looky' here, Sid!" Hoag's beetling brows ran together, and his tone was -fierce and direct. "I want to git at this thing right now, so as to know -what to depend on. Like the rest of us, you are under oath of secrecy -to the klan. Did you say anything to Paul Rundel to lead him to suspect -that--" - -"No, I didn't," Trawley groaned. "I kept it all back, an' thar's right -whar I think my chief trouble lies. I've taken an oath that binds me to -the devil an' his imps. Paul says, to git the real thing you've got to -go at it with a clean breast, an' I can't be that way with you fellows -tellin' me to come to your secret meetin's an' layin' claim to me. I -hain't give you all away, an' I ain't goin' to, but I'm in a bad fix. I -want to clean up an' git right, but I don't know how. It seems wrong to -break my oath, an' wuss to keep it." - -"I can say to you right here, Sid"--Hoag moved toward the door, a dark, -red flush on his face--"if you do betray our body you'll regret it, an' -you know well enough why." - -So speaking, and without another glance at the man he was leaving, Hoag -strode away. Aflame with fury, he mounted his horse and rode homeward. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -|THE following night was dark and sultry. A slight, brief rain had -pattered upon the hot and dusty earth, leaving a warm, thick moisture -in the air. The clouds, shifting, dissolving, and massing overhead, -alternately revealed and hid the stars. The moon's white disk hung -behind a filmy veil above the mountain-top. Hoag had retired to his -room in anything but a pleasant mood. He could count on browbeating the -average man under him, the man who was afraid of the good or ill opinion -of his fellows; but the man who was afraid of the Infinite, as in -Trawley's case, was different. - -Hoag had removed his coat and his shirt was open in front. He sat in a -chair at a window overlooking his tannery. He was smoking, as usual. In -fact, the habit had grown upon him to such an extent that he was afraid -of what he called "a tobacco-heart." There were occasional warnings, -in certain muscular flutterings and lapses into drowsiness that had not -belonged to his more buoyant period. He told himself that he was taking -on flesh too rapidly. He was sure he was eating more than he should; -that his toddies were acting as an unnatural stimulant to an appetite -which had always been too vigorous. - -On a table behind him a lamp was dimly burning, and the bed in its -billowy warmth looked uninviting. The old clock in the hall below had -struck eleven when he rose to disrobe. Suddenly he heard Rover, the -watch-dog, bark loudly and scamper down the lawn toward the tannery. -Then there was silence, broken by a subdued muttering under the dark -sheds. Hoag was sure that the dog had been silenced by some one, and the -circumstance was suspicious, to say the least, and must be looked into. -So, taking his revolver from the table, and in order that he might not -wake Jack or Mrs. Tilton in the next room, he opened his door softly, -then crept noiselessly out at the side-entrance and went across the damp -lawn down the slope, avoiding this or that obstacle in his progress--a -beehive, a lawn-mower, or a dismantled cider-press left at the mercy -of the weather. He was soon under the sheds groping his way, most -cautiously now, for it was quite dark, between the open vats, and -stumbling over heaps of used and unused tan-bark, his eyes and ears -alert. He asked himself, in growing wonder, what had become of Rover, -for surely the dog was somewhere near. At this juncture he heard a dull, -thumping sound in the warehouse a hundred yards to the left, and -cocking his revolver he strode quickly in that direction. Reaching the -warehouse, and turning the corner, he saw at the door of the building -a horse and open road-wagon, at the side of which Rover sat on his -haunches idly beating the ground with his tail. Wholly nonplussed, -Hoag stepped noiselessly on to the long platform, and peered in at the -sliding door. At the farthest end of the room, in the dim light of a -lantern, he saw a man half pushing, half rolling a heavy bale of leather -toward the door. Crouched down, as the intruder was over his work, Hoag -could not see his face, but presently it appeared quite clearly in the -light. It was Henry. It was his son. He was a thief caught in the act. -Volcanic fury swept over Hoag. The would-be thief was of his own blood, -of his own loins. Revolver in hand, and indignantly quivering in every -inch of his fat body, Hoag glided from the dark into the light. - -"What the hell does this mean?" he demanded, in a loud and yet guttural -tone. - -The young man at the bale of leather, without hat or coat, his brow -red and streaming with perspiration, started and, looking up, faced his -father. For an instant his glance wavered, but as Hoag thundered out a -repetition of his question, Henry drew himself up defiantly and glared -straight at him. - -"You see well enough," he answered, doggedly. - -"So you are a thief--a low, sneaking, prowling night-robber?" Hoag -gasped, taken aback by his son's unexpected attitude. "You--you!" - -"Call it what you like!" Henry hurled at him. "I don't care. You are -rollin' in money, makin' it hand over fist--goin' to your grave rich, -and I haven't any way of living. Other fellows' daddies help them along, -but you never give me a cent. I used to ask you, and you'd curse me and -threaten to kick me out. I'm your son, and you are stinkin' rich. You -can't bluff me. I'm reckless. I don't care a tinker's damn what I do. I -need money--that's all--I need it." - -Hoag stood puffing. He was conscious of a fluttering about his heart, -and he had the sudden fear that an outburst might mean his undoing on -the spot, but he was too angry to control himself. - -"So you are a thief!" he panted. "You eat at my table, sleep under my -roof, an' come here with a wagon to steal my stuff. Do you know what I'm -goin' to do with you?" - -"Not knowing, I can't say," Henry answered, with colloquial quotation. -"I've known you to get weak-kneed, as you did the day Jeff Warren called -you to taw at the Court House. Jeff saw through it and told how you ate -the crow he shoved at you on the point of his gun." - -This angry taunt was the worst missile the desperate young man could -have thrown. It drove splotches of pallor into the crimson of his -father's face. - -"You mean you think I'm a coward?" Hoag cried. "You--you dare--" - -"I don't mean nothing about it; I _know_ it," Henry retorted, still with -the furious smile on his lips, a reckless flare in his eyes. - -"Well, I'll show you what I'm goin' to do to _you_, anyway," Hoag said, -fiercely. "I'm goin' to give you the best lickin' you ever had in all -your bom days." - -"You say you are!" Henry laughed, almost with actual spontaneity. - -"Yes, I am, an' right here an' now." - -"'Right here an' now,'" Henry repeated, grimly. "Well, that is a good -joke; 'right here an' now'--poof! You'd better set in. It will be -breakfast time before long." - -"You wait a minute," Hoag growled, as he took up the lantern and placed -it on a bale of cotton; then he turned back to the door, closed the -shutter and fastened the metal latch with fingers that fumbled and -evoked an audible clatter in the silent room. Then, with his revolver -in his hip-pocket, he stalked back to his son, who sat on the bale of -leather sullenly picking his teeth with a splinter. Their eyes met -like those of two infuriated beasts driven into contact by the goads of -spectators. Beyond the lantern's flare the darkness hung like a curtain. -Hoag picked up a piece of hard-twisted hemp rope about a yard in length, -and with furious jerks proceeded to tie a knot in one end of it. - -"You not only try to rob me, but you dare to insult me!" he cried, -frothy saliva trickling from the corners of his big, weak mouth. "I'm -goin' to give you a lickin' that you won't forget till you die." - -Henry stood up. A smile dawned on his face and died; he locked his hands -behind him; his lips were as firm as if cut in granite; his eyelids -drew close together, and the balls gleamed with the fire of invincible -purpose. - -"Wait a minute," he said. "You are an older man than I am, an' you are -my daddy, but if you lay the weight of your hand on me I'll kill you as -sure as you've got a live hair on your head." - -"You mean to threaten me--you damned midnight prowler!" And Hoag, -brandishing his rope, sprang at his son like a tiger on its prey. But -Henry quickly and deftly caught the descending rope, jerked it from the -fat fingers, and threw it against the wall. Then, while Hoag stood for -an instant bewildered, Henry clutched him round his big, bare neck and -began to push him backward over the bale of leather. From side to side -the two swung, grunting, panting, swearing. A mist was before Hoag's -eyes; ten prongs of steel were piercing and separating the bones and -muscles of his neck. He was gasping for breath when, by an extra effort, -he tore his son's hands away. For a second they stood warily shifting -from side to side, and then they locked in the embrace of madmen, and -the struggle for supremacy was renewed. Over the rough floor, here and -there among boxes, bundles, and bales, they slid and pounded. Suddenly -Henry became conscious that his father was trying to get his hand into -his hip-pocket. - -"Oh, that's your game, eh?" he said, between his teeth. "Two can work at -it." And the younger suddenly slid his hand over the back of the older -man and grasped the hilt of the revolver. Then he ducked downward -suddenly and stood aside, the weapon in his hand. - -"Stand back!" he ordered, calmly, and Hoag, with eyes of despair on -the revolver, fell away. Visions of death flashed and flared before -him--visions of the monster Trawley was fearing. He held up his hands; -their shadows on the wall quivered like the moving branches of a tree in -a storm. - -"Don't, for God's sake, don't!" he pleaded. "I'm--I'm your father." - -Henry stared for a moment, and then an expression of sheer horror crept -over his face. Suddenly he threw the revolver against the wall and bowed -his head to a cotton bale. - -"My God, oh, my God!" he cried, his hands pressed into the sockets of -his eyes, his breast heaving. - -Slowly Hoag lowered his uplifted hands. Silence ensued--silence broken -only by the audible panting of the two men. Presently Hoag spoke. - -"You started to kill me," he gasped. "Why didn't you do it? You had the -chance." - -"Oh, my God--oh, my God!" Henry exclaimed, in muffled tones. "Yes, yes, -I came near it. I didn't know what I was about. You got me in a corner. -You started at me. You made me mad. But I am not a murderer--bad as I -am, I am not that. I saw you trying to pull the gun and forgot what I -was doing." - -"Huh, you say you did?" Hoag seemed unable to formulate anything else. -"You say you did?" Suddenly stepping aside, Henry picked up the rope -his father had held a moment before. Hoag stared helplessly as he came -toward him with it extended in his hands. - -"Take it!" Henry gulped. - -"What for?" Hoag asked, wonderingly. - -"I want you to whip me," Henry replied, huskily. "I'll stand here and -let you lay it on till you are tired. You'll never give me enough to -satisfy me. I need it and I want it. You have every right to give it to -me, and I want it done." - -Unconscious of what he was doing, Hoag accepted the rope, allowing it -to hang loosely from his inert fingers. There was another silence. Henry -had turned his back and bent his shoulders over the cotton bale. - -Hoag twisted the rope awkwardly in his hands for a moment, then threw it -down. - -"What did you need money for?" he suddenly inquired. "Tell me; you might -as well." - -"I borrowed a hundred dollars from Sam Pitman last year," came from -Henry's averted lips. "He's in hard luck. They are about to sell his -farm for debt. His family is suffering. He told me that my hundred would -tide him over." - -"I see, I see," Hoag muttered. - -"I didn't know how else to get it," Henry went on. "I tried a number -of ways, but failed. I want you to know that I've never stole before. -Somehow I made myself believe it wouldn't be wrong in such a case to -take from my own father. Of course I was wrong, but I tried to see -it that way. I knew where I could raise the money on the leather, -and--well, that's all. I want you to whip me. Nothing else will satisfy -me. After that I'll go away for good and all." - -"Thar ain't no use to talk that way," Hoag said, falteringly. "I didn't -know you needed money as bad as that. Pitman _is_ in a hard fix, an' -I'll tell you what I'll do. It's plumb foolish for you to--to talk about -goin' off an' all that. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll pay that debt -off in the momin'. I reckon you think I'm purty hard on you. Well, I -suppose I am. I was fetched up hard, an' I've got hard. Now, go put up -the hoss an' wagon. I feel bad about this. I don't know why, but I feel -bad." - -"Father, I can't--" - -"Now, go on an' do as I tell you. I know when I want to do a thing, an' -I want to pay Pitman that money, an'--an' I want you to stay on here at -home. Now, go put up the hoss an' wagon. If I'm satisfied you ought to -be, an' me'n you will have to rub out an' begin over ag'in in some sort -o' fashion. You was mad an' I was mad. You've got my temper an' I can't -blame you. Now, go on. I'll lock the door." - -"Very well," Henry said, and he picked up his coat and hat and moved -away into the darkness, leaving his father with the lighted lantern in -his hand. - -Hoag stood still for a moment. He heard his son clucking to the horse, -then came the sound of the wagon-wheels scraping against the edge of the -platform, and the grinding of the horse's hoofs on the stony road, as it -was driven toward the stables. Hoag extinguished the lantern by lowering -it suddenly, and, going out, he closed the sliding door and locked it -with fingers which quivered as with palsy. - -He sat down on the platform, his heavy feet and legs hanging limply, and -stared out into space. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -|ONE evening at the end of that week Paul met - -Mrs. Mayfield walking back and forth on the lawn. Her head was enveloped -in a light shawl and her eyes were downcast. Presently she turned toward -him, and he saw that she had been weeping. - -"I was going to inquire of Mrs. Tilton how your daughter is," he began. -"I have not seen her since the morning I walked with her to the spring." - -The lady touched her thin lips with her handkerchief and made an obvious -effort to control her voice. She laid her hand on his arm almost with a -gesture of despair, and he felt the delicate fingers tremble. - -"I've been wanting to see you," she faltered. "The poor child seldom -leaves her bed. The doctor says nothing but time will do her any good. -She scarcely eats anything, and has grown thin and white, and oh, so -nervous! Jennie's death has simply terrified her--shocked her through -and through. She cries constantly. I wake up in the night and hear -weeping and moaning. The doctor can't deceive me. I know he is worried, -because he comes often and asks so many questions. He admits that grief -like Ethel's sometimes results disastrously, and I myself have never -seen so serious a case as hers. Paul, she has lost all faith in God and -religion. She came up-stairs, after you talked to her that day, in what -seemed to be a really more hopeful mood. She put her head in my lap and -cried for the first time in a natural way, but she hardened again soon -afterward. That afternoon letters came from Jennie's father and mother -and the young man Jennie was to marry, and Ethel went into hysterics. -She really did not know what she was saying or doing. Oh, it was -pitiful! She says she simply can't get away from the memory of the -awful details. It was my fault; she should never have been there. Jennie -wanted her, though, and there was no time for reflection. We were all -excited." - -"Something must be done to take your daughter's mind from it," Paul -advised, gravely. "A mental picture like that should not be held. It is -decidedly dangerous." - -"That's why I wanted to see you," Mrs. Mayfield said. "You can help me -if you will. My brother says you are going to drive over the mountain -tomorrow on business. I really think Ethel would go along if you would -care to take her." - -"I should be delighted," he answered. "I'd be a poor companion at such -a time, but the view from the mountain at this time of the year is -wonderful, and the trip might divert her thoughts." - -"Then I'll have her ready," Mrs. Mayfield promised. "And oh, Paul, I -do hope you will impress some of your beautiful thoughts upon her. -Religion, faith in God's goodness, and the hope of immortality are -absolutely the only sustaining things at such a time. If I had not had -them to cling to when my poor husband died I think I should have lost my -reason. I doubted at first--I could see no justice in his sufferings and -mine; but I have become reconciled. People are more material in their -ideas nowadays, and Ethel has come across some injurious books which -have influenced her. She is so gentle and sweet--really, it is her pity -for Jennie that is causing it all. She is not thinking of herself. -That is the state of mind of a mother who has lost a child; she feels, -somehow, that her child has been wrongly treated and she resents it." - -"I'll do my best to cheer her up to-morrow," Paul said, a note of -despondency creeping into his voice, "though I am afraid I can't do -much." - -"I am sure you can do far more than any one else," Mrs. Mayfield said, -as she glanced at the window of her daughter's room and turned to go in. -"I'll have her ready." - -After breakfast the following morning Cato brought the horse and buggy -around to the veranda, and Paul went out to see if everything was in -readiness for the trip, having received a message at breakfast from Mrs. -Mayfield that Ethel was quite willing to go. Presently he heard the two -ladies descending the stairs, and a moment later they joined him in the -yard. Paul was shocked by Ethel's appearance. She was quite pale and -there were despondent shadows under her eyes, but, withal, he had never -seen her look so beautiful; it was as if some rare, suppressed radiance -were issuing from her hair, skin, and pain-filled eyes, the long lashes -of which seemed dipped in the essence of tears. - -"I know you will think I'm very troublesome, Paul," she smiled, sadly, -as she gave him her hand to get into the buggy. "I've been so despondent -that I have avoided all of you. It is very kind of you to bother with me -to-day." - -"It is certainly a great pleasure to me," he answered, as he tucked the -lap-robe about her feet. "You mustn't try to talk unless you care to." - -"It seems to me that I can think of only one subject," she sighed, as -she leaned over the wheel and kissed her mother. "I seem to be floating -on a sea of unreality, under clouds of despair. I was looking from -the window of my room just now and saw the people going to work at the -tannery, and in the fields with their pails and tools, and I wanted to -scream. It seemed so queer for them to be moving about as if nothing -unusual had happened when"--Her voice failed her. With a sensitive -tightening of the lips Mrs. Mayfield signaled Paul to drive on, and he -started the horse. - -They had gone some distance along the stony road which wound gradually -up the mountain-side before either of them spoke. It was Ethel who broke -the silence. - -"There is no time in the world, Paul," she said, huskily, "in which one -so keenly feels and appreciates the kindness of friends as a time like -this. I can see that you are sorry for me, and I want you to know how -grateful I am, but I simply can't express it. My very heart and soul -seem to have died within me." - -"You mustn't try," he answered. "You must simply realize that all things -are right. Even _this_ great sorrow, sad as it appears, is for the best, -if only you could see it in the right light." - -"I remember you said so the other day. And, Paul, I did try hard. A -beautiful faith in personal immortality, like yours, really does keep -away the horror of death, and I tried, with all my mind and body, to -grasp it. I prayed and prayed for your faith, and it seemed to me, at -certain moments, that I came so close to it that I could almost sense it -as a wonderful reality. It would flash before me like a beautiful dream, -and then vanish, leaving nothing but that awful scene in its place. For -half an hour yesterday I was almost happy. It seemed to me that Jennie -was really not dead. I fancied she was there with me, telling me--not in -words, but in some subtle way--not to grieve, that she was in a new life -full of joy and freedom." - -"That is the thought you ought to endeavor to hold," Paul fervently -declared, "because it is simple truth. In fact, you deny the ultimate -aim of life in looking at it in any other way." - -"You will say it was a small thing, perhaps," Ethel went on, "which -threw me back into despair. It was this: Shortly after our talk at the -spring, I picked up a newspaper, and the first thing I saw was a long -article concerning a statement made by Edison, to the effect that the -result of all his careful and lifelong investigations was the conclusion -that the immortality of the soul was an utter impossibility. Paul, I -dropped from hope to despair in an instant. I tried to think you might -be right and he wrong, but I failed. I asked myself this question: If -God is good enough to grant us another and a better life, why will He -allow one of the greatest men of our age to deny it, and let me--_me_, -suffering and praying for light as I am--come across his denial in grim, -black letters on white paper?" - -"That raises a little scientific point." Paul looked at her wistful -face and half smiled. "You allowed yourself to be influenced, almost -self-hypnotized, by one single mental picture." - -"How so?" Ethel inquired. - -Paul smiled again. "Why, you let Mr. Edison--with all due respect to his -knowledge of merely material things--you let him loom too large before -your sight. One may hold a little ugly insect so close to the eye that -it will shut out the light of billions of suns and stars. When it is a -question of opinion alone it would be better to go to specialists in -the particular field we are investigating. Mr. Edison is a specialist in -_material_ things, not spiritual things. We would not go to a coal-miner -who had spent his life underground to render an opinion on the effects -of sunlight on flowers; nor to a boilermaker for an opinion on music -played to the vanishing-point of delicate expression. We have one great -historical authority on spiritual matters. Christ told us that there -is a life beyond this, and he died asserting it. There was -another--Socrates--who realized it so strongly that he laughed in the -face of death. Ethel, I cannot believe that God would create men like -those, allow them to suffer for others as they did, and then prove them -to be liars outright or self-deceived simpletons." - -"Oh, I'm so glad I came this morning!" Ethel cried, looking up at him -gratefully. "You have given me so much hope. Your faith is wonderful, -and you seem to inspire me with it." - -"No, we really must not go to our material scientists for hope in such -things," Paul resumed, "but rather to our great imaginative poets, -artists, and idealistic philosophers, all of whom knew there could be no -continuity of progress without eternal life. Evolution of matter is -only a visible symbol of the evolution of the unseen. I can fancy Jesus -meeting one of our great self-satisfied materialists and hear Him say: -'Verily, verily, thou hast thy reward; sooner shalt thou see through a -mountain of adamant than look into the kingdom of heaven.'" - -Ethel laughed softly. "You are making me ashamed of myself, Paul. I am -going to try harder than ever to do my duty. I know what it is, but I am -simply stunned. My uncle and aunt write me that the young man Jennie was -to have married has gone to drinking again. He simply could not -stand his great grief. That is another thing that seems so unfair and -unreasonable. For Jennie's sake he gave up the habit, and promised her -and her parents never to drink again. Now he is going to ruin, when if -Jennie had lived--" Ethel's voice broke, and she did not finish what she -had started to say. - -"But can't you see what your cousin may have escaped?" Paul reasoned. -"A young man who is weak enough to allow a sorrow--even a sorrow like -that--to throw him into dissipation would not be likely to make a worthy -husband. After marriage some other disappointment might have upset him, -and a woman married to such a man would have led a miserable life." - -"Oh, that's true," Ethel admitted, "and Jennie never could have borne -it; she was so frail and sensitive." - -"There's surely a good reason for all that happens," Paul said. "But we -can't be expected to understand what is withheld from us." - -They were both silent for a while. They had reached the highest point of -the road, and the lower mountains and hills fell away on all sides like -the green billows of a mighty ocean. Above it all shone the sun. The -blue, cloud-flecked sky arched over them like a vast dome. The breeze -which fanned their faces was refreshing and laden with the fragrance of -wild flowers. Paul called her attention to the mill at the foot of -the mountain to which they were going, and started the horse down the -incline. - -"I am to have a visitor Sunday," Ethel remarked, her glance on the -horse. "My friend, Mr. Peterson, is coming up to spend the day." - -"Oh!" Paul unconsciously ejaculated, and then the color rose to his -face. "I have not met him. I saw him at the bank one day when I went to -Atlanta with your uncle, but we were not introduced. He was very busy -looking over Mr. Hoag's papers." - -"They are great friends," Ethel said, somewhat awkwardly, her cheeks -slightly tinted. "I don't feel as if I can entertain him very well in my -present state of mind, but I knew my uncle would be offended if I wrote -him not to come." - -"It will be good for you, no doubt," Paul said, lamely, and for no -obvious reason he tightened the reins and shook them over the animal's -back. "He will bring you news from the city and it may divert your -thoughts." - -"Perhaps so. My mother thought he ought to come; he has been most kind -to us. He is one of my best friends." - -"Your uncle tells me that Mr. Peterson is growing rich," Paul remarked. -"He seems to have a wise head for business." - -"Yes, he is ambitious that way, and socially, too. He belongs to the -best clubs and has a great many friends." - -"Your uncle says he is a member of one of the old aristocratic families -and has many influential blood connections." - -"Yes, I think so"--Ethel suddenly glanced at her companion's face -and noted that it was rigid, as if under the control of some keen -emotion--"but such things do not really count," she added, consolingly; -"they don't make a man any the better." - -Paul said nothing, and the horse drew them along for some distance in -silence. Then Ethel took up the subject where it had dropped. - -"I am sure you will like Mr. Peterson; he has traveled a great deal. He -has an interest in one of the Atlanta papers, and I have heard him speak -of having influenced some of the political editorials. For so young a -man he is looking far ahead and is very, very shrewd. My uncle declares -that he is a born politician, and that sooner or later he will become a -candidate for some high office, such even as Senator or Governor." - -Suddenly Paul drew the horse to a standstill. She saw him glance up a -very rugged steep over an abrupt cliff on the right. - -"I see some violets," he said. "I've been looking for some all along. If -you will hold the reins I'll climb up and get them." - -She gave him a puzzled stare for an instant, and her lips tightened -significantly as she answered: "I really would like to have them, but -it looks steep and dangerous up there; you might slip and fall over the -cliff." - -He shrugged his shoulders and smiled bitterly. - -The lines of pain she had noticed about his eyes and mouth still -remained. - -"Oh, it is not dangerous," he declared. "As a boy I have climbed up -worse places than that; but I was barefooted then and a sort of wild -animal. You remember how I looked and acted when I first met you? In the -eyes of the social world I am still not much better off, for the social -world--_your_ world--draws a sharp line at birth and fortune, and they -are things some of us have to do without." - -He had got out of the buggy and was turning away. She had a startled -impulse to deny what he had just said, but suitable words could not be -so quickly summoned. In no little chagrin and fear of his opinion of -her, she sat watching him as he climbed the steep, clinging to this -or that projecting stone crevice or deep-rooted shrub. How strong, -handsome, and genuine he looked, with his fine, fearless head bared to -the sun and breeze! She saw him pause for seconds at a time, looking for -a new foothold in the rocky soil as the one he stood on slowly crumbled, -rattled down the incline, and shot over the cliff just beneath him. - -She called out to him warningly once, and she was startled at the new -quality in her voice. What could it mean? she asked herself. Surely she -was not beginning to--She pulled her eyes from him and stared almost -angrily at her folded hands, telling herself that she could not deeply -care for any man. Just then she heard a small avalanche of disrupted -stone sliding down the mountain-side, and, looking up, she saw Paul -hanging by a single hand to a shrub, his foothold completely gone. She -screamed and stood up in the buggy, only to have him turn his face, -while his feet swung free, and smile reassuringly. - -"Don't be afraid," he called out. "I'm all right." And then she saw him -calmly placing his foot on another projection. - -From that point he moved upward till the violets were reached, and she -saw him gathering them and twisting them together in a tiny bunch with a -reverence of touch which was observable even at that distance. Then, -the stems of the flowers held between his lips, he began to make his -way back, and moments of keen suspense followed in which she looked away -from him to avoid the consciousness of his danger. Presently he was by -her side, his brow beaded with perspiration, his broad chest rising and -falling from his exertion. Without a word he gave her the violets and -got into the buggy. - -"Why did you take all that risk?" she asked reproachfully. "I want the -flowers, it is true; but, oh! if you had lost your hold and fallen--" -She went no further. - -"It does seem dangerous when you look at it from down here," he -answered, critically glancing up at the cliff. "But that is because we -can see the full height of the bluff. Up there, you know, I couldn't -look over the edge. If I had, perhaps I might have grown dizzy." - -"Paul," Ethel said, after they had remained silent for several minutes, -"I am very grateful to you. When I am with you I don't suffer so much -over poor Jennie's death. Somehow you inspire me with your faith. I am -going to ask you a favor--one favor, and then I'm done with it. Will -you please tell me positively, in so many words, that you really are -convinced that she is still in existence. I know you've already said -so, in a way, but I want to remember your exact words, so if I become -despondent again I can repeat them over and over to myself." - -Paul laughed and glanced at her tenderly and wistfully. "I believe it -as positively as I believe that I am here with you at this moment," he -said, quite gravely. - -"Thank you," she returned, simply. "I am going to believe it because you -do. I know that you know the truth. I know it--I know it!" She held the -violets to her lips, and it was as if she kissed the purple petals. - -A glow as of reviving health seemed to suffuse her wan cheeks. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -|THAT evening after supper, as Paul sat writing in his room, his -employer came to the door and looked in. - -"Hello!" was his half-tentative greeting, as he slouched in and took -a chair near the table. "I've just been talkin' to my sister. She's -powerful tickled over the effect on Eth' of your trip over the mountain. -She says she's actually astonished. It seems like the gal's goin' to -quit 'er foolishness. I was gettin' powerful sick of it myself. It's -hard enough to know your own end's got to come some time ahead without -dyin' every time anybody else kicks the bucket." - -"I'm glad to know that Miss Ethel feels better." Paul dipped his pen and -continued to write. - -Hoag crossed his fat legs and, reaching down to his right shoe, he began -to fumble the string. "I want to see you about a certain matter," he -began, clearing his throat. "I don't know as you will consider it any o' -my business exactly, but it is something that I thought you ought to be -prepared for." - -"What is it?" Paul put his pen into the rack and leaned toward the -speaker. - -"Why, I was talkin' to Bob Mayburn this mornin'. You know his land joins -mine on the west. He had a few acres to rent an' was afraid he wouldn't -find a tenant; but he has hooked one at last, and who under the shinin' -sun do you reckon he got?" - -"I haven't the slightest idea," Paul answered. - -"Jeff Warren," Hoag said, his eyes bluntly fixed on the young man's face -in a groping stare of pleased curiosity. - -"Oh!" Paul exclaimed. "I didn't know he was anywhere near Grayson." - -"He ain't got here yet," Hoag went on, a note of vindictive harshness -creeping into his voice. "The triflin' skunk has been over in Alabama -with yore ma an' her sister tryin' to make a livin' farmin', but without -any sort o' headway. He wrote May-burn that he was up to his eyes in -debt over thar--plumb busted--an' that they'd all three got sick an' -tired o' livin' among strangers, an' was anxious to git back here whar -they are acquainted. May-burn's got a comfortable new frame cottage on -his land that's empty, but knowin' that Jeff couldn't pay for it, he -wrote 'im that it was already rented. Thar is an old log cabin close to -the cottage, an' accordin' to the agreement Jeff an' his lay-out is to -occupy that. It's tough on a feller of Jeff's high an' mighty pride, but -it is as good as he deserves." - -Paul made no reply, a shadow lay across his sensitive face. He took up -the pen again, but he did not begin to use it. - -"I knowed you wouldn't like it a bit," Hoag continued, unctuously. -"Here you are risin' as fast as a dog can trot, gittin' the respect an' -favorable opinion of the best folks in the county, an' it's tough to -have a thing like that revived right when you ain't lookin' for it. I've -no doubt you wouldn't have settled here if you had thought such a thing -would happen." - -"Warren is a free man." Paul's brows met, and his eyes held a far-off -gleam. "He has as much right here as I." - -"Of course, of course," Hoag admitted; "but he's got a nasty, -quarrelsome disposition, an' accordin' to some o' his friends he still -holds a big grudge ag'in' you. It was humiliatin' the way you plugged -'im an' left 'im to die like a pig in the woods. You see, whar I'm -interested is this: I want you to keep on workin' without interruption, -an' knowin' what a hot temper _you've_ got yourself--well, I see that -you an' him will jest have to hitch ag'in. I'm sorry he's comin' back -myself. I never liked 'im. It is not often that I belittle myself by -takin' notice of a triflin' clodhopper like him; but he's been in my way -several times, an' may step in ag'in, for all I know." - -Paul drew a ledger toward him and opened it. "I'm glad you told me -this," he said. "I've got a lot of work to do before bedtime. I know you -will excuse me if I go at it." - -"Oh yes, oh yes!" Hoag rose, staring in a puzzled, thwarted sort of way. -"I don't want to hinder you. I'll be goin'. I just thought I'd throw -out a hint about the matter. It is well to be prepared for trouble if it -_has_ to come, an'--an' a man like Warren is sure to pick a row." - -Hoag lingered a moment, but seeing that the young man was at work he -left the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -|THE following Sunday was a somber day for Paul Rundel. When he opened -his eyes in the gray of dawn, and lay watching the pink flood of light -as it widened and lengthened along the eastern horizon, his first -thought was the despondent one under which he had dropped to sleep--it -was the day Edward Peterson was to visit Ethel. - -Paul rose and stood at the window and looked out over the lawn and -frowsy brown roofs of the tannery sheds. He was cringing under a -poignant agony that permeated his whole being, clogged the blood in his -veins, and sucked away the very breath of the life which had recently -been so full of indefinable content. The cause was not hard to find. He -was convinced that Ethel was absolutely necessary to his happiness. Had -he not met her again on his return to Georgia she might have remained in -his memory only as the young girl who had been so unexpectedly kind and -gentle to a poor outcast; but he had recently found himself more nearly -on a social level with her, and he had actually helped her. She had said -so. She had shown it in her words and actions, in her turning, under his -guidance, from despair to hope. Yet she was to be another man's wife, -a man who was evidently not disturbed by any fine-spun ideas of the -Infinite or of duty to humanity. Peterson would forge ahead in the happy -way such men have, surmounting obstacle after obstacle, climbing higher -and higher in the estimation of men, and reaping honor after honor. -Ethel would marry him. Her uncle wished it, all her friends counted -on it. To refuse Peterson would be madness. The man--especially a poor -man--who would ask her to do otherwise for his sake would be mad. Yes, -all thought of her as anything but a sympathetic friend must be crushed. -When Jeff Warren and his wife came to live in their sordid cabin on the -roadside Ethel and her mother would pass their door daily and realize -fully the caste to which Paul belonged. - -He dressed himself and descended to the lawn. He raised his arms and -lowered them, and inhaled deep breaths in his usual morning exercise; -but it was done without zest and with the conviction that it would not -be of benefit while such morbid thoughts ran rife within him. He must -throw them off. He must face life as it was. He had suffered before. He -must suffer again. After all, might he not hold Ethel in his heart as -his ideal woman, even after she had become the wife of another? It must -be--that was all that was left him--and yet, and yet--A sharp pain shot -through him. His senses swam; the mocking rays of the rising sun flared -upon him. Ethel another man's wife! Ethel the recipient of another man's -caresses! Ethel the mother of another man's-- - -"O God, have mercy!" he moaned, and he turned down toward the gate, -almost swaying as he moved across the grass. - -"Are you going for a walk?" It was Ethel's cheery voice, and it came -from the veranda. Glancing back he saw her lightly tripping down the -steps. - -"Because if you are, I'll go too--if you will let me. I was up and -dressed, and saw you from the window. Oh, isn't the sunrise beautiful?" - -As in a dream he stood waiting for her, and together they passed through -the gate out upon the grayish, stony road, which sloped gradually up -the mountain. He had smiled and bowed, but was unable to formulate any -suitable words of greeting. She was studying his face slowly, furtively, -and with an anxiety she was trying to hide. - -"You look a little paler than you did yesterday," she said, -hesitatingly. "Did you not sleep well?" - -"I worked rather late last night," was his evasive answer. "Night-work -sometimes has a rather depressing effect on me." - -"I suppose so," she answered, still studying his features, "and -yet usually you are so full of happy spirits. Perhaps you"--she -hesitated--"would rather be alone?" - -"Oh, how could you say that?" he exclaimed. "It is just the contrary. -I don't feel, however, that I have quite the right to intrude on you in -your--your--" - -"You needn't look at it that way," she broke in, not yet fully convinced -that she had fathomed his mood. "In fact, I want to see you. I want to -tell you how much you have helped me. You have made me realize my error. -I was depressing my mother and every one else by my gloomy hopelessness; -but now--well, I seem to have absorbed some of your wonderful -philosophy. I slept last night, as uncle would say, 'like a log,' and I -feel much better this morning." - -"Peterson is coming; that is the cause," Paul groaned inwardly, and he -glanced away, that she might not read the thought in his eyes. To her -he said, aimlessly: "I am glad--very, very glad. Hope is the only thing. -Once one has it, all things become possible." - -"And you are so _full_ of it," she ran on, glibly. "I was speaking to -my mother about you last night. She declared she did not think any one -could come in contact with you and be despondent. She said it was a -comfort just to watch the play of your features and hear the cheerful -ring of your voice. Perhaps you don't realize, Paul, how God has blessed -you. To go through life throwing out a radiance like yours is--well, it -is next to--divinity." - -"Divinity, divinity!" The words seemed to slip from his lips -incautiously. "There are philosophers, Ethel, who believe that God -Himself suffers in His hampered effort to bring things up to His ideal, -and that, as parts of Him, we, too, must suffer as long as He suffers. -It may be that the more we partake of His essence the more we have to -bear. Who knows? The person who can bury himself in the stirring affairs -of earth has a bliss which, if due to ignorance, is nevertheless bliss." - -"This is not like you a bit," Ethel said, in pained reproachfulness; -and then a light broke upon her. She understood. Her heart beat more -quickly, and a hot flush mantled her brow. She hoped he would not note -her confusion. She must have time to think, to consider. Many grave -things might hang upon what he or she might impulsively say on the -crumbling edge of a precipice like that. She must not allow her -sympathies to rule her. She must never encourage a man whom she did not -love with her whole heart, and how was a girl to judge calmly when a man -was such a glorified sufferer? - -"According to your views, Paul," she continued, "faith in the goodness -of God _will_ bring all possible things." - -"Save the things of earth." She saw his fine mouth writhe under a -sardonic smile as he recklessly plunged into what he knew was mad -indiscretion. "A jealous man cannot walk in the footsteps of a jealous -God." - -Ethel avoided his desperate and yet frankly apologetic eyes. She -shrank within herself. She was sure his words were becoming dangerously -pertinent. She kept silence for a moment. Then she paused at a -lichen-grown boulder, rested a white, throbbing hand on it, and -listlessly surveyed the trees about the farm-house. - -"I am sure you cannot possibly realize the good you are doing," she -said, with abrupt irrelevance. "I want to tell you something. It is -about my cousin Henry. You know I have never liked him very much, but -the other day I was thrown with him at the dinner-table after the others -had left. He was very downcast and sad over some recent trouble with his -father, and, to my great surprise, he spoke regretfully of his useless -life. He said you had talked to him, given him good advice, and that you -had helped him borrow money to go into business on at Grayson. Paul, I -am sure you won't lose by it. He told me, with tears in his eyes, that -he would rather die than disappoint you." - -"I am sure he will succeed," Paul said. "He has energy and enthusiasm, -and is anxious to prove himself. I was surprised to have the bank accept -my indorsement, but they did quite readily. I really have great faith in -him. He is ashamed of himself, and that is a fine beginning." - -Ethel was turning, to proceed higher up on the road, but he stopped her. - -"We must not get beyond the sound of the breakfast-bell," he warned her. - -"No, for I am hungry," she answered, eying him still with anxious -studiousness. She turned back toward the farm-house, hesitated a -moment, and then said: "Did you happen to see the--the flowers on the -mantelpiece in your room? I gathered them and put them there yesterday." - -"Oh, did you?" he cried, eagerly. "That was very kind of you. I thought -that Mrs. Tilton did it. They fill the whole room with fragrance." - -"I'm glad you like them," Ethel said. "By the way, I couldn't help -glancing at your books. I now know where you get your wisdom. What a -wholesome group of mental companions you have!" - -"Those are my special favorites," he answered. "If you wish to read any -of them please help yourself." - -"I was really hinting at that," she laughed. "You have roused my -curiosity. I want to read what you have read and liked. There, that is -the breakfast-bell!" - -She quickened her step, tripping on ahead of him with a little laugh -which held a note of vague uneasiness. Presently she slowed down, and -with a look of gentle concern in the glance which she directed to him -she faltered: - -"I hope you won't get angry with my mother for something she is going to -inflict on you and me this morning. Being opposed to working on Sunday, -she remained up last night and arranged the table for dinner to-day. She -has it gleaming like a bank of snow, and fairly covered with evergreens, -ferns, and flowers. She insists that we take our breakfast this once in -the kitchen. She is afraid we will disarrange something. She thinks -a good deal of Mr. Peterson--_Colonel_ Peterson now, for you know the -paper yesterday said he was taken on the staff of the Governor. He -confided to us some time ago that he had hopes in that direction, -having worked hard and pulled wires for the Governor during his recent -campaign. On state occasions Mr. Peterson will wear a glittering -uniform, carry a sword, and be as stiff as a polished brass poker. Oh, -he will like it immensely, but I can never call him 'Colonel.'" - -"It certainly would not do to put _him_ in the kitchen," Paul said, -significantly; "at least not with his regalia on. Aunt Dilly might spill -something on his epaulets." - -"I see even you--good as you are--can make sport of people now and -then," Ethel said, her eyes twinkling approvingly. "However, I am -not going to let you sit in the kitchen this morning. I'll bring your -breakfast and mine out to the table in the summer-house. It will be -great fun, won't it?" - -"I certainly do not consider myself above the kitchen," he returned, in -too bitter a tone to fall well into her forced levity. "I've eaten at -second table in a circus dining-tent, with the negro horse-feeders in a -gipsy camp, as a beggar at the kitchen door of a farm-house, and barely -escaped having my ration pushed through the iron wicket of a prison. -I am certainly unworthy of--of the summer-house and such--such gracious -company. I mean this--I mean it from the bottom of my heart." - -"You sha'n't talk that way--you sha'n't, you sha'n't!" Ethel's eyes -flashed and her round, full voice quivered. "You have said yourself that -all those unfortunate things were behind you for ever and ever things -of the past." - -"Except when I need sharp, personal discipline," he smiled -significantly, "and I need that now. I need it to kill blind, hopeless, -impossible desire." - -"You mean--" But Ethel checked herself. He seemed such a riddle--such -a profound, alluring dangerous riddle as he walked beside her with that -gray look of desperate renunciation on his sensitive face, beneath the -surface of which smoldered unquenchable fires of passion. - -Suddenly he stopped her. He laid his trembling fingers on her arm for a -bare, reverent instant. - -"I am a coward at times, Ethel. You must forgive my weakness. I groan -under a burden that I know is right because it is from the Infinite. -No man should be as vain as I am tempted to be when I am with you. You -can't understand now, but some day you may--if not here, in Eternity. -There is only one way to look at it, and that is that God intends me to -suffer." - -Ethel found herself unable, wisely at least, to make any sort of -suitable response, and in awkward silence they walked along together -till the gate was reached. Then she said, nervously, and yet with -firmness that was quite evident: "I want you to meet my friend to-day -at dinner. I want him to know you. He belongs to a class of men who seem -too busy to think of deep things--things aside from an active routine, -but I am sure he will like you." - -Paul's face clouded over; he averted his eyes as he unlatched the gate -and swung it open. "Thank you, but I am afraid I can't to-day," he said. -"Uncle Si and his wife have asked me to take dinner with them." - -"Oh, I'm sorry," Ethel answered. "My mother will regret it, too, for -she admires you and likes you very much. But we shall have our breakfast -together in the summer-house, sha'n't we?" She glanced at the little -vine-clad structure and essayed a playful smile. "Now, run in and take a -seat, and let me attend to everything." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -|THAT afternoon, while the ladies were taking what Hoag called their -"sy-esta" in their rooms, he entertained the guest, who was a dapper -young man exquisitely dressed and carefully groomed, even to the -daintiest of waxed mustaches. The two men were smoking in the big, cool -parlor and chatting agreeably. - -"Well, I am not going to refuse the title." Peterson laughed in a -pleasurable way after Hoag had made a bald jest about the honor recently -conferred upon him. "I am no born idiot, Mr. Hoag. I know some folks -sort of poke fun at the new list of Georgia colonels after every -gubernatorial race; but even a handle to a fellow's name like that helps -now and then. Take Colonel Pangle there in Atlanta, our big criminal -lawyer, you know. Why, he wasn't in the war; he never fired a shot or -dodged a ball. He organized a little local military company in his home -town. I don't reckon he had more than thirty men at any time, and -his rank, at the best wouldn't have been above captain; but he was a -dignified-looking fellow with a heavy mustache and goatee, and they -called him Colonel on the spot, and when he moved to Atlanta the -title followed him. The boys at the bank were disposed to joke when my -commission came--saluting me like a bunch of jumping-jacks; but you bet -I cut it out. Think little of yourself, and the world will do the same.' -That's my motto. You noticed how nice the papers spoke about it, didn't -you? Well, I stand in with the reporters. They are my political friends; -we take a drink together now and then, and they know how I look at such -things. I am hitting the bull's eye down there in that burg, Mr. Hoag, -just as you've hit it here. We are two of a kind. It doesn't take much -gray matter to succeed among these slow, ante-bellum leave-overs here in -the South." - -Hoag laughed heartily. "Oh, you are all right," he said. "I've had my -eye on you ever since you started out. As the sayin' is, you could make -money on a rock in the middle of the ocean." - -Peterson's features settled into rigidity suddenly, and he exhaled a -tentative breath, as he held his cigar between his fingers and leaned -toward his host. "As certain as I am about men, business deals, and -politics, Mr. Hoag, I'm going to admit to you that I'm a country -school-teacher--a knot on a log--when it comes to handling a woman. -Don't you reckon every fellow is that way that is kind o' submerged, so -to speak, in the affairs of the business world? I know I am a regular -stick, and I don't know how to help myself." - -"I reckon you are talkin' about Eth'," Hoag said, with more bluntness -than a diplomat would have employed. "At least, I've wondered why you -an' her both seem so offish. I don't reckon you come all the way up here -on a holiday like this to talk business to _me_, an' as for Eth'--well, -I can't make 'er out, that's all; an' what's the use to try? A woman is -hard to understand when she is willin' to be understood, an' a devil to -fathom when she ain't. Folks tell me some high-strung gals would ruther -die than let a man know they are gone on 'im." - -"I know," Peterson replied. "I used to size Miss Ethel up that way down -home among the other girls; but this morning, when me'n her strolled -down to the spring, it looked to me as if she didn't want to talk about -anything but books--an' books that I've never heard about to boot. She -had a thick one under her arm and I peeped in it. I think it was by -Cato--no, that is the name of your stable-boy, isn't it? Oh, yes, now -I remember; it was Plato, Plato. He was one of the old-time fellows, -wasn't he--before the Revolution, anyway?" - -"Hanged if I know." Hoag shrugged his shoulders as if the question were -a disagreeable incubus suddenly fastened upon him. "I don't know any -more'n a rabbit. I set one night an' listened to Paul Rundel an' her -talkin' on the veranda an' I hardly understood one word in five. That -fellow is the damnedest chap I ever run across." - -"Is he the man you told me about coming home to give himself up?" - -"Yes; an' I've had 'im managin' for me ever since. He's a wheel-hoss. -He's doubled my income; he's as keen as a brier; knows how to manage -laborin' men. They think the sun rises an' sets in 'im. He don't indorse -no church in particular, an' yet the women say he's religious. Men that -was too triflin' to draw the breath o' life under me work like puffin' -steam-engines for him." - -"And he sits around at odd times and talks books?" Peterson said, a -faultfinding frown on his face. "That's the way he seems to get his -relaxation," Hoag returned. "Well, I don't care how religious he is. -Sometimes that helps. I had a little crossroads store away back in my -early day an' I didn't have time to manage it. I kept hirin' fellows to -run it, an' every one I got would soak me--steal money an' goods so thar -wasn't a sign o' profit. But one day a misfit parson come along. He had -failed to make good. He was tongue-tied an' he stuttered so bad that he -made the mourners laugh an' had to quit preachin'. I gave him the job, -an' it was the best deal I ever made. The fellow was so honest that he -wouldn't use a postage-stamp for any private purpose, or take a chaw o' -tobacco, without enterin' it on his account. He kept a big Bible on the -counter, an' so many o' his sort hung around that the store looked like -a Salvation headquarters; but the gang bought plenty o' goods an' paid -cash. I never forgot that experience, an' when I saw the kind o' man -Paul had got to be I raked 'im in." - -"You say he--sometimes talks to Miss Ethel?" Peterson asked, the flicker -of vague rebellion in his eyes. - -"Oh yes," Hoag answered, indifferently. "She's been powerfully worried -over Jennie's death, an' Paul, somehow, seems to brace her up with his -odd views in regard to a happy land. Maybe"--Hoag hesitated, and then -pursued more confidently--"maybe if you sorter talked a little on that -line yourself it would catch her fancy. Anything is fair in love an' war -when a woman is clean upset like Eth' is." - -"I believe in religion," the banker declared, quite gravely. "I always -have a good word for it. I don't believe this world could get along -without it. All of us at the bank are in some church or other. I'm a -Baptist, you know; all my folks are of that persuasion. And my church -has made me it's treasurer. First and last our bank handles a pile of -its funds. If the heathen have to wait for it sometimes we get the -interest on it. But, say, Mr. Hoag, I'm sort o' worried over this -thing--I mean about this queer duck you've got working for you." - -"Well, don't let that bother you." Hoag filled the awkward pause with a -soft, satisfied chuckle. "Eth' understands what I want, and so does her -ma. Both of 'em know I'd never give in to her marryin' such a--why, -he belongs to the lowest stock this country ever produced--as nigh -dirt-eaters as any folks you ever saw. He's picked up some learnin' -out West, an' has got brains an' pluck; but no niece o' mine could tie -herself to a bunch o' folks like that. Humph, I say--well, I reckon -not! He'd not have the cheek to think of it. You leave the affair in my -hands. I won't push matters now, but I will put in my oar at the right -time." - -"Well, I don't want no woman _coerced_." Peterson brightened even as he -protested. "I don't want that exactly, but Miss Ethel is the girl -I've been looking for. I can't get her out of my mind. She would be an -ornament and a help to any rising man. I ought to marry; there is no -sort of doubt on that line, and though I might look the field over -she--well, she simply fills the bill, that's all. I'm going to erect a -fine home on Peachtree Street, and I want her to preside over it." - -"An' I want a place to stop when I run down thar," Hoag laughed. "You -leave it to me." - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -|JEFF WARREN and the two women of his family were on their way back to -their former home. A wagon, a rickety affair on wabbly wheels, covered -by a clay-stained canvas stretched over hoops, and drawn by a skeleton -of a horse, contained all their earthly possessions. Peering under the -hood of the wagon, an observer might see two musty straw mattresses, an -old hair-covered trunk, a table, three chairs, a box of dishes, and a -sooty collection of pots, pans, kettles, pails, and smoothing-irons. -Carefully wrapped in bedquilts, and tied with ropes, was the household -joy, a cottage-organ. Tethered to the wagon in the rear was a cow -which tossed her head impatiently under the rope around her horns, and -dismally mooed to her following calf. - -Jeff now belonged to the shiftless class of small farmers that drifts -from one landowner to another, renting a few acres on shares and failing -on at least every other crop. The three members of the family were -equal partners in misfortune; for both Mrs. Rundel and her sister quite -frequently toiled in the fields, using the hoe, the scythe, the spade, -and in emergencies, when Warren's rheumatism was at its worst, even -the plow. Still of irascible temper, and grown more sensitive under -adversity, Jeff had quarreled or fought with almost every man from whom -he had rented land, until he now found few who would deal with him. - -As he walked at the side of the wagon in which his companions were -riding, along the narrow mountain road, trampling down the underbrush -which bordered the way, he had still about him a remnant of the old -debonair mien which had made him a social favorite in his younger days. - -Amanda, as is the case with many women who have foresworn matrimonial -and maternal cares, had withstood the blight of time remarkably well. -Her round, rosy face had few new angles or lines, and her voice rang -with youthful joy when she spoke of once more beholding familiar scenes -and faces. It was her sister who had changed to a noticeable degree. -There was a lack-luster expression about Addie's light-brown eyes, which -had been so childlike and beautiful. Her hair was thinner; her skin -had yellowed and withered; her teeth, for the most part, were gone, and -those which remained appeared too prominent, isolated as they were in -bare gums, when she forced a smile over some remark of her cheerful -sister. - -Crude as she was, Addie had followed, her poor mental hands always -outstretched to grasp it, an ever-receding masculine ideal. In Jeff -Warren, with his love of music and courage before men and gallantry to -all women, she had once believed she had found it. But ideals do not -thrive so well under hardship as violets rooted in filth, and Addie's -heart constantly ached for the lost and the unattainable. - -Suddenly Jeff turned to his companions and smiled. "I reckon I've got -a big surprise for you both," he chuckled, his hand resting on the -wagon-bed. "'Tain't the first o' April, but I've been foolin' you. -I tol' you this was White Rock Mountain, but it ain't no such a thing. -It is the south spur of our old Bald, and as soon as we pass through -that gap up thar we'll see Grayson right at the foot." - -"You don't say!" Amanda clapped her hands in delight. "Lord, Lord, -I shorely shall be tickled to get back! I want to shake hands with -everybody within reach. You'll never pull me away again, Jeff--never!" - -Addie, in her turn, said nothing. She scarcely smiled. She was -inexpressibly pained by the thought of having to live among old -friends and associates in the dismantled log cabin Jeff had reluctantly -described. A reminiscent sob rose and died within her as she recalled -the comfortable farm-house to which Ralph Rundel, who now seemed almost -faultless, had taken her as a bride. To this another pang of memory was -added. By her conduct, innocent though it was, she had driven her only -child from her, and how many times had her tired heart gone back to the -sturdy youth who had toiled so uncomplainingly, and, young as he was, -borne so many burdens! Was Paul alive or dead? she often asked herself. -If alive, how he must hate her! If dead, then the baby, which she now -sometimes recalled with the awakening yearning of a mother's dry breast, -was gone forever. - -Slowly the horse tugged up the slope. "Whoa!" Amanda cried out suddenly. -"I'm goin' to jump out an' walk on to the top. I'm simply crazy to git a -look at the valley. Somehow it seems like the Promised Land flowin' with -milk an' honey." - -Only too willingly the horse stopped, and she sprang down to the ground. - -"Don't you want to walk a little, Addie?" she asked. "You'd better -limber up your legs. I'm as stiff as a pair o' tongs." - -Mrs. Warren sadly shook her head and Jeff tossed the reins into her lap. - -"Well, you drive," he said. "We'll walk on to the top an' take a peep. -I agree with you, Mandy. I don't feel like I'll ever want to leave this -country ag'in. I want to die an' be buried among my kin." - -The two moved faster than the tired horse, and Addie saw them on the -brow of the mountain, outlined against the blue expanse beyond. She -noticed Jeff pointing here and there and waving his hand; even at that -distance the glow of his animation was observable. Reaching the top, -Mrs. Rundel caught their words, and in the depths of her despondency she -wondered over their gratification. - -"Not a new buildin' of any sort that I kin make out," she heard her -husband saying. "Thar, you kin see Jim Hoag's house above the bunch -o' trees. It's had a fresh coat o' paint lately; look how bright the -window-blinds are!" - -"An' how green an' fresh everything seems!" commented the more poetic -spinster. "Looks like thar's been plenty o' rain this summer. Oh, I love -it--I love it! It's home--the only home I ever knowed." - -The horse paused close by them. The cow mooed loudly, and the calf -trotted briskly up to her and began to butt her flabby bag with his -sleek head. - -"That looks like a different-shaped steeple on the Methodist -meetin'-house," Amanda commented, as she shaded her eyes from the sun -and stared steadily off into the distance. - -"I believe you are right, by hunky," Jeff agreed. "This un is fully ten -foot taller, unless them trees around it has been topped since we left." -He turned to his wife, and a shadow of chagrin crept across his face -as he said: "I see the house whar you an' Rafe used to live--thar, just -beyond Hoag's flour-mill. Well, thar's no use cryin' over spilt milk, -old girl; you ain't goin' back to comfort like that, as scanty as it -seemed when you had it, an' I was goin' to do such wonders in the money -line. We'll have to swallow a big chunk o' pride to put up with a hut -like our'n among old friends, but we've got to live life out, an' the -cabin is the best we kin get at present, anyway." - -Addie, holding the reins in her thin fingers, rose to her full height, -her weary eyes on her old home, which stood out with considerable -clearness on the red, rain-washed slope beyond a stretch of green -pasture. She saw the side porch, and remembered how Paul's cradle had -stood there on warm afternoons, where she and Amanda had sat and sewed. -Again that sense of lost motherhood stirred within her, and she was -conscious of a sharp contraction of the muscles of her throat. Surely, -she mused, after all there was no love like that of a mother's for her -child, and in her own case there was so much to regret. The child had -been beautiful--every one had noticed that. Its little hands were so -chubby and pink; its lips like a cupid's bow. As a baby it had smiled -more than any baby she had ever seen, and yet in boyhood the smile -had gradually given way to a scowl of ever-increasing discontent and -weariness of life and its clashing conditions. - -Amanda and Jeff were now descending the mountain, and the horse plodded -along behind them. They must hurry on, Jeff said, for the sun would soon -be down and they must get to the cabin before dark, so as to unload and -shape things up for the night. Fortunately, as he took care to remind -them, they would not have to pass through the village, as the hut stood -in the outskirts of the place, close to Hoag's property line. - -Reaching the foot of the mountain, they took a short cut through some -old unfenced fields to the cabin. Here their forebodings were more than -realized. The two-roomed hut was worse than they had expected. It was -built of logs, and had a leaning chimney made of sticks and clay. The -rain had washed the clay out of the cracks between the logs of the -walls, and the openings were stuffed with rags, paper, and dried moss. -The door shutter, with broken hinges, was lying on the ground. The -doorstep was a single log of pine, which the former inmate of the hut -had chopped half away for kindling-wood. The wooden shutters to the -tiny, glassless windows had gone the same way, along with several boards -of the flooring. - -"Mayburn lied to me like a dirty dog!" Jeff growled, his face dark with -anger. "He said it was in decent shape--good enough for any farmer. When -I see 'im I'll--" - -"Yes, you will want to fight 'im, an' then we'll have no roof over us -at all," Amanda said, with a smile designed to soften her own -disappointment as well as his. "I tell you, Jeff, we've got to make the -best of it an' be thankful. We'll have decent neighbors, I'll bet. Look -at that nice house right in our yard." - -"That's it," Jeff thundered. "Mayburn wrote me this shack was all the -house he had, an' that one is his, an' is empty. He insulted me by -sizin' me up that way before I even got here." - -"Well, he'd have insulted hisse'f by puttin' us in it without the -money to pay for it." Amanda had no intention of adding fuel to her -brother-in-law's wrath. "A fine house like that would be worth fifteen -dollars a month at the lowest. You better not tackle 'im about it; he -might offer it to us cash in advance--then I'd like to know what we'd -do. You said this momin' that we'd have to buy our first groceries on a -credit. Jeff, yore pride has been yore drawback long enough; you've got -to smother it or it will smother you. Now pick up that door an' hang -it some way or other. I won't sleep in a house that can't be shut up at -night." - -Warren, quite beside himself in disappointment and ill-humor, replaced -the shutter and then went to work unloading the furniture. He soon had -it all within. Then he announced that he must leave them, to go up to -the Square to buy the supplies of food they needed. - -The two sisters had finished all that was to be done in the cabin, and -were out in the desolate yard waiting for Warren to return. - -"I see 'im," Amanda cried. "He's comin' through the broom-sedge. He's -took that way to keep from passin' Abe Langston's an' havin' to say -howdy, He'll have to git over that or we'll never git along. He's got to -take his medicine. The Lord's hard on 'im, but Jeff never was much of -a Lord's man. It's the meek an' humble that the Lord favors, an' Jeff -kicks ag'in' the pricks too much. Nothin' but a strong coffin an' plenty -o' earth on top of it will ever humble that man." - -"He walks like he's bothered about something." Mrs. Warren sighed, her -slow gaze following her approaching husband's bowed form as he trudged -through the thickening twilight. "Do you suppose they have refused to -credit him?" - -"I reckon not, for I see a bag o' something under his arm; but he's -upset--you kin depend on it. He knows we are hungry, an' he'd strike a -livelier gait than that if he wasn't mad as Tucker." - -As Jeff drew near they moved forward to meet him. - -"Did you git anything to eat? That's what I want to know," Amanda said, -with her usual disregard of even the darkest of his moods. - -It was as if he were going to make no response; but her eager hands -were on the tow bag under his arm, and he sullenly answered in the -affirmative. - -"Smoked bacon." She winked cheerfully at her sister. "I smell it. -Sugar-cured in the bargain. Coffee, too, already parched an' ground. I'd -know that a mile off if the wind wras in the right direction. I'm glad I -put on the kettle." - -Jeff strode on heavily and deposited the bag at the door. - -"We've all got to bunk in one room for to-night," Amanda told him, as -she untied the bag and began to take out the parcels. "There is no way -fixed to keep the cow an' calf apart, an' she's got to graze or we can't -have milk in the mornin', so I shut the calf up in the other room. It -won't do no harm; it's clean and as gentle as a pet dog." - -"That's no way to do!" Jeff loweringly protested. "A thing like that -would make us the laughin'-stock of the whole county. Besides, do you -know that--" He seemed to hesitate, and then, as if he was thinking of -something too unpleasant for discussion, he turned abruptly away. The -two women saw him walk out to the well in the yard and stand still, his -gaze on the village lights in the distance. - -"What do you reckon is the matter with 'im?" Addie inquired, listlessly. - -"Go to higher powers 'an me if you want to know," Amanda retorted, as -she proceeded to prepare supper. "Something shore has rubbed 'im the -wrong way. He was out o' sorts when he left us, an' he's ready to kill -somebody now." - -A few minutes later supper was on the table and Jeff was summoned. He -entered the dimly lighted room, dropped his hat on a bed, and sat down -at one end of the table. He was hungry, as the others well knew, and yet -he ate with less apparent relish than usual. Amanda kept up an incessant -flow of half-philosophical chatter with more or less comforting intent, -but no part of it evoked comment from the head of the family. - -Supper over, Jeff rose, reached for his hat, and was stalking out with -bowed head at the low doorway, when Amanda suddenly uttered a little -scream of astonishment. - -"What's that in your--ain't that a pistol in your hip-pocket, Jeff -Warren?" she demanded, while her weaker sister stared in slow, childlike -wonder. - -Impulsively and somewhat guiltily Warren slapped his hand on his bulging -pocket and turned, blinking doggedly at the questioner. - -"That's what it is!" he answered. His tone was sullen and defiant. - -"Whar did you get it?" Amanda was now on her feet, leaning toward him in -the meager light. - -"I swapped my watch for it," Jeff muttered; and he drew the brim of his -hat lower over his burning eyes. - -"Your watch!" Amanda cried. "Why, what are we goin' to do for a -timepiece now? Besides, we didn't have to go armed all along that lonely -mountain road; what is the need of a pistol here in the edge of town, -among old friends an' law-abidin' neighbors?" - -"That's _my_ business," Warren snarled, and he turned out into the dark. -"Folks will _know_ it's my business, too. You jest lie low an' see if -they don't. I'll take care of number one." - -"I know _how_ you'll take care of number one," Amanda sneered. "It will -be by ignorin' number _three_, like you always have done when you get -the devil in you as big as the side of a house. Right now you are just -itchin' for a row with somebody, an' you are goin' to have it if I don't -take you in hand." - -Warren's innate gallantry checked the hot outburst, the forerunner of -which was quivering on his white lips, and without a word he went back -to the well and stood with his hand on the windlass, a pitiful symbol of -human discontent outlined against the star-strewn sky. - -"I ain't a-goin' to put my hands in dish-water till my mind's at ease," -Amanda said to her sister. "Poor thing! I reckon you feel so bad about -the way we are fixed that you ain't bothered about Jeff's fits: But it's -different with your sister Mandy. When you was a young gal I worried -about whether you'd git married or not. Later I was bothered about your -first choice an' his jealous suspicions. Next I turned into a wet-nurse; -I walked the floor with your baby at night, stickin' splinters in my -feet at every step, an' _now_ I've got to keep your last investment from -danglin' from the gallows like a scarecrow on a pole." - -Together the two women went to the brooding man at the well. - -"What ails you, Jeff?" the wife began, with a timid sigh. "Anybody can -see you are out o' sorts." - -"Well, I'll _tell_ you what's the matter," Warren fumed. "If I'd knowed -it sooner I'd 'a' left you two beyant the mountain an' come on an' got -it over with. I don't want to disturb women with a thing o' this sort." - -"Wayburn's goin' to turn us out, that's my guess," Amanda dropped. "The -shack ain't no better'n a stable for hosses, but we can't have even that -without more cash than we've got." - -"No, he's had one of his old quarrels with somebody," Mrs. Warren -suggested, despondently. - -"I hain't had one, but I'm _goin_' to," Jeff threatened. "This State -simply ain't wide enough, or _long_ enough, to hold me and the dirty -young pup that left me lyin' in the road for dead an' went off an' -gloated over me. He was a boy then, but he's a man now, an' fully -responsible." - -"Why, what are you talkin' about?" Amanda's inquiring stare shifted -excitedly back and forth between her sister's startled face and the -sinister one of her brother-in-law. "Is Paul alive--have you heard from -him?" - -"Heard from 'im?" Jeff's white lip curled and trembled like that of a -snarling opossum. "I hain't heard from him personally yet, nor seed 'im, -but he's back here struttin' around in fine clothes with plenty o' money -in his pocket, an' sayin' that--" - -"Oh, Jeff, oh, Jeff, are you sure?" Mrs. Warren had turned pale, and it -was as if she were about to faint. Amanda threw a strong arm about her -and firmly shook her. "Don't keel over," she said, almost fiercely. "I -want to know about this thing right now. All this dinky-dinky talk about -shootin' may pass on _some_ occasions, but when the big strappin' hulk -I work for gits on a high jackass an' talks about killin' my own -blood-nephew because he's got more clothes an' money than we got--well, -I'll be in the game myself, that's the long an' short of it, I'll be in -it tooth an' toe-nail." - -Never had Warren's gallantry been swathed in a blanket of such -soaking dampness. He stared at his verbal antagonist with a fresh and -uncurtained vision, and seemed unable to formulate a suitable reply. - -"Never mind me." Amanda's tone became distinctly conciliatory, and she -smiled faintly: "I won't kill you till I git at the facts, anyway. I'm -dyin' to know about the boy. Go on an' tell us." - -Jeff hesitated for a moment and then slowly complied. "He's back from -the West. He got a fine education, an' worked his way up somehow. He's -got a job on big pay managin' for Jim Hoag--he's got a hundred or more -hands under him, an' the whole' county's braggin' about 'im. He rides -around from one place to another with his head high in the air, givin' -orders. When he landed here he told some cock-an'-bull tale about -thinkin' I was underground, an' wanted the law to act, an' the like, but -he's a liar." - -"Oh, I'm so glad; I'm so glad!" Amanda hugged her stupefied sister to -her breast impulsively and kissed the sallow brow. "I always thought -thar was come-out in that boy, an' now I know it. I'm dyin' to see 'im." - -"Well, he ain't dyin' to see _you_, or his mammy, either, in the plight -you are in!" Jeff hurled at her. "They say he lives at Hoag's, an' goes -gallivantin' about the country with that Atlanta gal, Ethel Mayfield. -He's mad because we are back here to disgrace him with our dirt an' -rags. He's the only livin' man that ever gloated over me, an' he's hand -an' glove with my lifelong enemy. If you think I'm goin' to set back, -an'--an'--" - -"I don't care whether you _set_ back, _stand_ back, or _roll_ back," -Amanda's eyes rekindled. "If you fetch a hair o' that boy's head I'll -pull every one you got out an' leave 'em for bird's-nests. It's Paul's -prosperity that's stickin' in your craw. Hand me that pistol!" - -Jeff swayed defiantly backward, but she caught his arm and turned him -round by sheer strength. "Give it to me, I say, or you'll never darken -that cabin-door. When I give in to you an' Addie marryin' after all that -slanderous talk you agreed, as a man o' honor, to withdraw all charges -ag'in that poor boy. You did that, an' now stick a cannon in the scat o' -your pants an' lie in wait for 'im like a cutthroat in the dark. Gi' me -that thing!" - -Reluctantly Warren complied, and stood silent as Amanda scrutinized the -weapon in her hand. "We kin swap it for meal an' bacon," she said. "Now -let's all go to bed. I'm plumb fagged out." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -|IT was the evening of the following day. Ethel had heard of the return -of Jeff Warren and was quite disturbed. Since early morning Paul had -been away, and Ethel fancied that he was unaware of the arrival of the -little family. In many ways she pitied Paul, and she gravely feared for -his safety, for there was no mincing the fact that Jeff Warren was a -most dangerous man, with a quick, uncontrollable temper. Mrs. Tilton, -Mrs. Mayfield, Cato, and Aunt Dilly were all discussing the situation. -That the two men would meet was not to be doubted; that Paul would have -to defend himself or be injured was regarded as a certainty. - -Ethel was at the window of her room just as the night began to fall, -when Paul came in at the gate, and, with a weary step, advanced up the -walk toward the house. Hoag was seated on the veranda, and Ethel heard -the posts of his chair jar the floor as he rose and descended the steps. -The two men met almost beneath her open window. Ethel was aware that -their words might not be intended for other ears, and yet she was -chained as by some weird and ominous spell to the spot. She dropped on -her knees, leaned against the window-sill, and peered cautiously through -the overhanging vines. - -"Oh, yes, I heard he was here," she caught Paul's reply to an obvious -question, and she was sure there was an odd, changed tone in his voice -which seemed to have lost its old hopeful vitality. She saw him take his -handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wipe his brow as he stood with -his dusk-draped profile toward her. - -"Well, I just thought I'd put you on your guard," Hoag was heard to say, -with an unction of tone which men of his own type could have fathomed -better than a delicate, frightened woman. "I'm sure I'd appreciate it -to have a friend of _mine_ come to me at such a ticklish time. I know -you've got grit. I've seed it put to a test. That's why folks are -a-talkin' at such a rate. The opinion of one an' all is that what you -did once you can an' will do ag'in." - -Ethel held her breath to catch Paul's tardy words. His head was lowered -when he spoke. "So they think I'll shoot him again, do they--they think -that?" - -"You bet they know you won't let the skunk run roughshod over you, an' -he's ready an' waitin'--bought 'im a gun right off--looked all about for -you to-day, I'm told, an' some say he hinted that you'd skipped clean -out to keep from facin' the music. I haven't met him. I hain't no use -for the puppy, an' never did have. You've got a gun, haven't you?" - -"No, I haven't owned one since I got back from the West." - -"You don't say--well, you'd better git one. I've got three. You can take -your pick if you want to, but for the Lord's sake don't mix me up in it. -I just offer it to you as I would to any other man in my employ." - -"Thank you." They were moving toward the house, and the roof of the -veranda hid them from the eyes of the awed and frightened observer. -Ethel heard Paul uttering some unintelligible words in the hall below, -and then he came up the stairs and entered his own room. She stood in -the center of the floor, trembling from head to foot. He had been such a -wonderful friend to her; under his advice she had soared to heights she -had never reached before, and yet now he himself, strong as he had been -in her behalf, was in peril--peril he was too brave to see. She heard -her uncle's ponderous step as he strode through the long hall to the -kitchen, and then it occurred to her to pray for guidance. She sank down -on the edge of her bed and folded her delicate hands between her tense -knees. Her lips moved, but she was not conscious of the words mutely -escaping her lips. Suddenly she sprang up and started to the door, for -Paul had left his room and was going down the stairs with a firm and -hurried stride. Her hand on the door-knob, she leaned out into the -darkened hall and peered after him. She had an impulse to call to him, -yet the thought that she had no excuse for stopping him which would not -reveal the fact that she had been eavesdropping checked both her voice -and movement. She heard him crossing the veranda swiftly, and, returning -to the window, she saw him on the walk striding toward the gate. Again -she tried to cry out to him, and again she failed. As he reached the -gate and passed out into the road she prayed that he would go toward the -village rather than toward the cabin in which his stepfather lived. Her -breast seemed to turn to stone the next instant, for he was taking the -shortest cut toward the cabin. How calmly, fearlessly, he moved! How -erectly he walked, and it was perhaps to his death! Ethel staggered back -to her bed, sank on it face downward, and began to sob, began to pray as -only he had taught her to pray, with all her young soul bent to its holy -purpose. - -Paul strode on through the gloaming. Overhead arched the infinite symbol -of endlessness, with here and there a twinkling gem of light. On either -side of him the meadows and fields lay sleeping, damp with rising dew. -Fireflies were flashing signals to their fellows; insects were snarling -in the trees and grass; a donkey was braying in the far distance; dogs -were barking. - -As Paul approached Warren's cabin the firelight from within shone -through the open door out upon the bare ground in front. He paused for -a moment, undecided as to how he should make his presence known--whether -he should call out from where he stood, after the manner of mountain -folk, or approach the threshold and rap. Just then a bulky, top-heavy -looking object turned the corner of the cabin and advanced to the -wood-pile near by. It was a man carrying a bunch of fagots on his -shoulder. He threw it down, and, seeing Paul for the first time, he drew -himself erect, staring through the darkness. - -"Who goes thar?" he grunted. - -Paul was about to reply when Warren suddenly grasped the handle of an -ax, and swiftly swinging it to one side as if ready to strike a blow, he -panted: "Oh, it's _you_--is it? Well, I've been expectin' you all day. -I knowed you'd hear I'd come, an' not lose time..Well, I hain't got no -gun--my fool women folks took--" - -"I haven't either, Jeff," Paul laughed, appeasingly. "You've got the -best of it this time; I'm at your mercy, and I'm glad of it. Turn about -is fair play, and if you want to you can brain me with that ax. I really -think I deserve it, Jeff. I've had seven years to regret what I did, and -I don't want to lose a minute to tell you that I am sorry--sorry as ever -a man was in this world." - -Silence fell. Warren leaned on his ax-handle and stared with wide eyes -and parted lips. When he finally spoke his breath hissed through his -teeth. - -"Say, young feller, if you've come here to poke fun at me I tell you now -you've--" - -"I'm in no mood for that, Jeff," Paul broke in, with increased -gentleness. "I've done you a great injury. I was a silly boy at the time -and I've sorely repented. I've come to beg your pardon--to beg it as -humbly as I know how." - -"Good God! You--you say--you mean--" - -"I'm sorry, that's all, Jeff. I want to see my mother. You've got more -right to her than I have now, after my conduct, but I want to see her -and ask her to forgive me, too. A man has but one mother, Jeff, and the -time comes to all men when they know what it means to lose one. Is she -in the house?" There was an awkward pause. Warren stood swaying like -a human tree touched in every branch, twig, and leaf by clashing winds -which had never so met before. - -"Why, I thought--we thought--folks _all_ thought"--Warren dropped his -ax, made a movement as if to regain it, then drew his lank body erect, -and stood staring through the gloom. - -"I know," Paul laughed softly and appealingly, "they think blood, and -nothing but blood, can wash out a difference like ours; but there is a -better way, Jeff, and that is through good-will. We've been enemies long -enough. I want to be your friend. You've taken care of my mother and -aunt all these years, and I am genuinely grateful for it." - -Warren turned his shattered countenance aside. "I didn't look for you -to be this way at all--_at all_," he faltered, huskily. "I reckon when I -heard you was back here I got mad because you was makin' your way up -so fast, and I've been steadily goin' down. The devil was in me, an' I -thought he was in you, too. Lord, I never dreamt that you'd walk up like -this to a--a--feller that--" Warren waved a dejected hand toward the -cabin--"that had fetched your mammy to a pig-pen of a shack right in the -neighborhood whar you are thought so much of." - -"A man doesn't deserve to be well thought of, Jeff, who considers -himself better in any way than a less fortunate fellow-being. If you -could really understand me you'd see that I actually think _more_ of you -than if you were well-to-do." - -"Oh, come off!" Warren sharply deprecated. "That's beyond reason. I used -to be proud. In fact, I reckon that's what drawed me so much to your -mother. I pitied her because your daddy made so little headway, but look -at me now. Lord, Lord, jest look! Why, he was a _king_ beside me. I've -plumb lost my grip." - -"I see--I know what you mean," Paul said, sympathetically, "but you are -going to get it back, Jeff, and I'm going to do all I can to help. Is my -mother in the house?" - -"No; the calf got to the cow, an' the two wandered off somewhar. Your ma -is down in the meadow close to the swamp tryin' to find 'em." - -"And my aunt?" - -"Oh, Mandy--why, you see"--Jeff appeared to be embarrassed anew--"you -see, Mrs. Tobe Williams, who lives over in town, driv' by this evenin' -about an hour by sun, and--and said she'd had so much trouble gettin' a -woman to--to cook for her big family o' children that, if Mandy wouldn't -mind helpin' her out in a pinch, she would pay well for it. I put my -foot down ag'in it, but Mandy wouldn't listen to reason, an' got in -the buggy and went. It seemed to me that was my last straw. If killin' -myself would aid anybody the least bit I'd gladly--" - -Warren's voice broke, and he stood quivering from head to foot in the -effort to control his emotion. Paul advanced and extended his hand. "We -must be friends, Jeff," he said, with feeling. "Between us, we can make -both of them happy." - -"Between us! You say--" - -Warren clasped the outstretched hand and clung to it as if for some -sort of support in the strange new storm which was tossing him as he had -never been tossed before. - -"I can't make you out, Paul," he fairly sobbed; "by God, I can't! Seems -like you are foolin', an' then ag'in I know you ain't--yes, I _know_ you -ain't!" - -"No, I'm in earnest," Paul returned. "Do you think my mother will be -back soon?" - -"Yes; but you stay here an' let me step down whar she's at," Warren -proposed, considerately. "She ain't so well--in fact, she might get -upset if--if she saw' you all of a sudden. I'll run down an'--an' tell -her you are friendly. That'll be the main thing. She's been afraid you -an' me would act the fool ag'in. She will be relieved and astonished. -You wait here. I'll go tell 'er." - -When Warren had stalked away in the gloom Paul went to the cabin-door -and glanced within. The pine-knots burning under the open fire of logs, -the ends of which rested on stones, lighted the poor room, from which -musty odors emerged, and he shuddered and turned away. Passing around -the cabin, he approached the neat cottage near by. He went up on the -little vine-clad porch and peered through the window's and side-lights -of the door. Putting his hand into his pocket, he took out a key, and, -thrusting it into the lock, he opened the door and entered. Striking a -match, he held it above his head and went into all the rooms. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -|WARREN strode down the narrow winding path through the meadow. He -crossed a swift-flowing creek on a narrow, sagging foot-log and went on -toward the swamp. When he was some distance from the cabin he descried, -beyond a patch of blackberry vines and a morass full of pond-lilies and -bulrushes, the blurred outlines of a solitary figure. Then an unexpected -sound fell upon his ears. It was a piping, uncertain voice endeavoring -to run the scale after the manner of the exercises in a rural -singing-class. It was Mrs. Warren. She was strolling toward him, beating -time with a stiff index-finger held out before her. - -"That's her!" Jeff mused. "She'll sing a different tune when I tell her -what I know. By gum, the boy certainly floored me! Who would 'a thought -it? Not me, the Lord knows." - -Skirting the boggy ground by passing along a little rise where velvety -mullein-stalks grew in profusion, Jeff came face to face with his wife. -With a crude instinct for dramatic surprise, he stood still without -speaking and allowed her to approach closer to him. Listlessly intoning -her scale and cutting the half darkness with her finger, she stopped -with a start. Then, recognizing him, she laughed, and advanced -confidently. - -"You caught me," she said, abashed. "I was jest wonderin' if me'n you'd -ever sing another note. I declare my voice is all out o' whack. Some -say, losin' the teeth spoils a voice. Well, we ain't goin' out to -meetin', noway, I reckon, an' so we won't be asked to sing by the old -crowd. I hain't got a thing fit to put on, an' they just sha'n't poke -fun at my looks." - -"I thought you hit that top-note purty clear just now," he said, -evasively. He was wondering how he could smoothly explain the thing -which had so startlingly upset all his calculations, and in which she -was so soon to participate. - -"I couldn't git the cow an' calf," she listlessly informed him. "The -fool beasts went clean over the hill. Bob Triggs saw 'em. He said they -couldn't cross the river, an' we can drive 'em up to-morrow. But you -don't get no milk to-night. Say, Jeff, just for the fun of it, let's -try our old brag duet. If we kept at it in the evenin' for a few days we -might sorter get back into harness." - -"I don't want to sing no more, never no more," he answered, and -something in the ring of his voice riveted her attention. She suddenly -laid her hand on his arm and forced him to look at her. - -"Jeff, what's the matter?" she demanded, the comers of her sad mouth -drooping in dire expectation. "Some'n has happened. I know it. You come -to meet me to let me know. Oh, Lord, Lord! you an' Paul hain't met--" - -"Yes, but no harm was done," he said, unsteadily. "I've seed 'im. He -come to the cabin just now of his own accord. He--he wasn't lookin' for -trouble; in fact, he talked nice. I never was so astonished since I was -born. He--well, we shook hands an' made friends. I can't tell you--I -don't know exactly how to explain it, but he's changed a powerful -sight.' Nothin' like he used to be--don't talk the same--more like a -lawyer, or a judge, or a high-up professor. Got a straight way about -'im, an' lots o' friendly feelin', an' even pity. He's waitin' up thar -at the shack for you." - -"For _me?_ For _me?_" - -"Yes, he wants you, an' I told 'im if he'd stay I'd come down an' hurry -you up." - -The woman's scant color diminished. Her eyes caught and reflected -the meager light of the stars. Her thin breast shook under suppressed -agitation. Her lips moved mutely. She twisted her bony fingers together -and remained silent. - -"You'd better come on," Warren urged, gently. "It won't do to hold hard -feelin's after a feller has put himself out to come forward like a man -an'--" - -"I ain't goin' a step!" Mrs. Warren blurted out in a sob of bewildered -protest. "I--I don't want to see 'im ever ag'in! I ain't goin' up there. -Tell 'im to go away. We ain't his sort. He's belittlin' himself to come -from that fine house up there an' them fine folks to our dirty shack -just because I am--am--his mother." - -"Come on, come on, don't begin that!" Warren was at the end of his -resources. He deliberated for a moment, then caught his wife by the arm -and attempted to draw her forward, but with a low cry she sank to the -ground and buried her face in her lap. He stood over her, his gaze -sweeping back to the cabin in the distance. - -"Come on--what will he think?" Warren pleaded, in a bewildered tone. "I -don't think I'd--I'd hurt his feelin's after--after--" - -"I don't care what he thinks or _does_," surged up from the submerged -lips. "I'll not go a step till he's gone." - -"Well, I've done all I can," Warren sighed. "But I'll have to make some -excuse." - -Trudging back to the cabin, he met Paul advancing eagerly toward him. - -"Couldn't you find her?" the young man inquired, anxiously. - -"Yes, I found her." Warren pointed to the swamp with a jerky sweep -of his rheumatic arm. "I told 'er, too; but she wouldn't budge a step. -She's ashamed. If you knowed everything, you'd understand how she feels. -I'm dead sure she don't harbor a speck o' ill-will. She's a changed -woman, Paul Rundel. She ain't the creature you left. I never give 'er no -child, an' it looks like she's gone back in her mind to your baby days, -an' she feels like she didn't do her full duty. I've ketched her many -a time huggin' little youngsters, an' I knowed what that meant. She -thought you was dead till yesterday, and of course you can see how--" - -"I think I'll walk down there," Paul said, his face turned toward the -swamp. "I must see her tonight." - -"Well, maybe you'd better," Warren acquiesced. "As soon as she sees -how--how well-disposed an' friendly you are I reckon she'll act -different. I don't know, but I say I reckon she will." - -As Paul neared the edge of the swamp he came upon his mother standing -near a clump of sassafras bushes. Her face was turned from him, and, as -the thick grass muffled his step, she was unaware of his approach. - -"O Lord, show me what to do!" she was praying in 'tones which came -distinctly to him on the still air. "Oh, show me--show me!" - -"Mother!" he cried out, and even in the vague light he saw her start, -and gaze at him in actual fear. Then she averted her face, and he saw -her swaying as if about to fall. Springing to her side, he took her -in his arms, and drew her frail body against his strong breast. In the -desperate effort to avoid his eyes she hid her face on his shoulder. He -could not remember ever having kissed her, or having been caressed -by her, and yet he kissed now as naturally and tenderly as if he had -fondled her all his life. - -"Don't, don't!" she sobbed, yet there was a blended note of surprise and -boundless delight in her opposition. Presently she struggled from his -embrace and stood a foot or two away, now gazing at him in slow wonder -while he took in her miserable physical aspect, the consequence of years -of toil, poverty, and lack of proper nourishment. - -"Aren't you glad to see me again, mother?" he asked. - -"I don't know--I don't know," she stammered, piteously. "I thought you'd -try to kill me an' Jeff on sight. We heard that's what you come back -for." - -"I came back to do my duty to God, to the law of the land, to you and -every one. Mother, I am older and wiser now. Hard experience has opened -my eyes and given me a clearer knowledge of right and wrong. We can't -get away from duty. You are my mother, and a man owes his very life and -soul to his mother." - -"But not to me, not to _me_," she protested, fiercely. "I know what I -done, an' how inhuman I acted toward you when I was so silly an' giddy, -when you needed a mother's love an' care. You ought not to notice me in -the road. You've riz, an' amount to some'n, an' me an'--an' Jeff would -be mill-rocks about your neck. We are jest scabs--human scabs!" - -"Listen, mother," he broke in, passionately. "No words can describe my -happiness. It seems to me that the very kingdom of Heaven is here among -these old hills and mountains, and you gave it all to me, for you are -responsible for my very being. But for you I'd never have existed. I'll -show you what I mean, and then you will understand that poverty of the -body can only increase the wealth of the soul." - -"But--but we _are_ in such a disgraceful plight," she faltered. "You -saw that cabin; you see my rags an' noticed Jeff's looks. You know what -folks that used to know us will say an' think. We thought we was so -smart. We was goin' to roll in money an' fine things an' prove that we -knowed what we was about, but misfortune after misfortune piled on us, -till--" - -"That's all to end," Paul said, with firmness. "Do you know what I did -to-day? As soon as I heard that Mayburn had put you in that dirty hut I -rode over to his home and rented the cottage next door for you, and -made a better all-round contract for Jeff--a contract under which he can -easily earn money." - -"You--you say?" she gasped. She laid both her thin hands on his arms and -flashed a hungry stare into his face. "You say you rented that cottage?" - -"Yes, here is the key," he answered, putting it into her hand. "You can -move in to-night if you wish, but I wouldn't till to-morrow if I were -you, for I have bought a complete outfit of new furniture in town and it -will be out early in the morning." - -"Oh, Paul, Paul--my boy, my baby!" she was weeping now. Violent sobs -shook her frail form from head to foot. Again he drew her into his arms, -and stroked back her thin hair from her wrinkled brow. "And that is -not all, mother dear," he continued. "You've waited long enough for the -comforts and things you love. I shall supply you with everything--food, -clothing, and anything else you want. I am going to make you three -happy. I am able to do it, and it will be the joy of my life." She -slowly dried her tears on the skirt of her dress. She looked at him, and -a glad, childlike smile broke over her face as he led her homeward.. - -"It all seems like a pretty dream," she muttered. "I'm afraid I'll wake -in a minute." - -"Life ought to be that way always," he said. "If it isn't beautiful it -is our fault. If anything goes wrong with us it is because we are out -of harmony with the laws of the universe, which are perfect. It is never -the universe that is wrong, but only our blind notion of it." - -"But, oh, Paul--" She was not capable of rising to his philosophy, and -she paused and drew herself sorrowfully from his arm. "You are doing -all this, but I know how most folks look at things. They say--some -do--that--that you are goin' with Ethel Mayfield, an' her folks are -proud an' well off. They are not the same sort of stock as me an' Jeff, -and if you tie yourself to us, why, may be she--" - -An expression of inner pain rose to the surface of his face. "People -are apt to make mistakes," he said, awkwardly, and he forced a little -misleading laugh. "It is true that I have driven out with her several -times, but it was only because she needed an escort and her mother -wished it. She and I understand each other, in a friendly way, but that -is all." - -"So thar is nothin' in _that?_" - -"Nothing at all. Mother, I"--his voice caught suddenly, and he cleared -his throat--"I am not really a marrying man. Marriage seems to be the -happy fate of some fellows, but I am an exception. I have a great work -before me--a sort of duty, as I see it--and these mountains are the best -field on earth." - -"Oh, I'm so happy I hardly know what to do." Her face was fairly -glowing. "This thing will tickle Jeff an' Mandy to death. I am glad you -made up with Jeff. He's all right, Paul. He means well. He's just been -unlucky, that is all." - -"Yes, he is all right," Paul agreed, "and things will run more smoothly -with him from now on." - -They were nearing the cabin. They saw Warren in front of the door, a -bowed, sentinel-like figure in the red light of the fire within. His -face was toward them as they approached, but he made no movement. -His wife quickened her step, and going ahead of her son she took her -husband's hands. - -"Jeff, Jeff!" she was heard to say, and Paul caught the words, -"cottage," "furniture," and "oh, ain't it glorious?" - -Warren said nothing, but Paul heard him sigh. He pressed his wife's -hands spasmodically and then dropped them. Firmly he advanced to meet -his stepson, and paused in front of him. - -"The Lord ought to have let your shot go deeper that night, Paul," he -gulped, and for the first time in his life his eyes and voice were full -of tears. - -"The Lord caught that shot in His hand, Jeff," Paul answered. "He saved -us both, and we are wiser now!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -|AS Paul walked homeward a wave of transcendental ecstasy fairly lifted -him from the ground. The stars and all space seemed his. He laughed; he -sang; he whistled; a prayer of mystic delight rippled from his lips. - -He was drawing near the gate to Hoag's grounds when he noticed a man on -a mule in the middle of the road. The rider's short legs swung back and -forth from the plodding animal's flanks like pendulums, but his face was -toward the village and Paul did not recognize him. Presently, however, -when the gate was reached the rider was heard to cry "Whoa!" and Paul -knew the voice. It was that of Tye, the shoemaker. - -"How are you, Uncle Si?" Paul quickened his step and approached just as -the old man was about to dismount. - -"Oh!"--the cobbler settled back in his saddle--"I'm glad to see you. -I've been over the mountain deliverin' a big raft o' work. I shod a -whole family--two grown-ups an' ten children. I want to see you, an' I -was goin' to hitch an' go to the house." - -"I see, I see," Paul smiled easily. "Like all the rest, you want to warn -me to look out for Jeff Warren." - -"Not a bit of it--you are away off!" Tye stroked his short beard with -the fingers which held his riding-switch and grinned confidently. "That -will take care of itself. I don't have to be told what a feller with -_your_ light will do. I'll bet a dollar to a ginger-cake that you've -been to see 'em already, an' you didn't act the fool, neither." - -With a laugh Paul admitted it. "I had a narrow escape," he added. "Jeff -wanted to brain me on the spot with an ax." - -"But you bet he didn't," Silas chuckled, "an' I'll lay he's lookin' at -things in a brighter light than ever fell across his path before. But -I've come to see you about business--strict earthly business, an' it's -your business, not mine. Paul, you've heard of Theodore Doran an' the -big cotton-factory he's just built at Chester?" - -"Oh, yes," Paul returned. "Some of my men have gone over there to work." - -"Well, what do you think? Doran is stoppin' at Kerr's Hotel, buyin' up -cotton to run on next fall, an' this mornin' he come in my shop an' took -a seat. You see, I used to know him an' his folks powerful well. He was -in a Sunday-school class of mine, along with three other lads, away back -in the seventies, when he was a tow-headed scrub of a boy that nobody -ever thought would get rich, an' so I reckon he's purty free with me in -confidential matters. Well, he set in to chattin' in a roundabout way, -an' it wasn't long before I took notice that the talk always somehow got -back to you an' your expert management of Hoag's affairs. Whar I fust -began to smell a rat was when he said he'd been to every plant an' farm -of Hoag's an' taken a look at 'em. Then what do you reckon he said? -He said he had looked high an' low for a man to help 'im run the big -factory, but hadn't found the right chap. Then he went on to say that -from all he had seed an' heard you was the one he was lookin' for. He -knowed me an' you was close friends, an' so he bantered me to find out -if I thought you'd consider a change. I told 'im I didn't know; but, la -me! if I didn't grease the wheels o' your cart no man in Georgia could. -I said a lot, but he had heard more than I could tell 'im in a month o' -Sundays. He said what he wanted was a feller who he knowed was honest -to the core, an' he was sure he could sleep sound with a man at the helm -that had come back here, like you did, as a bare matter of principle." - -"I am afraid you both are thinking entirely too well of me," Paul -faltered, "but I am glad you wanted to help me along." - -"Well," Tye continued, "the upshot of the talk was that Doran didn't -want no mix-up with Jim Hoag over tryin' to hire a man o' his, an' he -asked me, as your friend, to sort o' sound you. He says he's willin' -to pay a big price for your services, an' he thinks you will take -an interest in the work. It is to be a model mill. They have built -comfortable cottages for the workers, with a nice garden tacked onto -each one, an' they don't intend to employ little children. Paul, it is a -fine job--there is no better anywhar. I told 'im I didn't think you was -bound to any written contract to Hoag, an' Doran said he was sure you -wasn't, because Hoag wouldn't obligate hisse'f to nobody--even a good -man." - -"No, I am not bound to him," Paul said, "and I am just a little bit -afraid he will not approve of something I am going to do. I have decided -to help Jeff Warren and my mother." - -"I see." Tye thrust his stubby fingers through the bristling mane of -his mule, and bent down reflectively, "No, that will make 'im as mad -as a wet hen. He hates Jeff with all the puny soul that's in him. Paul, -take my advice. Doran will be at the hotel to-morrow an' wants to see -you. Go have a talk with him." - -"It is plainly my duty," Paul answered, with conviction. "There are -certain expenses I have to meet, and I must sell my services for all -they are worth." - -"Well, that's what I wanted to see you about." Tye thrust his heels into -the mule's flanks, shook the reins, clucked through his gashed teeth, -and started homeward. "Good night; you know I wish you well." - -Paul entered the gate and started up the walk toward the house. As -he drew near the steps he saw a shadowy form emerge from the darkened -doorway, move across the veranda, softly descend to the ground, and -noiselessly glide toward him. It was Ethel. Her head was enveloped in a -light lace shawl held close at her chin, and her sweet face showed pale -and rigid through the opening. - -"Oh, Paul--" she began, but her timid voice trailed away into silence, -and she stood staring at him, a fathomless anxiety in her eyes. - -"Why, I thought you were in bed long ago," he said, in surprise. "Has -anything happened--gone wrong?" - -"No, no," she ejaculated; "but you--_you_, Paul--" - -Again her power of utterance forsook her, and she stood before him with -downcast eyes. The hand holding the shawl was quivering visibly; there -was a flare of burning suspense beneath her eyelids. - -"I see," he said, regretfully. "Your grief has got the upper hand again. -You can't fully master it yet. It may be that way for some time, but you -must keep trying to view it right, for it _is_ right, Ethel. I am more -positive of it to-night than ever before." - -"It is not _that_--oh, it isn't _that!_" Ethel cried. "It is you, -Paul--you and--" - -"I really don't understand," he said, bewildered. "You say that I--" - -She released her hold on the shawl and laid her hand on his arm. "I must -own the truth," she began, tremulously, her voice steadying bravely as -she hurried on. "I listened to what you and my uncle said when you got -home to-night. You were beneath my window and I could not resist it." - -"Oh, I see!" A light broke on him. "And you thought--" - -"You went to your room and then hurried away--you went straight toward -Jeff Warren's cabin, and--" - -"And you counted on hearing gunshots," he laughed, reassuringly. "Well, -there were none. I owed him an apology and I made it. We are friends -now, and I have my mother back." - -"Oh, Paul, was that all?" He could almost see her face glow in the -darkness. "I was afraid--oh, I was afraid that all your troubles were -going to begin over again!" - -She was silent after that. His gentle words of reassurance seemed to -fall on closed ears. She stood staring up at the window of her room -for several minutes, and then she said, in a tone that was quite -incomprehensible to him: "You think I am silly--I know you do, but -worrying over Jennie's death has--has really unstrung me. I am not -myself. I don't know what I am doing or saying. I give myself up to -terrible fancies. Good night, Paul." - -He remained on the lawn after she had disappeared. He heard her slow -step on the stair. His ecstatic spirit-dream was over. He sank on a -rustic seat and bowed his head to his open hands. She was so dear to him -and yet so absolutely unattainable! - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -|THE next afternoon, following a conference with the owner of the -cotton-mill, which took place at Tye's shop, Paul returned home. As he -was about to ascend the stairs to his room he met Mrs. Tilton in the -hall. - -"Have you seen Jim?" she inquired; and when he had answered in the -negative she added: "He was asking whar you was at. I thought I'd -sort o' warn you to look out for him; he ain't in the best of tempers. -Some'n's gone crooked somewhar or other. He actually cussed me just now -an' slapped little Jack for the first time in over a year. The child was -just comin' to git in his lap, an' he's been cryin' as if his heart was -broke ever since." - -"Where is Mr. Hoag?" Paul asked. - -"He's down at the tannery shippin' some leather." There were still -several minutes to spare before supper-time, and Paul decided to seek -his employer at once, so he turned down to the tannery. As he approached -the warehouse the rumble of the iron truck-wheels on the heavy floor -reached him, and above the din he heard Hoag's gruff voice giving -commands to two negro laborers. Stepping upon the platform, Paul saw his -employer near the wide sliding door just within the dust-filled room, -and he approached him. - -"Anything I can do?" he asked, politely. - -"Do! Does it look like thar's anything to do?" - -Hoag hurled the words at him, his eyes flashing beneath beetling brows, -his lip curled and drawn tight across tobacco-stained teeth. - -Paul stared at him unflinchingly. "Shipments have always been made in -the morning," he said, calmly. He drew a note-book from his pocket and -opened it. "I had this down for the first thing to-morrow." - -"It ain't what _you_ have down, but what I want done, when an' how I -like it. I couldn't find _you_, so I had to do it _myself_." - -"We won't talk about that at all," Paul retorted, drawn into anger -he was trying hard to control. "I know I earn my salary, and I'll be -treated like an intelligent human being while I am at work or I'll quit. -Do you understand that? I'll quit!" - -"Damn your soul"--Hoag looked about on the floor as if for something -with which to strike the speaker to earth--"do you mean to stand thar -an' give me any of your jaw?" - -"Not any more than you need to make you act like a man." Paul bent a -steady and fearless gaze on him that made him flinch and drop his eyes. -But Hoag was not subdued. He blinked sullenly for a moment, swore at a -negro who was staggering past under an overloaded truck, followed him to -the wagon at the door, where he stood, a mere husk of a man buffeted -by fierce inner storms. Presently he came back to Paul; he had -unconsciously crushed the order for the leather in his hand and broken -the tip of his pencil. - -"Thar's no use beatin' about the bush," he began, in a tone which showed -that he was now more sure of his ground. "I'm goin' to give you the -truth straight from the shoulder. An' if you don't like it you kin lump -it." Another loaded truck was passing and Hoag stopped it. He made a -flurried effort to count the rolls, and failing to do so, he waved his -hand impatiently, swore at the man, and the truck was trundled on to the -door. - -"You needn't waste time getting to it," Paul began firmly. "I know -what's the matter with you. You've made up your mind that slavery is not -yet over. You've heard about what I am doing for my mother, and--" - -"That's it," Hoag's dead face flared. "I may as well tell you the truth -an' be done with it. Not a dollar--not one dollar of my money shall go -to a low-lived, dirt-eatin' skunk like Jeff Warren." - -"_Your_ money? No; not a penny of _your_ money," Paul laughed, -sarcastically. - -"Well, haven't you gone an' moved his whole lay-out into Mayburn's new -house an' laid in furniture an' supplies an'--an'--" - -"Oh, yes, but not at _your_ expense," Paul continued to smile. "I knew -you would want me to quit working for you when I did it; still, I did -it, and I'm going to keep it up." - -"You say you are!" Hoag had never had his will more flatly opposed. -"Well, listen to me, young man. You are gittin' entirely too big for -your pants. I took you up when you come back here under the ban of the -law an' couldn't 'a' got a job like this to save your neck. I've been -payin' you a hundred a month, but seein' that you are countin' on livin' -like a royal prince, an' spendin' your wages on the rag-tag an' bobtail -scum of the earth, from now on your pay is cut to seventy-five dollars a -month." - -The eyes of the two men met. Hoag's were burning with satanic triumph; -Paul's held a certain gleam of pity, and yet they bore down with a -steadiness that stirred the slow surprise of his companion. - -"If you mean that as final," Paul said, "I have something vital and -positive to say myself." - -"I'll not pay a cent more," Hoag panted. "I'll see you dead an' buried -first. Any young man with the chances you had, to go an' throw 'em all -away for a low-lived tramp clodhopper--" - -"We'll leave Warren out of the matter," Paul interrupted, almost -fiercely. "My proposition to you is this, Mr. Hoag. I do not want to -leave you, because certain things I have got under way in your interests -cannot well be carried out by any one else, and it would be wrong for me -to cause you to lose. Still, I know my value. If I didn't I'd not have -brains enough to manage your affairs as I am managing them. Only this -afternoon I have had the offer of the superintendency of the Doran -Cotton Mills. The pay is double my present salary--with various chances -of promotion." - -"What--what? You say that you--you say that Doran--" But Hoag's -utterance had failed him completely. He stood quivering from head to -foot, his lip hanging low, his teeth parted, his breath hissing as it -passed through them. - -"I don't want to quarrel with you," Paul softened. "It is wrong for two -men to quarrel--especially wrong for one who has learned the full evil -of it as I have, and we need not do it now. But I have certain human -rights which, for reasons of your own, you ignore, and are trying to -trample underfoot. It is my right to help my mother, and any one else -I see fit to help. I cannot do these things if I work for you for less -than my services are worth on the market. I want to remain here, and -if you will pay me the price offered by Doran I will do so, otherwise I -shall leave you." - -"Pay you--pay you two hundred a month"--Hoag gasped--"pay you double -what you now get so that you can spend it on a lazy, good-for-nothin' -scamp? Not on your life! I'll see the last one of you dead first, an' -laid out stark an' cold." - -"Then it is settled," Paul answered, calmly. "I told Doran I'd let him -have my decision in the morning. I'll leave you on the first of next -month." - -"You can go an' be damned," Hoag swore under his breath, and raised his -clenched fist and shook it in Paul's face. "Git out o' my sight." - -And with that ultimatum Hoag stalked out to the platform. Paul looked at -him regretfully a moment and then turned away. - -He failed to see his employer at the supper-table. He was at work in his -room near bedtime when he heard a heavy, dragging step on the stairs. -The next moment Hoag leaned in the open doorway. His face was flushed -with drink; there was a thwarted glare in his bloodshot eyes. - -"I reckon you meant what you said about Doran?" he began, sullenly. - -"Yes, I simply stated the facts," Paul answered. - -"You said you'd keep on with me for the price Doran's willin' to pay?" - -"Yes," Paul returned, with dignity. "I meant to put it that way." - -"Well, I reckon"--in blended chagrin and anger--"you are worth as much -to me as you are to him. The offer comes through enemies of mine who -want to injure me--fellers that stand in with Doran--a gang o' narrow -church elders over there, who have got it in for me. You stay on, -an' I'll try not to kick any more over your private matters. Do you -understand?" - -"I think so." - -"All right, then. That's all I wanted to say." Hoag turned to the door. -He stood there for a moment, then slowly faced Paul again. - -"There is one other thing," he said, half-sheepishly. "I got onto the -fact that you went on Henry's note at the bank to git the money for 'im -to go into that business on, an' I thought I'd tell you that I don't -intend to let you lose it. Good business men think Henry is goin' to -make money thar. In fact, I think myself that he may stick to it. I was -in his store to-day an' his partner is well pleased with the work Henry -is doin'. I expect to pay that note off, but I'll let 'im owe the bank -a while. That will be best, I think." And with that Hoag turned and went -down the stairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -|A FEW days later Hoag was walking home from his cotton-gin. It was near -noon. It had been cool and cloudy all the morning, and the humid air was -laden with a hovering mist which at every moment seemed about to resolve -itself into rain. Suddenly, in a thicket at the side of the road, he saw -a man with his back toward him. The gaunt form resembled Sid Trawley's, -yet the queer antics of the hatless figure belied such an association, -for it was bending down and rising up with inexplicable regularity. -Hoag paused and watched in growing wonder. It was plain that the man's -contortions were not due to the lifting of any tool, for every few -seconds a pair of bare, splaying hands would rise above the head, clutch -at the air, and slowly descend. - -"What the hell ails 'im?" Hoag asked himself, and turning into the -thicket he approached the animated automaton. It was Trawley. On seeing -Hoag he flushed deeply, dropped his gaze awkwardly to the ground, and -stood silent, though smiling in a sheepish way. - -"Look here, are you gone plumb distracted?" Hoag demanded, as he stood -eying his old associate from head to foot. - -"I reckon you might call it that," Trawley answered, raising his arms -above his head and inhaling a deep breath. "A heap o' things look plumb -foolish if you ain't onto the scientific explanation." - -"Well," Hoag tittered, "I can't see no sense in a big strappin' feller -like you actin' like a jumpin'-jack pullin' it's own string away out -here in the woods all by yourself." - -Trawley threw back his broad shoulders, took a shorter breath, and -answered: "I railly didn't intend to be seen, Jim, much less by you, who -never would believe nothin' outside o' your own hide. I've been doin' -this thing for a month or more." - -"You say you have!" Hoag exhibited one of his rare tendencies toward a -smile. "I see whar you've pawed up the grass considerable. It looks like -the ground round the hitchin'-post of a prize stallion." - -"I reckon I _have_ come here as much as anywhar else." The liveryman -comically surveyed the spot in question. "I git the walk out, an' I like -to operate in the same spot. I can time myself, you see. I give a' hour -to it twice a day--momin' an evenin'." - -"You say you do!" Hoag's smile broke broadly. "Workin' for yourself or -hired out?" - -"I knowed you'd joke," Trawley said, half abashed, "but no joke o' -your'n, Jim Hoag, will turn me from a thing as good as this is. I've -been led by your sort long enough. Thar are things in heaven an' earth, -Jimmy, that you never even saw the tail-end of, much less the head an' -shoulders. I know, for I'm just beginnin' to catch onto a powerful big -thing." - -"The last time I saw you," Hoag said, with a smile, "you swore you was -goin' to lie flat down an' die." - -"Yes, that's it; I did say it, an' I was as sure of it as I am that you -are a-standin' thar pokin' fun right now. Jim, I was on the actual edge -o' hell. I could see the smoke, smell the fumes, an' hear the smashin' -o' teeth, mentioned in Scripture. You used to see me at work in the -stable, but you never seed me after the sun went down an' the night -piled thick and heavy around me. I was crazy. I expected to die right -off, an' the trouble was that I wasn't ready. Then what do you reckon -happened?" - -"I was just wonderin'." Hoag really was interested, and he stood staring -seriously, all traces of humor submerged in curiosity. - -"Well, I was at my lowest ebb one day. The doctor had examined me ag'in -an' said I had no stomach that would hold a bite I ate, an' no relish -for a thing, even soft _baby_ truck. I was losin' weight as fast as a -dump-cart o' manure with a plank gone from the bottom, an' I went to the -stable an' set down to try to reconcile myself to the fate that all men -has to meet sooner or later, but I couldn't. The more I thought about it -the worse I got. Jim, in that little hour thar in my office, humped over -my desk, I attended over ag'in every funeral I ever went to, an', more'n -that, I seed every pore cuss our gang ever lynched a-hangin' from the -rafters above the backs o' my hosses an' mules. I'd 'a' killed myself, -but I knowed I'd just be hurried to judgment all the quicker, an' thar I -was actually wallowin' in my despair. Then a miracle happened." - -"Oh, it _did?_ I thought that might be a-comin'," Hoag sneered, "for you -wasn't wallowin' in anything like that when I catched you a minute ago." - -"You'll say I'm a big fool," Trawley went on, with the glow of a mild -fanatic in his eyes; "but I don't give a damn. The proof of the puddin' -is chawin' the rag, I've always heard. Right at my worst minute, who -should walk in an' set down for a chat except Paul Rundel? I always -liked that boy, an' when he come home to give 'imself up like he did I -was one that believed he meant what he said. I'm convinced of it now, -because he's livin' up to his doctrine. Well, one thing fetched on -another as me'n him talked, till somehow I got to tellin' him how low -I was an' what the doctor said. I thought he'd be sorry for me, but he -shuck his head an' actually laughed. He tuck my wrist, he did, an' felt -my pulse, an' then he peeled my eyes back an' looked at the balls, an' -made me show him my tongue; then he slapped me on the knee--careless -like--an' laughed free an' hearty. - -"'Thar ain't nothin' much the matter with you, Sid,' he said. I know, -because I've run across lots an' lots o' cases like your'n.' Then he -plunged into the sensiblest talk--well, Cap--Jim, I mean--'scuse me, -I never heard anything to equal it in all my born days. It was like a -rousin' sermon preached by a jolly base-ball player, or a feller that -just got the meat out of religion an' throwed the gristle to the dogs. -Why, he told me that what ailed me couldn't be reached by any dose o' -medicine that ever slid down a throat. He said he'd bet his hat that -I had some'n on my mind that ought to be unloaded. I sort o' shied off -thar, but he went into all his own trouble over that shootin'-scrape in -such a free an' open way that I--" - -"You didn't--you didn't violate your oath to--" Hoag started, and his -shaggy brows met suspiciously. - -"No, an' I didn't have to. He said--Paul said--totin' sin that was -behind you an' ought to be forgot was as rank a poison to some systems -as any virus that ever crawled through the blood, an' I admitted that I -was bothered by some things I'd done that I didn't want to talk about. -But, oh my! how good that boy made me feel! He said if I would just quit -thinkin' about my stomach an' what went into it, an' keep my mind -full o' pure thoughts, determine to act right in the future, an' take -exercise in the open air, that I'd git as sound as a dollar right off." - -"Oh, I see." Hoag smiled more easily. "An' you took his advice. Well, he -ain't so far wrong. Believin' you are done for is powerful weakenin'. I -seed a bedrid old hag once jump out o' bed when somebody yelled that a -mad dog was headed toward her cabin. She broke out with nothin' on but -a shift an' one stockin' an' run half a mile, waded through a creek, an' -climbed a ten-rail fence to git to a neighbor's house, an' after that -she was hale an' hearty." - -"It's a sight deeper science than that when you work it accordin' to -up-to-date rules an' regulations," Trawley blandly explained. "The -furder you advance in it the more you seem to lay hold of. You seed -me bendin' up an' down just now. Exercise like that, 'long with deep -breathin', an' the idea that you are, so to speak, pullin' good thoughts -an' intentions into you along with the wind, will do more than ten -wholesale drug-stores. I know, for I am actually a new man, from toe -to scalp. I don't eat nothin' now but ham. Look at my muscles." Trawley -exhibited an arm tightly contracted and smiled proudly. "Why, I was -ready for my windin'-sheet an' the coolin'-board. If I had to give up my -stable, an' every hoss an' rig I have, or let go of this idea, I'd do it -an' work like a nigger in a ditch for bare bread an' water. Paul calls -it 'the Science of Life,' an' he's right. In our talk that day he said -that it would be well to try, as far as I could, to undo any wrong I'd -ever done, an' soon after that I saw Pete Watson's widow passin' the -stable. I'll swear she did look pitiful in her old raggety shoes with -the toes out, totterin' along with her kinky head down. Well, I called -'er in an' had a talk--" - -"An' give us all dead away!" Hoag flashed in renewed fear. - -"No, I didn't. She was in a powerful bad fix, an' I let 'er have a few -dollars an' told 'er to look me up any time she was rail bad off. Lordy! -the sight o' that old thing's face did me good for a week. I'm goin' to -hire one o' her sons to work in the stable. I reckon I'd be a freer man -if I wasn't sorter obligated to you boys; but I tell you now, Jim, I'm -goin' to drag my skirts away from you all as much as possible. All that -secret-order business an' followin' your lead got me down. Paul says, -in all the places he's been at, he never has seed as bad a condition -of affairs as we got right here. He says--an' I don't know whether he -suspicioned that I was implicated or not--but he says that all that -night-prowlin', an' scarin' half-witted niggers an' stringin' 'em up -to limbs, won't settle our trouble. He says that we've got to be gentle -with the blacks an' train 'em. He says the old slaveholders was kind -to 'em, an' that's why no outrages was ever heard of before slavery was -abolished, an' he says treatin' the niggers decent now will--" - -"He's a fool!" Hoag growled, angrily. "He's gone off an' lived among -a lot o' Yankees who think niggers are a grade better'n us white folks -down here. They don't know nigger-nature, an' _he_ don't, neither, but -I'll tell you one thing: he'd better keep his mouth shet, an' you--you -can quit us if you want to, but you'd better not make too many brags -about it." - -"I'm not braggin' _now_," Trawley retorted. "A feller can't well brag -about what he is ashamed of, an' Jim, I'm heartily ashamed of all that -business. Lord, Lord! you called me 'Lieutenant', an' I remember how -proud I was of the title the night you give it to me an' the boys all -cheered. 'Lieutenant!' I say, '_Lieutenant!_' I hope to git to Heaven -some day or other, an' wouldn't I love to hear 'em call me that up thar -among the Blest, an' ax how I had got my promotion?" - -"I see through you, Sid." Hoag was nettled, and yet trying to speak in a -tone of unconcern, which in part was natural. "Thar's more'n one way o' -showin' the white feather. You was all right as long as you felt well -an' strong, but the minute you begun to think about dyin' you went all -to pieces. That's how every little jack-leg preacher makes his salary, -by scarin' your sort out o' their socks." - -"You are away off your base." Trawley stretched himself, raised his -arms, after the manner of his health exercise, lowered them to his -sides, and smiled confidently. "Paul Rundel ain't no jack-leg preacher, -presidin' elder, or bishop. He's movin' along mixin' business with joy -as smooth as deep water headed for the ocean. He don't charge a cent; in -fact, when he talks it looks like he does it because he can't hold in. -He says religion don't mean givin' up the good things of the flesh or -the spirit; he says it just means knowin' how to live, an'--_livin'_. -Why, look at your son Henry." - -"What's he done now?" Hoag's eyes flickered ominously, as they bent upon -Trawley's impassioned countenance. - -"Why, nothin', except he's workin' like a wheel-hoss an' Paul started -'im by a few straight talks on the right line an' havin' faith in 'im. -Jim Hoag, I've set in to live right, an' I'm goin' to keep it up." - -"Lemme tell you some'n, Sid," Hoag returned, dryly. "I've noticed that -whenever a man is plumb played out--cayn't hold his own among men, -loses his little pile, is hopelessly disgraced, or somebody dies that he -thinks he has to keep--why, he goes daft about the wings he's goin' to -wear an' the harp he's to play in a land flowin' with milk an' honey. -Since the world begun to roll, not a word has come back from the -spider-web place they all talk about, an' the feller that believes in -it is simply dyin' of the dry-rot. All that a human bein' will ever git -he'll git here on this globe. I've made what I've got by hard licks, -common sense, an' paddlin' my own boat. A feller that sees a lot o' -jimjam visions ahead never will buck down to real life here, an' he'll -never lay up a dollar or own a foot of land. Wise men knowed all this -long before Jesus Christ come teachin' that the only way to accumulate -was to give away all you git, make a two-sided foot-mat o' your face, -an' associate with fishermen that want to learn how to walk on the -water." - -"Say, say, Jim, that's purty tough!" Trawley protested. But with a smile -of conscious victory Hoag was starting away. - -"Take some more deep breaths," he chuckled over his shoulder, "an' while -you are drawin' in truth suck down what I've just said. I kin _prove_ -what I'm talkin' about, but you can't prove that any sane man ever -_dreamt_ the stuff you are tryin' to believe." - -Trawley stood still on the spot he had rendered grassless by his modern -devotions, and stared after the receding form. "I'll bet it will take me -a week to git away from that durn fellow's influence," he muttered. "He -believes what he says, an' lives up--or _down_, rather--to his doctrine, -but he's kept me crooked long enough. He was my god once, with all his -power an' money, but he ain't no longer. I said a week--shucks! I'm free -already. That sky up thar's mine, or will be if I keep on, an' it's -got no fence around it nuther." Trawley inhaled a deep breath, bent -downward, slowly raised himself, and with a light step started home. - -"I've got a sight better thing than he has," he continued to think of -Hoag, "but it wouldn't be right to gloat over 'im. The idea is to wish -well to _all_--his sort along with the rest." - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -|ONE clear, warm evening Hoag rode along the side of the mountain. The -sun had been down for an hour, and the valley lay beneath the soft folds -of a twilight which, ever creeping from west to east, seemed gradually -to thicken under the increasing rays of the constantly appearing stars. -He saw the village lights, and from their locations knew where the main -buildings stood--the hotel, the post-office, and the wagon-yard, marked -by the red glow of the camp-fires. He could see, also, his own home at -the end of the road up which he had ascended. - -The incline was growing steeper and his horse was stepping cautiously, -and shying here and there at real or fancied objects in the underbrush -on each side of the densely shaded road. Presently a point was -reached where the horse could not well advance further, and the rider -dismounted, hitched his rein to a bush, and, on foot, took a narrow path -which led down a steep incline into a canon of considerable depth and -breadth. Finally gaining a sort of level at the bottom, he trudged -on into a labyrinthian maze of brambles, lichen-coated boulders, and -thorn-bushes, headed for a specter-like cliff which, now and then, -loomed in the starlight. - -Presently a firm cry of "Halt there!" greeted him, and a tall, lank -form, topped by a mask of white cloth with jagged eye and mouth -openings, stood in front of him. - -"Halt yoreself, Joe Purvynes!" Hoag answered, facetiously. - -"Halt, I say! That won't do," and the figure raised a long-barreled gun -and threateningly presented it. "What's the password?" - -"Hold on, hold on!" Hoag laughed uneasily. "It's me, Joe!" - -"Me! I don't know no me's in this business. You give me the proper -password or I'll plug you full o'--" - -"A white man's country," Hoag hurriedly complied. "Thar, I reckon that -will suit you." - -"Good Lord, Cap! I swear I didn't know you," the sentinel exclaimed -apologetically. "By gum, I come 'in an inch o' givin' the signal to -the boys up thar to lie low. It ain't for me to dictate to you, but you -ought to obey regulations yourself if you expect the rest to keep order. -Cap, this ain't no jokin' business; we've got to be careful." - -"I thought you'd know my voice." Hoag fended the matter of! with an -impatient gesture and an audible sniff. "The klan arrived yet?" - -"Yes, up thar in the open; some of 'em got here at sundown. Never seed -'em so eager before. They've got some game up their sleeves. I may as -well tell you. You are goin' to have trouble with 'em, Cap." - -"Trouble? What do you mean?" - -"I don't know as I've got any ground to say it"--the sentinel leaned on -his gun and lifted the lower part of his mask, that he might speak more -freely--"but it's the young members, Cap. They ain't satisfied with -bein' inactive so long. They say us older, men are takin' the dry-rot, -an' won't git out at night because we want to lie in bed an' snooze." -Hoag swore under his breath. He reflected a moment in silence; then he -asked, "Who's the ringleader?" - -"Hard to say, Cap; they are all a-talkin'. Thar's a dozen or more, but -Nape Welborne is the worst. I may as well tell you the truth. They are -ag'in' you; they are bent on creatin' dissatisfaction--bustin' up the -old order an' startin' out ag'in, as they say, with new blood. They've -got some fresh devilment to propose to-night, an' if you don't fall in -line double-quick they are a-goin' to move to elect a new captain." - -"I see, I see." Hoag felt his blood rush in an angry torrent to his -head. "They are mad because I didn't favor breakin' in the jail last -meetin' to take out Mart Dill. He's Nape's uncle, you know. I was plumb -right about that, Purvynes. Mart paid his fine an' is free now, anyway." - -"I understand, Cap, but it made a lot of 'em mad. Of course I don't -know, but they say you had some grudge ag'in' Mart, an' that's why you -refused to act. They've got liquor in 'em to-night up to the neck, an' -you'll have to handle 'em easy or we'll bust into flinders." - -"I'll break their necks, damn them!" Hoag turned to go on. "They can't -run over me roughshod. I've been at the head o' this band too long for -that." - -"Well, I've give you my opinion, Cap," Purvynes said, more coldly. -"I hope you'll try to keep down a split. Some'n seems goin' crooked, -anyway. Sid Trawley's talkin' a lot--gone daffy an' turned into a -regular preacher. I know a half-dozen old uns he's kept home to-night, -an' Nape Welborne is goin' to make trouble. He hates the ground you walk -on. Thar's no ifs and ands about that." - -Farther along, at the base of the almost perpendicular cliff, Hoag -found fifty or sixty men waiting for him. Some lay smoking on the grass, -others hung about in various restless attitudes, and a group of ten or -twelve of the younger men sat eating tinned oysters and sardines with -crackers, and drinking whisky from huge flasks which stood on the ground -in their midst. - -A man on the edge of the assembly recognized the leader, and saluting -respectfully, called out, "Boys, rise; the Captain is here!" - -Thereupon a formality took place which to Hoag had always been a subtle -delight. Those standing removed their hats, and all who were seated -struggled to their feet and stood silent and uncovered. - -"How are you, boys?" That constituted Hoag's usual greeting, and then -every one sat down, and for a moment silence ensued. There was a fallen -log on the border of the assemblage, and upon this the leader sat as -if upon a judicial bench. He put his hat on the grass at his feet -and folded his hands between his knees. There was a low tinkle of a -knife-blade gouging out potted ham from a jagged tin, and Hoag drew -himself erect and frowned. - -"Let up on that eatin' thar!" he said, testily. "One thing at a time. -I've had a hard ride to git up here, an' I'll be treated with proper -respect or--" - -"You be damned!" a low voice muttered, and a soft titter of startled -approval rose in the group of younger men and slowly died in the -consternation which' Hoag's fierce attitude seemed to set afloat upon -the air. - -"Who said that?" he sharply demanded, and he half rose to his feet and -leaned forward in a threatening attitude. - -There was no response. Hoag, standing fully erect now, repeated his -question, but the surly demand elicited only a repetition of the -tittering and a low, defiant groan. - -Hoag slowly and reluctantly resumed his seat. "I'm goin' to have order -an' obedience," he growled. "That's what I'm here for, an' anybody that -wants trouble can git it. This is _me_ a-talkin'." - -The silence was unbroken now and, somewhat mollified, Hoag proceeded to -the business of the night. "Mr. Secretary," he said, "call the roll, an' -make careful note of absentees an' impose fines." - -A man holding a bit of lighted candle and a sheet of paper stood up and -went through this formality. - -"How many missin'?" Hoag inquired, when the roll-call was over and the -candle extinguished. - -"Seven, not countin' Sid Trawley," was the response. - -"Cold feet--seven more beyond the age-limit!" a wag in the younger group -was heard to say in a maudlin and yet defiant tone. - -"Order thar!" Hoag commanded in a stentorian voice. - -"Gone to nigger prayer-meetin'," another boldly muttered, and Hoag -stamped his foot and called for order again. "What have we got before -the body?" he inquired, in agreement with his best idea of parliamentary -form. "Do I hear any proposals?" - -There was a short pause, then a young man in the noisy group rose. -It was Nape Welborne. His mouth was full of the dry crackers he was -munching, and little powdery puffs shot from his lips when he began to -speak. - -"Worshipful Knight, an' gentlemen of the Klan," he began, with -an obvious sneer. "I've been asked to say a few words to-night. -Considerable dissatisfaction has got up in our body. Things has been -proposed that in common decency ought to have gone through, an' they've -been put under the table an' nothin' done. The general opinion is that -this has come to be a one-man gang." - -"Everything's been put to a vote," Hoag retorted, with startled and yet -blunt dignity. - -Grunts and sniffs of contempt ran through the group of younger men, and -when the Captain had secured, order Welborne resumed. It was plain that -he was making no effort to disguise his rancor. - -"Yes, they was snowed under after our _worshipful leader_ showed that -he wasn't in for action, an' the men wouldn't move without an authorized -head." - -"That's no way to put it," Hoag retorted. "As your leader I had to say -what I thought was wisest an' best. I always have done it, an' heard -nothin' ag'in' it till now." - -"Because you used to have a _little_ more red blood in your veins than -you got now, an' that's sayin' powerful little." The speaker's eyes -bore down upon the upturned faces, and was greeted by a loud clapping of -hands and boisterous exclamations of agreement. - -Hoag was white with helpless fury. "You mean to say--damn you--" he -began, only to lapse into cautious silence, for there was something in -the staring tenseness of the speaker and his crouching supporters which -was ominous of a storm that was ready to break. - -"Be careful, Cap!" It was the voice of Purvynes close behind him, and -the sentinel leaned downward on his gun to finish: "They are drunk -an' have got it in for you. They are bent on devilin' you tonight an' -forcin' an issue. Look sharp!" - -Welborne had drawn himself up and was silent. Hoag nodded despairingly -at the man behind him and said: "Go on with your proposition, Brother -Welborne. What is it you want?" - -Welborne laughed out impulsively. "I see we are gettin' to be kin folks. -Well, to come down to hard-pan an' brass tacks, Worshipful Knight, King -o' the Mossbacks, I am empowered to say that--" - -"That he's got cold feet!" a merry voice broke in with an irrepressible -giggle. - -At this Hoag sprang up, but hearing Purvynes' startled warning behind -him, and realizing what open resentment on his part would mean, he stood -unsteadily for an instant and then sank down. - -"Go on!" he said, desperately. "We'll hear you out." - -"I wasn't goin' to use them nasty words _myself_," the speaker smiled -down into the beardless face from which they had issued, "for it -wouldn't be becomin' on an occasion like this. Cold feet don't seem -to fill the bill exactly, nohow. A man may have a cold pair when his -judgment is ag'in' some move or other. The thing some of us new members -find ourselves up against in our leader is rank _cowardice_, an' plenty -of it." - -"Cowardice!" Hoag allowed his rigid lips to echo. - -"That's the word," the speaker stared fixedly, as low murmurs of -approval swept through the immediate group around him and permeated the -borders of the crowd in general. - -"Explain yourself." Hoag was conscious of fighting for some expedient of -rescue under the shadow of toppling defeat. - -"Oh, well, our boys have made up their minds that you are plumb without -any sort o' real grit," Welborne said, firmly. "You seem to be one solid -bluff from beginnin' to end. We could cite half a dozen cases, not to -mention the two times that Jeff Warren made you eat dirt an' lick the -soles of his boots." - -"It's a lie!" Hoag floundered, recklessly. "A low, dirty lie!" - -Welborne stepped out from the group and advanced half-way to the -captain. "That's what I've been hopin' you'd git to," he said, calmly. -"I suppose you mean _me_. Now, rise from that log, Hoag, an' prove -whether you got any backbone or not. You are not only a liar, but a -low-lived coward in the bargain!" - -Dead silence fell. Hoag was well aware that his power was gone--his -throne had crumbled under his feet, for he saw the utter futility -of fighting the young giant before him, and he knew that many of his -supporters would regard it as inevitable. - -"I didn't say _you_ was a liar. I said--" - -"But I say you are worse than that," Welborne snarled, "and you've got -to set thar before us all an' chaw my statement an' gulp it down." - -"You fellows have laid a trap for me," Hoag muttered, desperately. He -glanced around at the older men. How strange it was that no word of -rebuke came from even the wisest of them! Surely they didn't believe the -charge of this wild young drunkard after all those years in which he had -led them, and had their homage and respect. - -"I see you don't mean to defend yourself," Welborne went on, glancing -around at the gathering, "an' that's proof enough of what I say. You've -held your post not because you was a brave man, Jim Hoag, but because -you had money that some men are low enough to bow before; but us young -men in these mountains will have a leader with sand in his craw, or none -at all." The speaker paused, and his fellows stood up around him. There -was a warm shaking of hands, a rising clamor of approval, and this -spread even to the older men, who were excitedly talking in low tones. - -"Come on, boys, let's go home!" Welborne proposed. "We'll have that -meetin' to-morrow night, an' we'll _do_ things. Next time a good man -gits in jail no low-lived skunk will keep him thar!" - -"Good, good!" several voices exclaimed. The entire assemblage was on its -feet. Hoag rose as if to demand order, but the purpose was drowned in -the flood of dismay within him. He saw Welborne and his friends moving -away. They were followed by others more or less slowly, who threw -awkward backward glances at him. Presently only Purvynes and he -remained. - -The sentinel leaned on the barrel of his gun and chewed his tobacco -slowly. - -"I seed this thing a-comin' a long time back." He spat deliberately, -aiming at a stone at his feet. "They've talked too much behind your back -to be true to your face. I can say it now, I reckon, for I reckon you -want to understand the thing. Do you, or do you not?" - -"Well, I don't know what to make of it," Hoag said, with the lips of a -corpse, the eyes of a dying man. "I simply don't!" - -"Well, it's this a way," Purvynes explained, with as much tact as he -could command. "Welborne didn't tell it all. What really has rankled -for a long time was that--_they_ say, you understand--that you just kept -this thing a-goin' for a sort o' hobby to ride on when you ain't off in -Atlanta havin' a good time. They claim that you just love to set back -an' give orders, an' preside like a judge an' be bowed an' scraped -to. They say that, here of late, you hain't seemed to be alive to -home interests or present issues. They claim the niggers are gittin' -unbearable all around, an' that you are afraid they will rise an' burn -some o' your property. They say you don't care how much the niggers -insult white folks, an' that you'd rather see a decent farmer's wife -scared by a black imp than lose one o' your warehouses or mills. They -are goin' to reorganize to-morrow night. An' listen to me, Jim--" -Hoag heard the man address him for the first time by his Christian -name--"they are goin' to raise hell. An' that's whar you an' me come -in." - -"Whar _we_ come in? You don't think they would dare to--to--" Hoag began -tremulously, and ended in rising dismay. - -"Oh, I don't mean they would actually mob you or me or any o' the old -klan, but whatever they do will be laid at our door because we've been -in the thing so long. The truth is, Jim, you trained them fellers to be -what they are; they are jest sparks off of your flint. I reckon if Nape -Welborne knowed how I looked at it he'd say _I_ had cold feet, for I've -been doin' a sight o' thinkin' lately. I've heard Paul Rundel talk on -this line." - -"You say you have! He's a fool." - -"I don't know 'bout that; if he ain't got it down about right, nobody -has. I heard him talkin' to a crowd one day at the flour-mill. He ain't -afraid o' man nor beast. Everybody knows that. Nape Welborne chipped in -once, but Paul settled 'im, an' Nape was ashamed to argue any longer. -Paul says we are in an awful fix. He prophesied then that we'd turn -ag'in' our own race an' we are a-doin' it. You yourself have made -enemies among the very men that used to follow you, an' the Lord only -knows whar it will end." - -Hoag stifled a groan and struggled to his feet. His legs felt stiff -and heavy from inactivity. He stood staring out into the void above the -tree-tops. The rocky fastness immediately around was as still as if the -spot were aloof from time and space--so still, indeed, that a pebble -of the disintegrating cliff being released by the eternal law of change -rattled from summit to base quite audibly. From down the mountain-side -came boisterous singing. It was Welborne and his supporters. - -"D'you hear that?" Purvynes asked, as, gun under arm, he got ready to -walk on with his companion. - -"Hear what?" Hoag roused himself as from a confused dream. - -"Them young devils!" Purvynes chuckled, as if amused. "They need a good -lickin'--them boys do. Can't you hear what they are a-singin'?" - -"No, I can't. I wasn't payin' no attention." - -"Why, it's-- - -"'Jim Hoag's body lies molderin' in the grave.'" - -Hoag made no answer. He trudged along the rocky path in advance of -the other. He stumped his toes occasionally, and was puffing from the -exertion. The perspiration stood in visible drops on his furrowed brow. -They had reached Hoag's horse, and he was preparing to mount, when a -fusillade of pistol-shots, the clatter of horses' hoofs, and loud yells -were heard in the distance. - -"What's that?" Hoag paused with his hand in the mane of his mount, his -foot in the stirrup. - -"Oh, it's just them fellows celebratin' their victory. I'll bet they've -already made Nape captain. But you can see how they are a-goin' to -run things. We'll see the day, Jim, when us older men will be sorry -we didn't let up on this business sooner. You know, I believe the klan -would 'a' died out long ago if you hadn't took so much pride in it." - -"Me?" - -"Yes, you, Jim. Over half the members kept in just to curry favor -one way or another with you, an' to drink the liquor you furnished on -meetin'-nights, an' have som'er's to go." - -"I reckon you are mistaken." - -"No, I ain't. This thing's been your pet, Jim, but you're lost your grip -on it--you have sure. An' you oughtn't to be sorry--I swear you oughtn't -to be." - -The valley, which he could now see from the back of his horse, was -Nature's symbol of infinite peace. From its dark depths rose the dismal -hooting of a night-owl, the shrill piping of a tree-frog. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -|ABOUT this time Paul paid his first visit to the attractive cottage now -occupied by Warren and his wife and sister-in-law. As he entered at the -front door he saw his mother in the meadow some distance from the house. -Amanda was dusting the new furniture in the little parlor, and, seeing -him, she came forward with a flushed, pleased look on her round face. - -"Oh, we have got things to goin' scrumptious!" she laughed, as she -grasped his hand and drew him into the parlor. "Paul, it's a regular -palace. The day the furniture come we all worked till away after dark -gettin' things straight. That's the best cook-stove I ever saw, an' you -sent enough groceries to last a month. I made your ma go to town an' buy -the clothes she needed, too. The storekeeper said the more we ordered -the better it would please him, for thar wasn't no limit to your credit. -Oh, Paul, I wish I could think it was right." - -"But it _is_ right," he smiled, reassuringly. "It is right because it -makes me happy to be able to do it." - -"That's what Ethel Mayfield said--" - -"Ethel!" he broke in, his smile subsiding. "Have you seen her? Has -she--" - -"Oh, yes, she was over yesterday. Paul, she's awfully nice. I don't know -when I have ever seen a nicer young lady. She ain't one bit stuck up. -She was passin' along by the gate an' stopped an' introduced herself -to me an' Addie. She offered to come in an' help fix up the house, said -she'd love to the best in the world, but we wouldn't let 'er." - -"And you say that she said--" Paul began, tensely, "that she said I--" - -"Yes; you see, your ma begun sayin' that she couldn't feel right about -lettin' you do so much for us after all that's passed, and you know how -Addie is--she set in to cry. That's when I discovered Ethel Mayfield's -woman-heart. She choked up 'erself, an' put 'er arm round your ma in the -tenderest way, and said--Paul, she said you was the best young man -the sun ever shone on. You never heard the like since you was born. It -looked like nothin' would stop 'er. The more she went on the more -your ma cried, an' that started me, an' we was the silliest bunch o' -blubberers you ever saw--wet every rag in sight. I had to change my -apron. Ethel said you'd made a different sort o' creature of her from -what she used to be. She declared she seed all things with a clearer -sight--that thar wasn't any human difficulty you couldn't surmount. She -told your ma that she knowed it was a regular joy to you to help 'er, -an' that she must let you do it. I declare that girl looked like--I -don't know what she _did_ look like. She was as nigh an angel as any -human I ever met. Her face was as tender as a rose an' her eyes was -fairly streamin' with inside light. She kept takin' your ma by the hands -an' pettin' 'er, an' tellin' 'er she was pretty. She told us how nigh -distracted she'd been over her cousin's death, an' how you'd turned her -sorrow into comfort by the beautiful way you looked at it." - -"She is very kind," Paul said. "Is my mother coming in?" - -"Yes, she'll be in right away. Say, Paul"--Amanda caught his lapel and -held on to it--"is thar anything between you an'--I mean--it ain't none -o' my business, but it seems to me like Ethel is just the sort o' girl -that you would naturally take to, an'--" Paul detached himself from her -clinging hold, and essayed a faint smile, while his blood beat furiously -in his face. - -"You mustn't think of such things," he faltered, in a feeble effort to -appear unconcerned. "She and I are good friends, that is all. You see, -she is to inherit something from her uncle, and he has set his heart on -her marrying a rich young man in Atlanta--a fellow that is all right, -too, in every way. She knew him before she knew me, and--well, I am not -a marrying man, anyway. I really don't think I ever shall marry. Some -men have to stay single, you know." - -Amanda recaptured his lapels, and faced him with a warm stare of -tenderness. "Paul, if I thought that us three old sticks-in-the-mud was -standin' between you an' that purty, sweet girl--young as you are, -with life spreadin' out before you like it is--after all your troubles, -I--well, I couldn't let you--I just _couldn't!_" - -"How silly of you to think of such a thing!" he laughed, freely. "This -opportunity to help you all, slight as it is, will be the very making of -me." - -"It's certainly makin' a man of Jeff," Amanda smiled, through glad -tears. "He's plumb different from what he used to be. He talks about you -like you was a royal prince. He says he is acceptin' this help only as -a loan, an' that he'll pay it back 'fore he dies or break a trace. He -rises at daybreak, an' works like a steam-engine till after dark. He's -quit singin'--says he's goin' to sell the organ. He's gittin' his health -an' strength back, an' holds his head higher. A funny thing happened -yesterday. You'd 'a' laughed if you'd been here. He's been talkin' -powerful about some'n he heard you say in regard to controllin' the -temper an' not hatin' folks, an' he hammers on it constantly. He says -his temper has always held 'im down, an' that you naturally would have -more respect for 'im if he'd control it. Me an' him happened to be -stand-in' at the gate talkin' on that very subject, when we seed Jim -Hoag ridin' along toward us. Now, Jeff hadn't met Hoag face to face -since we got back, an' knowin' how quick on trigger Jeff was, an' how -high an' mighty Hoag holds hisse'f with common folks, I was afraid the -two might hitch right then an' thar. I knowed Jeff wouldn't avoid 'im -and I was sure Hoag would make 'im mad if he had half a chance, an' so -to avoid trouble I said to Jeff: 'Jeff,' said I, 'now is the time for -you to practise some o' your preachin'. Meet Jim Hoag like you don't -want no more trouble, an' all will be well betwixt you both in future.' -I reminded 'im that it was railly his duty, seein' that you git your -livin' out o' Hoag an' we was so much benefited." - -"And so they made friends," Paul said, eagerly. "I was afraid the old -score would revive again." - -"Made friends? I'll tell you how they acted an' you kin think what you -like," Amanda laughed. "I've seed Jeff in a tight place before, but not -one o' that sort. He stood hangin' his head, his lips curlin' an' his -eyes flashin', an' all the time Hoag's hoss was a-fetchin' 'im closer -an' closer. I seed Jeff makin' a struggle like a man tryin' to come -through at the mourner's bench in a revival an' bein' helt back by the -devil an' all his imps, but the best side won, an' as Hoag got opposite -the gate Jeff tuck a deep breath an' called out, 'Hold on a minute, Jim -Hoag, I want a word with you.'" - -"Good!" Paul laughed. "It was like pulling eyeteeth, but he got there, -didn't he?" - -"You wait till I'm through an' you'll see," Amanda smiled broadly, as -she stroked her face with her big hand. "Hoag drawed in his hoss an' -looked down at Jeff with a face as yaller as a pumpkin an' eyes that -fairly popped out o' their sockets. - -"'What you want to see me about?' he axed, an' I declare he growled like -a bear. - -"'Why, you see, Jim,' Jeff said, leanin' on the gate, 'me an' you have -always sorter been at outs, an' bein' as we are nigh neighbors ag'in -I thought I'd come forward like a man an' tell you that, as far as I'm -concerned, I'm sorry we hain't been able to git on better before this, -an' that I hain't no ill-will any longer, an' am willin' to stack arms -and declare peace.'" - -"Good for Jeff!" Paul chuckled; "he unloaded, didn't he?" - -"You wait till I git through," Amanda tittered under her red, crinkled -hand. "When Jeff got that out Hoag sorter lifted his reins, shoved his -heels ag'in' his hoss an' snorted. Then I heerd 'im say: 'You look out -for yourself, an' I'll do the same.' - -"He was movin' on, when Jeff fairly wrenched the gate off its hinges an' -plunged out. In a second he had the hoss by the bridle, an' was jerkin' -it back on its haunches. - -"'Say,' he yelled at Hoag, when the hoss got still, 'that thar's the -fust an' only apology I ever made to a livin' man, an' if you don't -accept it, and accept it quick, I'll have you off that hoss an' under my -feet, whar I'll stomp some politeness into you.' - -"Lord, I was scared!" Amanda continued, as she joined in her nephew's -laugh; "for Jim Hoag was mad enough to eat a keg o' nails without -chawin' 'em. I was on the p'int o' runnin' 'twixt the two when Hoag -sobered down." - -"'I don't want no trouble with you, Jeff,' he said. 'Let loose my -bridle. I want to go on home.' "'Well, do you _accept?_ I heard Jeff -yellin' at 'im, while he still hung to the reins. - -"'Yes, I accept; I don't want no fuss,' Hoag said, an' Jeff let the hoss -loose an' stood out o' the way. - -"'It's a good thing you changed your mind,' he called after Hoag, -who was joggin' on. 'I've sorter turned over a new leaf, but I hain't -fastened it down any too tight. I could put up with _some_ things -from you, but you can't spit on my apology.'" - -Paul laughed almost immoderately. "Socrates and Jesus Christ would have -laid down different rules for human conduct if they had known those two -men," he said, as he went to the rear door and looked down toward his -mother. - -Amanda followed him. "Jim Hoag ain't the only person round here -that's got a mean spirit," she commented. "I'm thinkin' now about -Tobe Williams's wife, Carrie; an' Jeff ain't the only one with a hot -temper--I'm thinkin' now about _myself_." - -"You!" Paul smiled. "You were always as pleasing as a basket of chips." - -"You don't know me, boy." Amanda subdued an inclination to smile. "I -don't reckon I git mad oftener than once a year, but when I do I take a -day off an' raise enough sand to build a court-house. I've already had -my annual picnic since I got back." - -"I'm sure you are joking now," Paul said, experimentally, an expression -of amused curiosity clutching his face. "You couldn't have got angry at -Mrs. Williams." - -"Didn't I, though--the triflin' hussy! She driv' by the day we was -housed in that pore shack of a cabin, an' put up a tale about needin' -somebody to help 'er out with her house-work an' bein' in sech a plight -with her big brood o' children that I swallowed my pride an' agreed to -help 'er. I mention pride because me'n Carrie went to school together -an' had the same beaus. She roped one in, an' is entirely welcome to -'im, the Lord knows if she doesn't. Yes, I swallowed my pride an' went. -I never hired out before, but I went. I reckon we was both lookin' -at the thing different. I had the feelin' that I was jest, you know, -helpin' a old friend out of a tight; an' well, I reckon, from the -outcome, that Carrie thought she had hired a nigger wench." - -"Oh, no, don't put it that way," Paul protested, half seriously, though -his aunt's unwonted gravity amused him highly. - -"Well, she acted plumb like it," Amanda averred, her cheeks flushed, -her eyes flashing. "All the way out to her house she was talkin' about -Jeff's flat come-down, an' Addie's sad looks, an'--an', above all, our -cabin. Said thar was a better one behind the barn, on her land, but she -believed Tobe was goin' to pack fodder in it, an' so she reckoned we'd -as well not apply for it. She kept talkin' about this here new cottage. -She'd been through it, she said, an' it was fine, an' no doubt Bob -Mayburn would rent it to some rich town family to pass the summers in. -In that case she thought we'd naturally feel uncomfortable--she knowed -_she_ would if she was in our fix, an' have to live right up ag'in' -folks that was so different. Take my word for it, Paul, she got me so -all-fired hot that I wanted to jump over the buggy-wheels an' walk back -home. I'd 'a' done it, too, but for one thing." - -"What was that?" Paul inquired, still amused. "Pride," was the -half-laughing answer. "Do you know the awkwardest predicament on earth -is to git whar you are as mad as old Harry, an' at the same time would -rather die on the rack than let it be knowed? Well, that woman had me in -that fix. She was playin' with me like a kitten with a dusty June-bug. -She knowed what she was sayin' all right, an' she knowed, too, that I -wouldn't slap 'er in the mouth--because I was too much of a lady. But -if she didn't cut gaps in me an' rub brine in no woman ever clawed an' -scratched another." - -"Too bad!" Paul said, biting his lips. "I am wondering how it ended." - -"You may well wonder," Amanda went on. "I wanted to throw up the job, -but was ashamed to let 'er see how mad I was. It was even wiles after we -got to her house. She tuck me straight to the kitchen, an' with the air -of a queen she p'inted to the nastiest lot o' pots an' pans you -ever laid eyes on, an' said she reckoned I'd have to give 'em a good -scrubbin' fust, as they was caked with grease. Then she told me what she -wanted for supper. Tobe liked string-beans, an' none 'had been fetched -from the patch, an' I'd have plenty o' time to pick 'em, an' so on, an' -so on. I saw I was in a hole an' tried to make the best of it. But when -I come to put the supper on the table that she had told her little girl -to set the plates on I seed thar was just places fixed for the family. -You see, she thought I'd wait till that triflin' gang was through an' -set down to scraps. Thar was one other thing Carrie Williams expected to -happen, but it didn't take place." - -"She expected you to put poison in the food?" Paul jested. - -"She expected me to _wait_ on 'em--to fetch the grub from the stove to -the table an' stick it under their noses, but I didn't. I took my seat -on the kitchen door-step. I heard 'er callin', but I was deef as a post. -One of the gals come an' told me her ma said they wanted a hot pone o' -bread, an' I told 'er it was in the stove, an' if she didn't hurry it -would burn--that I smelt it already. When supper was over Carrie come -an' told me they was finished. She said she was sorry all the preserves -was ate up, but that the children was greedy an' hard to control when -sweet things was in sight. I told her I didn't feel like eatin'--that I -never did when I worked over my own cookin', an' I didn't touch a bite. -I set in to washin' the dishes an' she hung about, still talkin'. Her -main theme was the old times an' how many of our crowd of girls had been -unable to keep pace an' float with her, an' the few that was left on -top. Then she mentioned you." - -"Me! I thought I'd get my share," Paul smiled. - -"Oh, she didn't have nothin' but praise for you," Amanda returned. "In -fact, she thought that would rankle. She had the idea that you was plumb -through with us, an' said it must make us ashamed to be so close to you -an' the fine folks at Hoag's. I was tempted to hit 'er betwixt the -eyes one good lick to make 'er see straight, but I helt in. I got even, -though--oh, I got even!" - -"You say you did! Tell me about it," Paul cried, highly amused. - -"We was all settin' in the yard," Amanda continued, "an' was jest fixin' -to go to bed, when Jeff come, all out o' breath, an' told us the news -about what you'd done, an' that I was wanted back home to help move. I -ain't sure the Lord will ever forgive me, Paul, but I never felt so good -in all my life as I did at the sight o' that woman. She was as limp as -a wet rag, an' fairly keeled over. She actually tried to stop Jeff from -talkin', but I pinned 'im down an' made 'im tell it over an' over. If -I axed 'im one question about the new cottage an' new furniture I did a -hundred. I went furder'n that. I looked at the house they live in--it's -jest a four-room shack, you know, made of up-an'-down boards unpainted -an' unsealed--an' axed 'er if it wasn't awful cold in winter, an' if the -roof didn't sag too much for safety, an' whar she put the beds when it -leaked. The purty part of it was that Tobe (I wish I could 'a' spared -him, for he's nice an' plain as an old shoe) kept agreein' with me, an' -braggin' on our new house, an' sayin' that he was too hard up to better -'imself. Carrie got so mad she plumb lost her grip, an' told 'im to dry -up, an' then she flounced into the house an' wouldn't come out to say -good-by. Paul, you may preach your human-love idea till you are black -in the face, but if it works on a woman like Carrie Williams it will be -when she's tied hand an' foot an' soaked with chloroform. I try not to -let this nice place an' my pride in you spoil me. I don't think anybody -could consider me stuck-up, but if Carrie Williams calls--which she is -sure to do--I'll show 'er every single item about the place, an' remind -'er how much she praised it before we got it." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -|HOAG had become so nervous and low-spirited that he found himself every -day waking earlier than usual. The dusky shadows of night were still -hovering over the earth one morning in August when, being unable to -return to sleep, he rose and went to a window and looked out. He was -preparing to shave himself when he happened to see a man leaning against -the front fence watching the house attentively. - -"It looks like Purvynes," Hoag mused. "I wonder what on earth the fellow -wants. This certainly ain't in his regular beat." - -Hoag put down his mug and brush, listened to see if Jack and his -grandmother in the adjoining room were awake, then, hearing no sound -in that part of the house, he cautiously tiptoed out into the corridor, -opened the front door, and crossed the veranda to the lawn. He now saw -that the man was indeed Purvynes. - -"Some new trouble may be brewin'," Hoag surmised, "or he wouldn't be -out as early as this." Purvynes saw him approaching and moved along the -fence to the gate, where he stood waiting, a stare of subdued excitement -blended with other emotions in his dim gray eyes. His hair was tousled, -his grizzled head untrimmed, and there were shadows, lines, and angles -in his sallow visage. - -"Early for you to be so far from home, ain't it?" was Hoag's -introductory question. - -"I reckon it is, Cap," the man answered, sheepishly, his lips quivering. -"I didn't know whether you was here or off in Atlanta, but--but I -thought I'd walk over an' see. I've been awake for an hour or more--in -fact, I hardly closed my eyes last night. My women folks are nigh -distracted, Cap. I was here yesterday, but Cato said you was over at -your new mill. I'd 'a' come after supper, if my women folks hadn't been -afraid to be left alone in the dark." - -"Huh! I see." - -There was an ominous pause. It was as if Hoag dreaded further -revelations. He felt sure that something decidedly unpleasant lay -beneath the man's perturbed exterior. For once in his life Hoag failed -to show irritation, and his next question was put almost in the tone of -entreaty. - -"What's got into you an' them all of a sudden?" he faltered. - -"You may well ask it," Purvynes said with a voluminous sigh. "A fellow -may try to put on a brave front, an' act unconcerned when trouble's in -the wind, but if he's got a gang o' crazy women an' children hangin' on -to his shirt-tail he _is_ in a fix." - -"Well, what is it--what is it?" Hoag demanded, with staccato asperity -born of his growing anxiety. - -For answer Purvynes fumbled in the pocket of his patched and tattered -coat and produced a folded sheet of foolscap paper which he awkwardly -attempted to spread out against the palings of the fence. - -"Summoned to court?" Hoag smiled, riding a wave of sudden relief. "Ah, I -see--moonshinin'. Well, you needn't let that bother you. We'll all stick -together an' swear black is white. I see. You are afeard them young -devils may turn ag'in' us out o' spite, but I can fix all that. You just -lie low, an'--" - -"God knows 'tain't that!" Purvynes held the quivering sheet open. "If -that was all I'd not bother; I wouldn't mind goin' to Atlanta again, but -we are up ag'in' som'n a sight worse. What do you think o' this paper?" - -Hoag took the sheet, and looked at it with a dull, widening stare. It -was headed by the crude design of two cross-bones and a skull which his -"klan" had used in frightening the negroes with gruesome threats and -warnings. Beneath the drawing was the following: - - -TO AWL IT CONSERNS - - -This is to inform the grate White mens klan that the Blak Foxes has met -in secret session and took axion to protect ther rights. Paysyence has -seased to bee a vurture. The white klan has lernt the foxes the trick of -how to work in the dark. Wait and see the mighty fall. We know who the -Captin is at last. We also know some of his main followers who is workin -for his smile and his gold. We don't want his cash. We are after his -meat and bones. Hel will take his sole. His body wil hang for crows to -peck out the eyes. No power above or below this earth can save him. He -wil never know the day or the hour. But his doom is seeled. They need -Marse Jimmy down where the worm dyeth not. He has sowed his seed, and -his harvest is rype. Woe unto hym and awl his gang. - -Signed in the blood of Blak Buck the Captin of the Foxes. - -his (Blak X Buck) mark. - -The sheet of paper shook, though the morning air was as still as a -vacuum. Hoag was as white as death could have made him. He silently -folded the paper and handed it back. But Purvynes waved it aside with a -dumb gesture of despair. - -"Whar did you git it?" finally fell from Hoag's lips. - -"It was tacked up on my corn-crib. I seed it from the kitchen window -yesterday mornin' 'fore breakfast. I went out an' pulled it down." - -Hoag had never attempted a more fragile sneer. "An' you let a puny thing -like that scare you out o' your socks," he said, flamboyantly. - -Purvynes's hat-brim went down and his eyes were not visible to the -desperately alert gaze of his companion. "I can take my own medicine, -Cap," he answered, doggedly, "but I can't manage women. They read the -thing 'fore I could hide it, an' you know what excited women would do -at the sight of a sheet like that. My wife's been ag'in' our doin's all -along, anyway." - -Hoag perused the sheet again, his putty-like lips moving, as was his -habit when reading. - -"How do you reckon," he glanced at the drawn face beside him, "how do -you reckon they got on to _me_ as--as the main leader?" - -Purvynes was quite sure he could answer the question. "Nape Welborne's -gang give it away. They've been braggin' right an' left about how Nape -forced you to back down that night. They've been drunk an' talked 'fore -black an' white like a pack o' fools." - -"But from _this_," Hoag tapped the fence with the folded sheet, "it -looks like the nigger that wrote, this thinks I am _still_ the head." - -"An' so much the worse," Purvynes moaned, and he clutched the fence -nervously as if to steady himself. "You an' me an' all us old members -has to suffer for the drunken pranks of them young roustabouts. When -they shot up nigger-town last week, an' abused the women an' children, -the darkies laid it at our door. In fact, that is the cause of this -very move. It was the last straw, as the sayin' is. They've got plumb -desperate, an' when niggers work underhand they will resort to anything. -It's quar, as my wife says, that we never thought they might turn the -tables an' begin our own game." - -Hoag shrugged his shoulders, but made no comment. His shaggy brows had -met and overlapped. His eyes had the glare of a beast at bay. - -"My wife thought"--Purvynes evidently felt that the point was a delicate -one, but he made it with more ease than he could have done on any former -occasion--"she thought maybe your boy Henry might have got onto you an' -talked reckless, but if he did, Cap, it was some time ago, for the boy -ain't like he used to be. He's more serious-like. I got it straight from -one o' the gang he used to run with that he's really quit his old ways -an' gone to work." - -"It's Nape Welborne's lay-out," Hoag declared. "They've done it out o' -pure spite an' enmity ag'in' me." - -Purvynes had averted his eyes; he seemed to feel that the conversation -was drifting into useless waters, so far as he was personally concerned. -"Well, I just come over. Cap, to ask you what you think _I_ ought to -do." he finally got out, as if aided by his clutch on the fence, to -which he clung quite automatically. - -"_You?"_ Hoag emphasized the word. - -"Why, yes, me. You see, Cap, my women say they simply won't stay here a -single day longer. They are scared as nigh death as any folks you ever -saw. That's why I come to you for--for advice an' to ax a favor. I'm in -an awful plight. I owe a good deal on my land. My brother is well fixed, -out in Texas, you know, an' I can move thar, but I'll have to raise some -ready cash. My farm would be good for another loan, an' you are the only -money-lender I know. You see, you know why I have to have the money, an' -I couldn't explain so well to a bank. So my wife said--" - -"I don't care what she said." Hoag's mind seemed to be making rapid -flights to and from his own numerous holdings. "If you think _you_ got -anything at stake, look at me," he plunged, dejectedly. "Why, the black -imps could--could--" - -"I ain't carin' about my farm," Purvynes broke in irrelevantly. "It's -peace of mind I want, an' freedom from the awful chatter of my folks. -Even the little ones are scared half to death. They've picked up a word -here an' thar an' follow me about whimperin' an' beggin' to be tuck to a -place of safety. Women may know how to scrub an' cook an' sew, but they -can't keep a secret like our'n when they are under pressure like this. -The wives of all the old klan--mark my words--will be together before -twelve o'clock to-day. They will brand the'rselves an' us by it, but -they won't care a red cent. They'd go to the gallows in a bunch if they -could talk about it beforehand. Cap, a hundred dollars is all I need, -an'--" - -"Don't call me Cap no more," Hoag snapped, angrily, "an' don't ask me -for money, either. I hain't got none to lend. Besides, you can't leave -your property no more than I can mine. We've got to stay an'--" - -"Your wife's dead, Cap--Jim, I mean--an' you kin talk, but my folks will -git away from these mountains if they have to foot it on ragged uppers. -They simply won't stay. Jim, my trouble is a sight deeper than I've -admitted. I--I feel like a dead man that nobody cares enough about to -bury. Say, I'm goin' to tell you, an' then I know you will pity me if it -is in you to pity _any_ man. Jim, I always thought my wife loved me as -much as the average woman loves the father of her children; but last -night--last night, away late, when she couldn't sleep, she come over to -my bed an' set down on the rail an' talked straighter than she ever has -in her life. Jim, she said--she said she thought I ought to be willin' -to go away for good an' all, an' leave 'er an' the children, since I -was responsible for this calamity. She said she was sure her an' the -children would be let alone if I'd go clean off an' never show up ag'in, -an' that she'd rather work 'er fingers to the bone than be bothered -like she is. Lord, Lord, Jim, I felt so awful that I actually cried -an' begged for mercy like a whipped child. I'd always thought she was a -soft-hearted, lovin' woman, but she was as hard as flint. She said she'd -rather never lay eyes on me ag'in than have this thing hangin' over her -an' the children. She finally agreed, if I'd git the money from you an' -leave at once, that maybe her an' the rest would follow. So that's why -I come to see you. Jim, a rich man like you can rake up a small amount -like that to accommodate an old--" - -"And leave _me_ with the bag to hold." Hoag's misery was eager for any -sort of company. "I won't lend you a cent--not a cent!" he snorted. -"We've got to--to fight this thing out. No bunch o' lazy niggers can -scare the life out o' me." - -"But we are tied hand an' foot, Jim," Purvynes faltered. "The black -brain that writ that warnin' is equal to a white man's when it comes to -that sort o' warfare. I know the threat word for word by heart. I can -shut my eyes an' see the skull an' bones. Even if we went to law for -protection we'd have to show that sheet, an' you wouldn't want to do -that as it stands, an' I don't believe all the Governor's guards in the -State could help us out, for in these mountains the niggers kin -stay under cover an' pick us off one by one as we walk about, like -sharpshooters lyin' in the weeds an' behind trees an' rocks. Then thar -is a danger that maybe you hain't thought of." - -"What's that?" Hoag asked, with a dumb stare into the other's waxlike -countenance. - -"Why, if they take a notion they kin poison all the drinkin'-water -anywhars about. Niggers don't look far ahead. They wouldn't even think -o' the widespread results to them as well as us." - -A desperate look of conviction crept across Hoag's eyes. At this -juncture he heard the front door of his house open, and, turning, he -saw Jack come out on the veranda and eagerly start down the steps toward -him. - -"Stay thar!" Hoag waved his hand dejectedly. "I'm comin' up right away." - -Jack paused on the steps, a beautiful figure with supple, slender limbs, -high, white brow under waving curls. Even at that distance, and through -the lowering mists which lay on the grass like downy feathers dropped -from the wings of dawn, the two men marked the boy's expression of -startled surprise over being so peremptorily stopped. He sat down on the -steps, his beautiful eyes fixed inquiringly on his father. - -"I'd send that boy off, anyway," Purvynes said, as if thinking for -himself. - -"You say you would!" slowly and from a mouth that twitched. "What do you -mean by--that?" - -"I mean all the niggers know how you dote on 'im, Jim. I've heard folks -say that they didn't believe you ever loved any other human alive or -dead. The niggers that got up that warnin' wouldn't hesitate to strike -at you even through a purty innocent chap like that." - -Hoag dropped his stare to the ground. He clutched a paling with a -pulseless hand and leaned forward. "I reckon maybe you are right," he -muttered. "I've heard of 'em doin' the like, even kidnappin' an' makin' -threats of bodily torture." - -Hoag glanced at his son again, and, catching his eyes, he waved his hand -and forced a smile. "I'm comin'!" he called out. "See if our breakfast -is ready. We'll have it together." - -He was turning away as if forgetful of the caller's presence, when -Purvynes stopped him. - -"What about that money, Jim?" he inquired, slowly, desperately. - -"I can't let you have it," was Hoag's ultimatum, in a rising tone of -blended despair and surliness. "We've got to fix some way to head -this thing off an' must stand together. Your folks will have to be -reasonable. I'll come over an' talk to--" - -"No, no, no, no!" in rapid-fire. "Don't come about, Jim. That would -scare 'em worse than ever. They was afraid some nigger might see me here -this mornin', an' if you was to come--" - -"Huh, I'll be looked on like a leper in a pest-house 'fore long, I -reckon!" Hoag snarled, but perhaps not so much from anger as from a -sense of the fitness of the remark. - -"Well, don't come, Jim," Purvynes repeated, bluntly. "If you hain't got -no money for me, all well an' good, but don't come about. My women are -crazy, an' the sight of you wouldn't help at all." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -|IN the few days immediately following this incident Hoag became -convinced that he had reached the gravest crisis of his career. For the -first time in his experience his helplessness was as real a thing as had -been his prowess in the past. A drab veil reeking with despair seemed -to hang between him and every visible object. He looked in stunned -amazement at the people who were going on with their daily duties as if -nothing serious had happened or was impending. He saw them smile, heard -them laugh, and noted their interest in the smallest details. - -Death! He had been absolutely blind to its claims, but now it had taken -a grim clutch upon his mind. It was made plain by men whom he had seen -die--yes, by men whom he had caused to die. Their pleadings rang in his -ears, and they themselves seemed to dog his steps like vague shapes from -a persistent nightmare. - -In some unaccountable way he was conscious of a sense of being less and -less attached to his body. There were moments in which he felt that his -limbs were dead, while he himself was as vital as ever. He was in a sort -of conscious trance, in which his soul was trying to break the bonds -of the flesh, and flee to some point of safety which was constantly -appearing and vanishing. - -Above all, the sight of his child playing about the place was the most -incongruous. He avoided joining Jack on the lawn at any time, fearing -that the act might result in disaster of some easily comprehensible -sort. But within the house he tried to atone for the neglect by a -surplus of affection. He would hold the boy in his arms for hours at -a time and fondle him as he had never fondled him before. He became -desperate in his confinement to the house, and one day he decided that -he would visit some of the most faithful of his friends, and on his -horse he started out. He rode from farm to farm, but soon noticed that -a rare thing was happening. Invariably the women, like awed, impounded -cattle, would come to the doors, and with downcast eyes and halting -voices inform him that their fathers or husbands were away. At one farm -he saw Bert Wilson, the owner, and one of the older members of the -klan, on the bank of the little creek which ran through his place, and -hitching his horse to the rail fence, Hoag, unnoticed by the farmer, -climbed over and approached him. Wilson was fishing, and with his eyes -on his rod failed to see Hoag till he was suddenly addressed. - -"Hello, what sort o' luck?" Hoag asked, assuming a lightness of tone and -mien that was foreign to his habit. - -The man was heavy-set, florid, unbearded, and past middle age. He turned -suddenly; his blue eyes flashed and glowed; he looked toward the roof of -his house above the thicket in the distance and furtively bent his neck -to view the road as if fearful of being seen. - -"Oh, just so so!" he answered, doggedly. - -"What sort o' bait are you usin'?" - -"Crickets an' grasshoppers. The traps up at your mill catch all the -big fish. Minnows an' suckers are good enough for us common folks, Jim -Hoag." - -"I'm goin' to do away with them traps, Bert," Hoag said, diplomatically, -and he sank down on the grass, and thrusting his hands into his pockets -he took out two cigars and some matches. "Have a smoke," he said, -holding a cigar toward the fisherman. - -"No, thanky." Wilson drew his line from the water and looked at the -hook. Hoag noted, with a touch of dismay, that the hook held no vestige -of bait, and yet the fisherman gravely lowered it into the water and -stood regarding it with a sullen stare. - -"Hain't quit smokin', have you?" - -Wilson stole another look at the road, and allowed his glance to sweep -on to his house. Then he raised his rod, caught the swinging line in a -firm grip, and glared at the face in the cloud of blue smoke. - -"I ain't a-goin' to use none o' _yore_ tobacco, Jim Hoag." The words -sank deep into the consciousness of the listener. - -"You say you ain't!" Hoag shrank visibly. Desperate compromises filtered -into his brain, only to be discarded. "Say, Bert, what's got into you, -anyway?" - -The fat man hesitated. His cheeks and brow flushed red. - -"This much has got into me, Hoag," he began, "an' I'm man enough to -speak out open. Us fellows have been followin' your lead like a damned -lot o' idiotic sheep. You always talked up protection, protection to our -women an' homes, when it now looks like you was just doin' it to feel -your importance as a leader in some'n or other. You kept the thing -a-goin', rid it like a hobby-hoss. Time after time my judgment told -me to stay out o' the raids you instigated, but thar was always a fool -notion among us that what one done all had to do or be disgraced, an' -so we went on until natural hatred o' you an' your bull-headed game has -brought down this calamity. Now, what I ask, an' what a lot more of us -ask, is fur you to take your medicine like a man, an' not pull us into -the scrape. If you will do this, all well an' good. You are the only one -singled out so far, an' if you will stay away from the rest of us, an' -not draw fire on us, all may go well; but, Jim Hoag--I reckon it's -my Scotch blood a-talkin' now--if you don't do it, as God is my holy -witness I wouldn't be astonished to see the old klan rise an'--an' make -an example of you, to satisfy the niggers an' show whar we stand. I -needn't say no more. You know what I mean. The klan has turned ag'in' -you. You fooled 'em a long time; but since you knuckled down to Nape -Welborne like you did they believe YOU are a rank coward, an', Jim Hoag, -no coward kin force hisse'f on a lot o' men with families when by doin' -it he puts 'em all in danger. Most of us believe that if you was shot, -or poisoned, an' put plumb out o' the way, this thing would blow over. -You kin act fair about this, or you needn't; but if you don't do it you -will be _made_ to. You fed an' pampered this thing up an' it has turned -its claws an' fangs ag'in' you--that is all. I'm desperate myself. You -are a rich man, but, by God! I feel like spittin' in your face, as you -set thar smokin' so calm when my wife an' children are unable to sleep -at night, an' afraid to go to the spring in daytime. Now, I'll say -good-momin'. I'm goin' furder down the creek, an' I don't want you to -follow me." - -"Looky' here, Bert." There was a piteous, newborn frailty in Hoag's -utterance. "Listen a minute. I--" - -"I'm done with you," Wilson waved his hand firmly. "Not another word. -You are in a hell of a plight, but it don't concern me. Under your rule -I was tryin' to protect my family, an' now that I am from under it I'll -do the same. My folks come fust with me." - -With the sun in his face, his knees drawn close to his chin, Hoag sat -and watched the man as he stolidly strode away through the wind-stirred -broom-sedge. The drooping willows, erect cane-brake, and stately mullein -stalks formed a curtain of green which seemed to hang from the blue dome -covered with snowy clouds. When Wilson had disappeared Hoag slowly rose -to his feet, and plodded across the field to his horse. Here again, in -mounting, he experienced the odd weightiness of his feet and legs, as if -his mental unrest had deprived them of all physical vitality, and him of -the means of restoring it. - -Reaching home, he went to the barn-yard to turn his horse over to Cato. -The negro was always supposed to be there at that hour, but though Hoag -called loudly several times there was no response. Swearing impatiently, -and for the first time shrinking from his own oaths, he took off the -bridle and saddle and fed the animal. While he was in the stall he heard -a sudden, cracking sound in the loft overhead, and his heart sank like a -plummet into deep water. Crouching down under the wooden trough, he drew -his revolver and cocked it. For a moment he held his breath. Then the -cackling of a hen in the hay above explained the sound, and restoring -his revolver to his pocket he went to the house. - -Mrs. Tilton was at her churn in the side-gallery. Her slow, downward -strokes and easy poise of body seemed wholly apart from the uncanny -realm which he occupied alone. She looked up and eyed him curiously over -her silver-rimmed spectacles. - -"Whar's that nigger Cato?" he demanded. - -"I'm afraid he's left for good," she returned. "He's acted odd all -day--refused outright to fetch water to the kitchen. I told 'im I'd -report to you, but he stood with the most impudent look on his face, -an' wouldn't budge an inch. Then I watched an' saw him go in his cabin. -Purty soon he come out with a bundle under his arm, an' started toward -town. After he was out o' sight I went to his shack an' found that he -had taken all his things--every scrap he could call his own. I reckon -he's off for good. Aunt Dilly won't talk much, but she thinks it is all -due to the raid the mountain men made on the negroes in town the other -night. I know you wasn't in _that_, Jim, because you was here at home." - -"No, I wasn't in it." - -"I certainly am glad of it." The woman seemed to churn the words into -her butter. "The whole thing has been run in the ground. It is near -cotton-pickin' time, an' if the niggers all leave the country help, -won't be had. The crops will rot in the field for the lack o' hands to -pick it from the bolls." - -Hoag passed on into the house and through the hall into his own chamber. -Here the air seemed oppressively warm, the plastered walls giving out -heat as from the closed door of a furnace. Throwing off his coat, he sat -down before a window. Such a maze and multiplicity of thoughts had never -before beset his brain. The incidents of his life, small and large, -marched past with the regularity of soldiers. How strange that Sid -Trawley's face, ablaze with its new light, should emerge so frequently -from amid the others! How odd that he should recall Paul Rundel's notion -of giving himself up to the law and suffering the consequences of his -supposed crime! And the effect on both men had been astounding. Sid had -nothing to fear, and to Paul all good things were falling as naturally -as rain from clouds. Then there was Henry, who had suddenly turned about -and was making a man of himself. - -At this moment a childish voice was heard singing a plantation melody. -It was Jack at play on the lawn. Hoag leaned from the window and saw -the boy, with hammer and nails, mending a toy wagon. Paul Rundel was -entering the gate. Hoag noted the puckered lips of his manager and -heard his merry whistle. He saw him pause, tenderly stroke Jack's waving -curls, and smile. Who had ever seen a face more thoroughly at peace than -this young man's--a smile more spontaneous? - -Hoag went to the front door and stood waiting for Paul to approach. The -terror within him suggested that the young man might bring fresh news -concerning the things he so much dreaded. - -"Be careful, Jack," Paul was advising the boy. "If you start to coast -down a steep hill in that thing you might not be able to guide it, -and--zip! against a tree or stump you'd go, an' we'd have to fish -you out among the splinters." This was followed by some low-spoken -directions from Paul, in which the listener on the veranda caught the -words, "friction," "nuts and bolts," "lubricating oil," and "electric -motor." - -Then the young man turned, and seeing Hoag he came on. There was -a triumphant beam in his eye, an eager flush in his cheeks, as he -approached the steps. - -"Glad you are at home," he began. "I was going to look you up the first -thing." - -"Did you want to--see me about--I mean--" - -"Yes, I've landed that thing at last--put it through." - -"You say you've--" Hoag's thoughts were widely scattered. "You say--" - -"Why, the shingle contract, you remember." Paul stared wonderingly. -"You know you were afraid the Louisville parties would not sign up at -my price, but they have. They take ten car-loads of pine stock at that -figure and give us two years to fill the order. But have you"--Paul -was studying the man's face--"have you changed your mind? Yesterday you -thought--" - -"Oh, it's all right--it's splendid!" Hoag's voice was lifeless; he -looked away with the fixed stare of a somnambulist; he wiped his brow -with his broad hand and dried it on his trousers. "You say they take -five cars?" - -"They take _ten_," Paul repeated, his elation oozing from him like a -vapor. "It will keep our force busy summer and winter and all the extra -teams we can get. I've found a place for your idle saw-mill, too--over -at the foot of the ridge. I'm sure, when you have time to look over my -figures, that you will see plenty of profit for you and good wages -for the hands. The men are all tickled. You don't look as if you were -pleased exactly, Mr. Hoag, and if anything has happened to change your -mind--" - -"Oh, I am pleased--I am--I am!" Hoag asseverated. "You've done -well--powerful well. In fact, _very_ well. I'll glance at your figures -some time soon, but not now--not now. I'll leave it all to you," and -Hoag retreated into the house and shut himself in his room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -|THERE was a galvanized sheet-iron mail-box near the gate of the -tannery, and in it once a day a carrier passing on horseback placed the -letters and papers which came for the family. Little Jack loved to take -the key and open the box after the carrier had passed and bring the -contents to the house and distribute it to the various recipients. Hoag -sat on the veranda one afternoon waiting for Jack, who had just gone to -the box, having heard the carrier's whistle. Presently the boy came in -at the gate holding several letters in his hands, and he brought them to -his father. - -"Here's one without a stamp," Jack smiled. "That's funny; I thought all -U. S. letters had to have stamps on them." - -Hoag saw only that particular envelope in the lot which was laid on his -knee. - -"It must have been an accident," he muttered. "The stamp may have -dropped off." - -"More likely that somebody passed along, and put the letter into the -box," Jack's inventive mind suggested. - -Hoag made no reply. He had already surmised that this might be the case. -There was a title prefixed to his name which he had never seen written -before, and it held his eyes like the charm of a deadly reptile. - -"Captain Jimmy Hoag," was the superscription in its entirety, and -the recipient remembered having seen the scrawling script before. -Automatically he singled out the letters for Paul and for Ethel and her -mother, and sent Jack to deliver them. - -When his son had disappeared Hoag rose and crept stealthily back to -his room. Why he did so he could not have explained, but he even locked -himself in, turning the key as noiselessly as a burglar might have done -in the stillness of night. He laid the envelope on the bed and for a -moment stood over it, staring down on it with desperate eyes. Then, with -quivering, inert fingers he opened it and spread out the inclosed sheet. -It bore the same skull and crossbones as the former warning, and beneath -was written: - -_The day and the hour is close at hand. Keep your eye on the clock. We -will do the rest._ - -_his (Blak X Buck) mark_. - -That was all. Hoag took it to the fireplace, struck a match, and was -about to ignite the paper, but refrained. Extinguishing the match, he -rested a quivering elbow on the mantelpiece, and reflected. What ought -he to do with the paper? If it were found on his dead body it would -explain things not now generally known. Dead body! How could he think -of his dead body? _His_ body, white, cold, and lifeless, perhaps with a -stare of terror in the eyes! Why, he had never even thought of himself -as being like that, and yet what could prevent it now? What? - -Some one--Ethel or her mother--was playing the piano in the parlor. Aunt -Dilly was heard singing while at work behind the house. Jack ran through -the hall, making a healthy boy's usual clatter, and his father heard him -merrily calling across the lawn to Paul Rundel that he had left a letter -for him on his table. - -All this was maddening. It represented life in its full swing and ardor, -while here was something as grim and pitilessly exultant as hell itself -could devise. Hoag folded the paper in his bloodless hands and sank -upon the edge of his bed. He had used his brain shrewdly and skilfully -hitherto, and in what way could he make it serve him now? Something must -be done, but what? He could not appeal to the law, for he had made -his own laws, and they were inadequate. He could not evoke the aid -of friends, for they--such as they were--had left him like stampeded -cattle, hoping that by his death the wrath of the hidden avenger might -be appeased. He could flee and leave all his possessions to others, but -something told him that he would be pursued. - -When the dusk was falling he went out on the lawn. Ethel and Paul were -seated on a rustic bench near the summer-house, and he avoided them. -Seeing Mrs. Mayfield at the gate, he turned round behind the house to -keep from meeting and exchanging platitudes with her. In the back -yard he pottered about mechanically, inspecting his beehives, his -chicken-house and dog-kennel, receptive of only one thought. He wondered -if he were really losing his mental balance, else why should he be so -devoid of resources? He now realized the terrible power embodied in -the gruesome warnings his brain had fashioned and circulated among a -simple-minded, superstitious people. What he was now facing they had -long cowered under. The thought of prayer, as a last resort, flashed -into his mind, but he promptly told himself that only fools prayed. -Biblical quotations flocked about him as if from his far-off childhood. -And such quotations as they were! - -"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord," and "What is a man profited, if he -shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" These things seemed -to be borne to him on the breeze that swept down from the beetling rocks -of the mountains which leaned against the star-studded sky. - -After an all but sleepless night, Hoag ate breakfast with the family the -next morning, and announced his intention of running down to Atlanta for -a day or so on business. Paul wanted to ask some questions pertaining to -his work, but Hoag swept them aside with a turgid wave of the hand. - -"Run it yourself; it will be all right," he said. "Your judgment is as -good as mine. I don't feel exactly well here lately. I have headaches -that I didn't use to have, an' I think I'll talk to a doctor down thar. -I don't know; I say _maybe_ I will." - -Riding to town, he left his horse at Trawley's stable, and going to the -railway station below the Square he strolled about on the platform. -A locomotive's whistle several miles up the valley announced that the -train was on time. Approaching the window of the ticket-office, which -was within the little waiting-room, he found the opening quite filled by -a broad-brimmed farmer's hat, a pair of heavy shoulders on a long body, -supported by a pair of gaunt jeans-clothed legs. - -"Yes, I'm off for Texas." He recognized Purvynes's voice in cheerful -conversation with the agent. "My brother says I ought to come. He's got -a good thing for me out thar--land's as black as a hat, an' as rich as -a stable-lot a hundred year old. He was so set on havin' me that he lent -me the money to go on. So long! Good luck to you!" - -The head was withdrawn from the window; a pair of brown hands were -awkwardly folding a long green emigrant's ticket, and Purvynes suddenly -saw the man behind him. - -"Hello, you off?" Hoag hastily summoned a casual tone. - -The start, the dogged lowering of the head, the vanishing of Purvynes's -smile, were successive blows to the shrinking consciousness of the -inquirer. - -"Yes, I'm off." Purvynes's eyes were now shifting restlessly. Then he -lowered his voice, and a touch of malice crept into it as he added: "You -see, I didn't have to do it on your money, nuther, an' you bet I'm -glad. It's tainted if ever cash was, an' I want to shake every grain o' -Georgia dust off my feet, anyway." - -"I'm goin' as far as Atlanta," Hoag said, tentatively. "I may see you on -the train." - -"My ticket's _second class_." Purvynes shrugged his shoulders. "I'll -have to ride in the emigrant-car, next to the engine. I reckon we--we'd -better stay apart, Jim, anyhow. I want it that way," he added, in a low, -firm tone, and with smoldering fires in his eyes which seemed about to -burst into flame. - -"All right, all right!" Hoag hastily acquiesced. "You know best," and he -turned to the window and bought his ticket. The agent made a courteous -remark about the weather and the crops, and in some fashion Hoag -responded, but his thoughts were far away. - -He found himself almost alone, in the smoking-car. He took a cigar from -his pocket, lighted it, and, raising the window, blew the smoke outside. -A baggage-truck was being trundled by. He could have put out his hand -and touched the heap of trunks and bags with which it was laden. A burly -negro was pushing it along. Raising his eyes suddenly, he saw Hoag, -and there was no mistaking the startled look beneath the lines of his -swarthy face. Another blow had been received. Hoag turned from the -window. The train started on, slowly at first, and, going faster and -faster, soon was passing through Hoag's property. Never on any other -occasion had he failed to survey these possessions with pride and -interest. The feeling had died within him. A drab disenchantment seemed -to have fallen upon every visible object. All he owned--the things which -had once been as his life's blood--had dwindled till they amounted to no -more than the broken toys of babyhood. - -Beyond his fertile lands and the roofs of his buildings rose a -red-soiled hill which was the property of the village. Hoag turned his -head to look at it. He shuddered. Tall white shafts shone in the full -yellow light. One, distinctly visible, marked the grave of his wife, on -which Hoag had spared no expense. There was room for another shaft close -beside it. Under it a murdered man would lie. That was inevitable unless -something was done--and what could be done? "Death, death, death!" The -smooth, flanged wheels seemed to grind the words into the steel rails. -They were written on the blue sky along the earth-rimmed horizon. They -were whispered from the lowest depths of himself. His blood crept, cold -and sluggish, through his veins. A chill seemed to have attacked his -feet and ankles and was gradually creeping upward. He remembered that -this was said to be the sensation of dying, and he stood up and stamped -his feet in vigorous, rebellious terror. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -|BY and by Atlanta was reached. Slowly and with a clanging bell the -train crept into the grimy switch-yards bordered by sooty iron furnaces, -factories, warehouses, planing-mills, and under street bridges and on -into the big depot. Here his ears were greeted with the usual jumble, -din, and babble of voices, the escaping of steam, the calls of -train-porters. Hoag left the car, joined the jostling human current on -the concrete pavement, and was soon in the street outside. Formerly he -had ridden to his hotel in a trolley-car, but none was in sight, and -seeing a negro cabman signaling to him with a smile and a seductive wave -of his whip he went forward and got in. - -"Kimball House," he said to the man, and with a snap of the latch the -door was closed upon him. - -Rumbling over the cobblestones, through the active scene which was -bisected by the thoroughfare, he strove in vain to recapture the -sensation he had formerly had on such outings--the sensation that he was -where enjoyment of a certain sensual sort could be bought. Formerly the -fact that he was able to pay for a cab, that he was headed for a hotel -where servants would obey his beck and call, where food, drinks, and -cigars would be exactly to his taste, and where he would be taken for -a man of importance, would have given a certain elation of spirits, but -to-day all this was changed. - -Had he been driving to an undertaker's to arrange the details of his -own burial, he could, not have experienced a more persistent and weighty -depression. Indeed, the realization of an intangible fate, of which -death itself was only a part, seemed to percolate through him. His -body was as dead as stone, his soul never more alive, more alert, more -desperate. - -At the desk in the great noisy foyer of the hotel, where the clerks knew -him and where he paused to register, he shrank from a cordiality and -recognition which hitherto had been welcome enough. Even the clerks -seemed to be ruthless automatons in whose hands his fate might rest. -As one of them carelessly penciled the number of his room after lois -signature, and loudly called it out to a row of colored porters, he had -a sudden impulse to silence the voice and whisper a request for another -room the number of which was to be private; but he said nothing, and was -led away by a bell-boy. - -They took the elevator to the fifth floor. The boy, carrying his bag, -showed him to a chamber at the end of a long, empty corridor. The -servant unlocked the door, threw it open, and, going in, put down the -bag and raised the sash of the window, letting in the din of the street -below. Then he waited for orders. - -"A pint of best rye whisky, and ice water!" Hoag said. "Bring 'em right -away, and some cigars--a dozen good ones. Charge to my account." - -"All right, boss," the porter bowed and was gone. Hoag sat down by -the window and glanced out. He noticed a trolley-car bound for a -pleasure-resort near the city. It had been a place to which on warm days -he had enjoyed going. There was an open-air theater there, and he had -been fond of getting a seat in the front row, and smiling patronizingly -at the painted and powdered players while he smoked and drank. But this -now was like a thing which had lived, died, and could not be revived. -He had, for another amusement, lounged about certain pool-rooms and -bucket-shops, spending agreeable days with men of wealth and speculative -tendencies--men who loved a game of poker for reasonable stakes and who -asked his advice as to the future market of cotton or wheat; but from -this, too, the charm had flown. - -"What is a man profited--" The words seemed an echo from some voice -stilled long ago--a voice weirdly like that of his mother, who had been -a Christian woman. The patriarchal countenance of Silas Tye, that humble -visage so full of mystic content and placid certitude, stood before his -mind's eye. Then there was Paul, a younger disciple of the ancient one. -And, after all, what a strange and wonderful life had opened out before -the fellow! Why, he had nothing to avoid, nothing to regret, nothing to -fear. - -The bell-boy brought the whisky and cigars, and when he had gone Hoag -drank copiously, telling himself that the stimulant would restore his -lost confidence, put to flight the absurd fancies which had beset him. -He remained locked in his room the remainder of the afternoon. It was -filled with the smoke of many cigars, and his brain was confused by the -whisky he kept drinking. Looking from the window, he saw that night had -fallen. The long streets from end to end were ablaze with light. Groping -to the wall, he finally found an electric button and turned on the -current. He had just gone back to the window when there was a rap on -his door. He started, fell to quivering as from the sheer premonition of -disaster, and yet he called out: - -"Come in!" - -It was the bell-boy. - -"A letter for you, sir," he announced, holding it forward. "A colored -gen'man lef' it at de desk jes' er minute ergo." - -Hoag had the sensation of falling from a great height in a dizzy dream. -"Whar is he?" he gasped, as he reached for the envelope. - -"He's gone, sir. He tol' de clerk ter please have it tuck up quick, dat -it was some important news, an' den he went off in er hurry." - -"Did--did you know 'im?" Hoag fairly gasped. - -"Never seed 'im befo', sir; looked ter me like er country nigger--didn't -seem ter know which way ter turn." - -When the boy had gone Hoag looked at the inscription on the letter. He -had seen the writing before. - -"Captin Jimmy Hoag, Kimball House, City of Atlanta," was on the outside. -He sank down into his chair and fumbled the sealed envelope in his numb -fingers. His brain was clear now. It had never been clearer. Presently -he opened the envelope and unfolded the sheet. - -It ran as follows: - -_One place is as good as another. You cannot git away. We got you, and -your time is short. Go to the end of the earth and we will be there to -meet you. By order of his (Blak X Buck) mark._ - -With the sheet crumpled in his clammy hand, Hoag sat still for more -than an hour. Then he rose, shook himself, and took a big drink of -whisky, He resolved that he would throw off the cowardly paralysis that -was on him and be done with it. He would go out and spend the evening -somewhere. Anything was better than this self-imprisonment in solitude -that was maddening. - -Going down to the office, he suddenly met Edward Peterson as he was -turning from the counter. The young man smiled a welcome as he extended -his hand. - -"I was just going up to your room," he said. "I happened to see your -name on the register while I was looking for an out-of-town customer of -ours who was due here to-day. Down for long?" - -"I can't say--I railly can't say," Hoag floundered. "It all -depends--some few matters to--to see to." - -"I was going to write you," the banker continued, his face elongated and -quite grave. "I regard you as a friend, Mr. Hoag--I may say, as one of -the best I have. I'm sure I've always looked after your interests at -this end of the line as carefully as if they had been my own." - -"Yes, yes, I know that, of course." Hoag's response was a hurried -compound of impatience, indifference, and despair. - -Peterson threw an eager glance at some vacant chairs near by and touched -Hoag's arm. "Let's sit down," he entreated. "I want to talk to you. I -just can't put it off. I'm awfully bothered, Mr. Hoag, and if anybody -can help me you can." Hoag allowed himself to be half led, half dragged -to the chair, and he and his companion sat down together. - -"It's about Miss Ethel," Peterson went on, desperately, laying an -appealing hand on Hoag's massive knee. "The last time I saw her at your -house I thought she was friendly enough, but something is wrong now, -sure. She won't write often, and when she does her letters are cold and -stiff. I got one from her mother to-day. Mrs. Mayfield seems bothered. -She doesn't seem fully to understand Miss Ethel, either." - -"I don't know anything about it." Hoag felt compelled to make some -reply. "The truth is, I haven't had time to--to talk to Eth' lately, -and--" - -"But you told me that you _would_." Peterson's stare was fixed and full -of suppressed suspense. "I've been depending on you. My--my pride is--I -may say that my pride is hurt, Mr. Hoag. My friends down here consider -me solid with the young lady, and it looks as if she were trying to pull -away and leave me in the lurch. I don't see how I can stand it. I've -never been turned down before and it hurts, especially when folks have -regarded the thing as practically settled. Why--why, my salary has been -raised on the strength of it." - -Hoag's entire thoughts were on the communication he had just received. -He expected every moment to see his assassin stalk across the tiled -floor from one of the many entrances and fire upon him. Peterson's voice -and perturbation were as vexatious as the drone of a mosquito. Of what -importance was another's puppy love to a man on the gallows looking for -the last time at the sunshine? He rose to his feet; he laid his hand on -the young man's shoulder. - -"You must let me alone to-night," he bluntly demanded. "I've got a -matter of important business on my mind and I can't talk to you. You -must, I tell you; you must!" - -"All right, all right!" Peterson stared and gasped as if smitten in -the face. "I'll see you in the morning. You'll come around to the bank, -won't you?" - -"Yes, yes--in the morning. I'll be round." When he was alone Hoag -strolled back to the bar-room. He familiarly nodded to the barkeeper, -and smiled mechanically as he called for whisky. He drank, lighted a -cigar, leaned for an instant against the polished counter, and then, -seeing a man entering whom he knew and wished to avoid, he turned back -into the foyer. Presently he went to the front door and glanced up and -down the street. A cab was at the edge of the sidewalk, and the negro -driver called out to him: - -"Ca'iage, boss? Any part de city." - -"All right, I'm with you," Hoag went to the cab, whispered an address, -got in, and closed the door. With a knowing smile the negro mounted his -seat and drove away. At the corner he turned down Decatur Street, and -presently drove into a short street leading toward the railroad. Here -the houses on either side of the way had red glass in the doors, through -which crimson rays of light streamed out on the pavement. The cab was -about to slow up at one of the houses when Hoag rapped on the window. -The driver leaned down and opened the door. - -"What is it, boss?" - -"Take me back to the hotel," was the command. - -The driver paused in astonishment, then slowly turned his horse and -started back. - -"It might happen thar, and Jack would find out about it," Hoag leaned -back and groaned. "That would never do. It is bad enough as it is, but -that would be worse. He might grow up an' be ashamed even to mention me. -Henry is tryin' to do right, too, an' I'd hate for him to know." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -|AT twelve o'clock at night, two days later, Hoag returned to Grayson. -It was warm and cloudy, and when he left the train he found himself -alone on the unlighted platform. No one was in sight, and yet he felt -insecure. He told himself, when the train had rumbled away, that it -would be easy for an assassin to stand behind the little tool-house, the -closed restaurant, or the railway blacksmith's shop and fire upon him. -So, clutching his bag in his cold fingers, he walked swiftly up to the -Square. Here, also, no one was in sight, and everything was so still -that he could almost fancy hearing the occupants of the near-by hotel -breathing. He turned down to Sid Trawley's stable to get his horse. The -dim light of a murky lantern swinging from a beam at the far end shone -in a foggy circle. The little office on the right was used by Trawley as -a bedroom. The door was closed, but through the window a faint light was -visible, and there was a sound within as of a man removing his shoes. - -"Hello, Sid, you thar?" Hoag called out. - -"Yes, yes; who's that?" - -Hoag hesitated; then stepping close to the window, he said, in a lower -tone: "Me--Jim Hoag; I want my hoss, Sid." - -"Oh, it's _you_; all right--all right!" - -The sound in the room was louder now, and then Trawley, without coat or -hat, his coarse shirt gaping at the neck, opened the door and came out. - -"You got here quick, I'll swear," the liveryman ejaculated. "Surely you -wasn't in Atlanta like they said you was, or you couldn't 'a' got here -as soon as this." - -"Soon as this! What do you mean? I am just from Atlanta." - -"Then they didn't telegraph you?" - -"No; what do you mean? I hain't heard a word from here since I left." -Hoag caught his breath, thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood, -openmouthed. - -"You don't say! Then, of course, you couldn't know about Henry's -trouble?" - -"No, I tell you I'm just back. What's wrong?" - -"It happened about nine o'clock to-night," Trawley explained. "In fact, -the town has just quieted down. For a while I expected the whole place -to go up in flames. It was in the hands of the craziest mob you ever -saw--Nape Welborne's gang." - -"What about Henry? Was he hurt, or--" - -"Oh, he's all right now, or was when me'n Paul Rundel, an' one or two -more friends put 'im to bed in the hotel. Doctor Wynn says he is bruised -up purty bad, but no bones is broke or arteries cut." - -"Another fight, I reckon!" Hoag was prepared to dismiss the matter as -too slight for notice in contrast to his far heavier woes. - -"Yes, but this time you won't blame him, Jim. In fact, you are the one -man on earth that will stand up for 'im if thar's a spark o' good left -in you. He was fightin' for you, Jim Hoag. I used to think Henry didn't -amount to much, but I've changed. I take off my hat to 'im, an' it will -stay off from now on." - -"Fighting for _me?_" Hoag's fears gathered from many directions and -ruthlessly leaped upon him. - -"Yes, it seems that Nape Welborne had it in for you for some reason or -other, an' you bein' away he determined to take it out on your boy. I -knowed trouble was brewin', an' I got Henry to come down here away from -the drinkin' crowd in front o' his store. Henry has been powerfully -interested in some o' the things Paul Rundel an' me believe here lately -about the right way to live, an' me'n him was talkin' about it. We was -gettin' on nice an' quiet in our talk when who should come but Nape an' -his bloodthirsty lay-out, fifteen or twenty strong. You know Nape, an' -you no doubt understand his sneakin', underhanded way of pickin' a fuss. -He took a chair thar in front, an' though he knowed Henry was listenin' -he begun on you. What he didn't say, along with his oaths and sneers, -never could 'a' been thought of. He begun gradual-like an' kept heapin' -it on hot an' heavy, his eyes on Henry all the time, an' his stand-by's -laughin' an' cheerin' 'im. I never saw such a look on a human face as I -seed on your boy's. Seemed like he was tryin' to hold in, but couldn't. -I pulled him aside a little, an' told him to remember his good -resolutions an' to try to stay out of a row ag'in' sech awful odds; but -lookin' me straight in the eye he said: - -"'A man can't reform to do any good, Sid, an' be a coward. He's -insulting my father, an' I can't stand it. I can't, and I won't!'" - -Trawley paused an instant, and Hoag caught his breath. - -"He said that, did he--Henry said that?" - -"Yes, I tried to pacify him, knowin' that he wouldn't stand a ghost of a -chance ag'in' sech odds, but nothin' I said had the slightest effect on -'im. He pulled away from me, slow an' polite like. He thanked me as nice -as you please, then he went straight toward Welborne. He had stood so -much already that I reckon Nape thought he was goin' to pass by, to get -away, an' Nape was beginnin' to laugh an' start some fresh talk when -Henry stopped in front of him suddenly an' drawed back his fist an' -struck 'im a blow in the mouth that knocked Nape clean out o' his chair. -Nape rolled over ag'in the wall, then sprung up spiffin' blood an' -yellin', an' the two had it nip an' tuck for a minute, but the gang -wouldn't see fair-play. They was all drunk an' full o' mob spirit an' -they closed in on the boy like ants on a speck o' bread an' begun to -yell, 'Lynch 'im, lynch 'im!' - -"It was like flint-sparks to powder in the pan. It was the wildest -mix-up I ever saw, and I have seed a good many in my day. Henry was in -the middle duckin' down, striking out whenever he could, an' callin' 'em -dirty dogs and cowardly cutthroats. They meant business. They drug the -poor boy on to the thicket back of the Court House an' stopped under a -tree. Some fellow had got one of my hitchin' ropes, an' they flung it -'round Henry's neck, and tied his hands and feet. I thought it was up -with 'im, when an unexpected thing happened. Paul Rundel rid up on a -hoss, an' jumped down and sprung in the middle of the mob. I was doin' -all I could, but that wasn't nothin'. I saw Paul holdin' up his hands, -an' beggin' 'em to listen for a minute. They kept drownin' 'im out by -the'r crazy yells, but after a while Paul caught the'r attention, an' -with his hands on Henry's shoulders he begun to talk. Jim Hoag, as God -is my judge, I don't believe thar ever was made a more powerful orator -than that very young feller. His words swept through that crowd like -electricity from a dynamo. I can't begin to tell you what he said. It -was the whole life an' law of Jesus packed into explodin' bomb-shells. -You'd 'a' thought he was cryin', from his tender face, but his eyes was -gleamin' like shootin'-stars, an' he was mad enough to fight a buzz-saw. -Some fellow in the gang said, 'Git away from that man, Rundel, or I'll -shoot you!' an' Paul laughed, an' said, 'Fire away, my friend, but see -that you don't hit yourself while you are at it!' - -"Then somebody knocked the pistol down an' Paul went on talkin'. One -by one the crowd got ashamed and sluffed off, an' presently just me an' -Paul an' Henry an' one or two more was left. We took Henry to the hotel -an' got a room for 'im, an' made 'im go to bed." - -Trawley ceased speaking. Hoag stood with downcast eyes. He had nothing -to say. - -"Mark my word," Trawley added, confidently, "the day o' mobs hereabouts -is over. This was the straw that breaks the camel's back. The old -klan is down an' out, an' Paul Rundel will settle the young gang. They -respect 'im. They can't help it, an' he told me he was goin' to make it -his chief aim to crush it out." - -Hoag remained silent and Trawley went to a stall in the rear and brought -his horse forward. - -"You ain't goin' in to see Henry 'fore you go out, are you?" he asked, -as he released the bridle-reins. - -"Not to-night," was the reply. "He may be 'asleep. I'll--I'll see 'im, I -reckon, to-morrow." - -Hoag thrust a clumsy foot into the wooden stirrup, and bent his knees as -if to mount, but failed. There was a block near by, and he led his horse -to it, and from the block finally got into the saddle. - -"Good night," he said, and he rode away. At the street-corner he took -out his revolver and, holding it in one hand, he urged his horse into a -gallop. From every fence-corner or dark clump of bushes on the roadside -he expected to see armed men arise and confront him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -|ONE morning, three days later, as Paul was writing in his room his -employer came in holding a sheet of paper in his hand. His face was -bloated, his eyes bloodshot; he had lost flesh and quivered in every -limb and muscle. - -"I want to ask a favor," he said, in a tone which was almost that of -pleading humility. - -"What is it? I'm at your service," the young man said, politely -indicating the vacant chair beside the table. - -Hoag caught the back of the chair as if to steady himself, but declined -to sit down. He made a dismal failure of a smile of unconcern. "You -needn't think I'm gittin' ready to die by this move o' mine," he began, -"but I think any sensible man ought to be prepared for any possible -accident to him. I've made my will, an' I want you to witness it. It -won't be contested, and your name will be sufficient." - -"Oh, I see." Paul was mystified, but he took the document from the -nerveless hand and spread it open on the table. - -"You needn't bother to read it through." Hoag's voice trailed away -toward indistinctness, and he coughed and cleared his throat. "I've -made an even divide of all my effects betwixt Jack an' Henry an' Eth', -an'--an' I've specified that the business--in case o' my death--is to -run on under your care till Jack is of age--that is, if you are willin': -you to draw whatever pay you feel is reasonable or is fixed by the law." - -"Of course that is agreeable," Paul answered, "though I shall count on -your aid and advice for a good many years, I am sure." - -Hoag blinked. He swung on the chair a moment, then he added: - -"There is one more thing, an' I hope you won't object to that, neither. -It's about Jack. The child is at the age when he kin either grow up -under good or--or what you might call bad influence, an' somehow I -want--I've studied over it a lot lately--an' I want to take the thing -in time. You don't believe exactly like other folks, but you are on the -safe side--the safest, I might say. Jack thinks the sun rises an' sets -in you"--Hoag's voice shook slightly--"I reckon it's because you treat -the little fellow so friendly an' nice, an' it struck me that in case of -any--you know--any possible accident to me that I'd like for you to be -his guardian." - -"His _guardian?_ I! Why, Mr. Hoag--" - -"Never mind; I know what you are goin' to say. You think you are too -young, I reckon, but I've thought about it a lot, an' I really would -feel better in--in my mind if you'd agree. I ain't--I can't say I -am"--Hoag attempted a laugh of indifference--"actually countin' on the -grave right _now_, but a feller like me has enemies. In fact, I may as -well say I _know_ I have some, an' they wouldn't hesitate to settle me -if they had a fair chance. I've writ it all down thar, an' I'm goin' to -sign it an' I want you to witness my signature." - -"Very well, Mr. Hoag. I feel highly honored, and I'll do my best to -prove worthy of the trust you place in me." - -"I ain't a-worryin' about that. You are a plumb mystery to me. Sometimes -I think you are more'n human. I know one thing--I know you are all -right." Hoag's massive hand shook as he dipped a pen, leaned down, and -wrote his name. He stood erect and watched Paul sign his name opposite -it. - -"You take care of it." Hoag waved his hand. "Put it in the safe at the -warehouse. I can't think of anything else right now. If--if I do, I'll -mention it." - -"I have an order for several grades of leather from Nashville," Paul -began, picking up a letter on the table, "and I want to consult you -about--" - -"I'd rather you wouldn't." A sickly look of despair had settled on the -heavy features. "I'm willin' to trust your judgment entirely. What you -do will be all right. You see--you see, somehow it is a comfort at my -time o' life--an' harassed like I am--to feel that I ain't obliged to -bother about so many odds an' ends." - -"Very well, as you think best," Paul answered. "I'll do all I can." - -Hoag was seated on the watering-trough in the barn-yard a little later, -his dull gaze on the sunlit mountain-side, when two soft, small hands -were placed over his eyes from behind and he felt the clasp of a tender -pair of arms around his neck. - -"Who's got you?" a young voice asked, in a bird-like ripple of -merriment. - -"Jack!" Hoag answered, and he drew the boy into his lap, stroked his -flowing tresses, and held him tightly against his breast. - -The child laughed gleefully. He sat for a moment on the big, trembling -knee; then, seeing a butterfly fluttering over a dungheap, he sprang -down and ran after it. It evaded the outstretched straw hat, and Hoag -saw him climb over the fence and dart across the meadow. Away the lithe -creature bounded--as free as the balmy breeze upon which he seemed to -ride as easily as the thing he was pursuing. Hoag groaned. His despair -held him like a vise. On every side hung the black curtains of his doom. -All nature seemed to mock him. Birds were singing in the near-by woods. -On the sloping roof of the bam blue and white pigeons were strutting -and cooing. On the lawn a stately peacock with plumage spread strode -majestically across the grass. - -To avoid meeting Jack again, Hoag passed out at the gate, and went -into the wood, which, cool, dank, and somber, stretched away toward the -mountain. Deeper and deeper he got in the shade of the great trees and -leaning cliffs and boulders till he was quite out of sight or hearing of -the house. The solitude and stillness of the spot strangely appealed -to him. For the first time in many days he had a touch of calmness. The -thought came to him that, if such a thing as prayer were reasonable at -all, a spot like this would make it effective. - -Suddenly, as he stood looking at a cliff in front of him, he fancied -that the leaves and branches of an overhanging bush were stirring. To -make sure, he stared fixedly at it, and then he saw a black face emerge, -a face that was grimly set in satisfaction. Was he asleep, and was this -one of the numerous fancies which had haunted him in delirium? Yes, for -the face was gone, the leaves of the bush were still. And yet, was it -gone? Surely there was renewed activity about the bush which was not -visible in its fellows. What was it that was slowly emerging from the -branches like a bar of polished steel? The sunlight struck it and it -flashed and blazed steadily. The bush swayed downward and then held -firm. There was a puff of blue smoke. Hoag felt a stinging sensation -over the region of his heart. Everything grew black. He felt himself -falling. He heard an exultant laugh, which seemed to recede in the -distance. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -|IT was a few weeks after Hoag's burial. Ethel had been for a walk and -was nearing home. At the side of the road stood a sordid log cabin, one -of the worst of its class. In the low doorway leaned a woman with a baby -in her arms. She was under twenty-five years of age, and yet from her -tattered dress, worn-out shoes, scant hair, and wan, wearied face she -might have passed as the grandmother of her four or five little children -playing about the door-step. - -Catching her eye, Ethel bowed and turned in toward the hut. As she did -so, the woman stepped down and came forward. The children, forsaking -their play, followed and clung to her soiled skirt, eying Ethel's black -dress and hat with the curiosity peculiar to their ages and station. The -woman's husband, David Harris, had been confined to his bed since the -preceding winter, when he had been laid up by an accident due to the -falling of a tree while at work for Hoag on the mountain, and Ethel and -her mother had shown him and his wife some thoughtful attention. - -"I stopped to ask how Mr. Harris is," Ethel said. "My mother will want -to know." - -"He's a good deal better, Miss Ethel," the woman replied, pulling her -skirt from the chubby clutch of a little barefooted girl. - -"Oh, I'm so glad!" Ethel cried. "I suppose his new medicine is doing him -good?" - -"No, he hasn't begun on it yet," Mrs. Harris answered. "The old lot -ain't quite used up yet. I just think it is due to cheerfulness, Miss -Ethel. I never knowed before that puttin' hope in a sick body would work -such wonders, but it has in Dave." - -"He has been inclined to despondency, hasn't he?" Ethel rejoined, -sympathetically. "My mother said she noticed that the last time we were -here, and tried to cheer him up." - -"Thar was just one thing that could cheer 'im, an' that happened." - -"I'm glad," Ethel said, tentatively "He seemed to worry about the baby's -sickness, but the baby is well now, isn't she?" Ethel touched the child -under the chin and smiled into its placid blue eyes. - -"No, it wasn't the baby," the wife went on. "Dave got some'n off his -mind that had been worry-in' him ever since Paul Rundel got home an' -took charge o' Mr. Hoag's business. That upset 'im entirely, Miss -Ethel--he actually seemed to collapse under it, an' when Mr. Hoag died -he got worse." - -"But why?" Ethel groped, wonderingly. - -"It was like this," the woman answered. "Long time ago, when Paul an' -Dave was boys together, they had a row o' some sort. Dave admits that -him and his brother, Sam, who was sent off for stealin' a hoss, two year -ago, acted powerful bad. They teased Paul an' nagged 'im constantly, -till Paul got a gun one day an' threatened to kill 'em if they didn't -let 'im alone. Then right on top o' that Paul had his big trouble an' -run off, an' him an' Dave never met till--" - -"I see, but surely Paul--" Ethel began, perplexed, and stopped suddenly. - -"I was comin' to that, Miss Ethel. You see, Dave had a good regular job -cuttin' an' haulin' for Mr. Hoag, an' until Paul was put in charge he -expected, as soon as he was strong enough, to go back to work again. But -the report went out, an' it was true, that Mr. Hoag had turned all the -hirin' of men over to Paul an' refused to take a single man on his own -hook." - -"Oh, I see, and your husband was afraid--" - -"He was afraid Paul had a grudge ag'in' 'im, Miss Ethel. He talked of -nothin' else, an' it looked like he dreamed of nothin' else. I used to -catch 'im cryin' as he nussed the baby for me while I was fixin' 'im -some'n to eat. He kept say in' that the Lord was punishin' 'im for the -way he done Paul. He said no man with any spirit would hire a fellow -under them circumstances, an' he couldn't expect it. He said Paul was -plumb on top now since Mr. Hoag's gone, an' had a right to crow. I -begged 'im to let me tell Paul how he felt about it, but he wouldn't -hear to it; he was too proud. Besides, he said, no brave man would -respect another for apologizin' at such a late day when he was after a -favor. So he just bothered an' bothered over it till he quit eatin' an' -begun to talk about bein' buried." Here the woman's voice quivered. "He -kept sayin' he didn't want me to spend money on layin' 'im away. He got -so troubled about that one thing that he begged Zeke Henry, who is a -carpenter, you know, to agree to make 'im some sort of a cheap box to -be put in so that I wouldn't go to town an' git a costly one on a credit -when the time come." - -"How sad--how very sad!" Ethel exclaimed. "And then Paul must have--of -course, you told Paul--." - -"No, I wouldn't do that," the woman broke in. "Dave would 'a' been mad; -but one day, about a week ago, I was out in the thicket across the road -pickin' up sticks to burn when Paul come along. I used to live over -the mountain before he went off, an' so I thought he didn't know me. I -thought he was goin' by without speakin' to me, for it looked like he -was tryin' to overtake a wagon load o' lumber right ahead; but when -he seed me he stopped an' raised his hat an' stood with it in his hand -while he asked me how Dave was. He said he'd just heard he was so bad -off, an' was awful sorry about it. - -"I told 'im how Dave's health was, but I didn't let on about how he was -worryin'.' Then Paul studied a minute, an' it looked to me like he was -actually blushin'. 'I wonder,' he said, 'if Dave would let me go in an' -see 'im. I've met nearly all of the boys I used to know, an' have been -hopin' he'd be out so I could run across 'im.'" - -"That was just like Paul," Ethel said, warmly. "And of course he saw -your husband?" - -The woman shifted the baby from her arms to her gaunt right hip. Her -eyes glistened and her thin lips quivered. "You'll think I'm silly, Miss -Ethel." She steadied her voice with an effort. "I break down an' cry -ever' time I tell this. I believe people can cry for joy the same as for -grief if it hits 'em just right. I took Paul to the door, an' went in -to fix Dave up a little--to give 'im a clean shirt an' the like. An' all -that time Dave was crazy to ask what Paul wanted, but was afraid Paul -would hear 'im, an' so I saw him starin' at me mighty pitiful. I wanted -to tell him that Paul was friendly, but I didn't know how to manage it. -I winked at 'im, an' tried to let 'im see by my cheerfulness that it was -all right with Paul, but Dave couldn't understand me. Somehow he thought -Paul might still remember the old fuss, an' he was in an awful stew -till Paul come in. But he wasn't in doubt long, Miss Ethel. Paul come -in totin' little Phil in his arms--he'd been playin' with the child -outside--an' shuck hands with Dave, an' set down by the bed in the -sweetest, plainest way you ever saw. He kept rubbin' Phil's dirty -legs--jest wouldn't let me take him, an' begun to laugh an' joke with -Dave over old boyhood days. Well, I simply stood there an' wondered. -I've seen humanity in as many shapes as the average mountain woman o' my -age an' sort, I reckon, but I never, never expected to meet a man like -Paul Rundel in this life. He seemed to lift me clean to the clouds, as -he talked to Dave about the foolishness of bein' blue an' givin' up to -a sickness like his'n. Then like a clap o' thunder from a clear sky he -told Dave in an off-hand way, as if it wasn't nothin' worth mentionin', -that he wanted 'im to hurry an' git well because he had a job for 'im -bossin' the hands at the shingle-mill. Miss Ethel, if the Lord had split -the world open an' I saw tongues o' fire shootin' up to the skies I -wouldn't 'a' been more astonished. - -"'Do you really mean that, Paul?' I heard Dave ask; an' then I heard -Paul say, I certainly do, Dave, an' you won't have to wait till you are -plumb well, either, for you kin do that sort o' work just settin' around -keepin' tab on things in general.' An' so, Miss Ethel, that's why Dave's -gittin' well so fast. It ain't the medicine; it's the hope an' joy -that Paul Rundel put in 'im. They say Paul has got some new religion or -other, an' I thank God he has found it. Love for sufferin' folks fairly -leaks out of his face an' eyes. Before he left he had every child -we have up in his lap, a-tellin' 'em tales about giant-killers an' -hobgoblins an' animals that could talk, an' when he went off he left -Dave cryin' like his heart was breakin'." - -Ethel walked slowly homeward. From a small, gray cloud in the vast blue -overhead random drops of rain were falling upon the hot dust of the -road. As she neared the house she saw her mother waiting for her at the -front gate with a letter in her hand. - -"I wondered where you were," Mrs. Mayfield said, as she held the gate -ajar for her daughter to pass through. "You know I can't keep from being -uneasy since your poor uncle's death." - -"I'm not afraid," Ethel smiled. She noticed that her mother had folded -the letter tightly in her hand and seemed disinclined to refer to it. - -"Who is your letter from?" the girl questioned, as they walked across -the lawn toward the house. - -"Guess," Mrs. Mayfield smiled, still holding the letter tightly. - -"I can't imagine," Ethel answered, abstractedly, for she was unable to -detach herself from the recital she had just heard. - -Mrs. Mayfield paused, looked up at the threatening cloud, and then -answered, "It is from Mr. Peterson." - -"Oh!" Ethel avoided her mother's fixed stare. "I owe him a letter." - -"From this, I judge that you owe him several," Mrs. Mayfield answered in -a significant tone. "Ethel, I am afraid you are not treating him quite -fairly." - -"Fairly! Why do you say that, mother?" Ethel showed some little -vexation. Touches of red appeared in her cheeks and her eyes flashed. - -"Because you haven't answered his recent letters, for one thing," -was the reply. "You know, daughter, that I have never tried, in the -slightest, to influence you in this matter, and--" - -"This _matter!_" A rippling and yet a somewhat forced laugh fell from -the girl's curling lips. "You speak as if you were referring to some -business transaction." - -'"You know what I mean," Mrs. Mayfield smiled good-naturedly. "Before -we came here this summer, while Mr. Peterson was so attentive to you in -Atlanta, I told you that he had plainly given me to understand that -he was in love with you, and wished to pay his addresses in the most -serious and respectful way." - -"Well?" Ethel shrugged her shoulders. "I have let him come to see me -oftener, really, than any of my other friends, and--" - -"But that isn't all he wants, and you are well aware of it," the mother -urged. "He says you don't write to him as freely and openly as you once -did--he has acted very considerately, I think. Owing to your uncle's -death he did not like to intrude, but now he can't really understand -you, and is naturally disturbed." - -"So he has written to _you?_" Ethel said, crisply, almost resentfully. - -"Yes, he has written to me. I am not going to show you his letter. The -poor fellow is deeply worried. The truth is, as he says, that most of -your set down home look on you--" - -"As his property, I know," Ethel flashed forth. "Some men are apt to -allow a report like that to get circulated. The last time he was here he -dropped half a dozen remarks which showed that he had no other thought -than that I was quite carried away with him." - -Mrs. Mayfield faced the speaker with a gentle smile of perplexity. "You -know, dear, that I firmly believe in love-matches, and if I didn't think -you could really love Mr. Peterson I'd never let you think of marrying -him; but he really is such a safe, honorable man, and has such brilliant -prospects, that I'd not be a natural mother if I were not hopeful that -you--" - -"You mustn't bother with him and me, mother," Ethel said, weariedly. "I -know all his good points, and I know some of his less admirable ones; -but I have some rights in the matter. I have really never encouraged him -to think I would marry him, and it is because--well, because his recent -letters have been just a little too confident that I have not answered. -I can't bear that sort of thing from a man, and I want him to know it." - -"Well, I'm going to wash my hands of it," Mrs. Mayfield said, smiling. -"I want you to be happy. You have suffered so keenly of late that it -has broken my heart to see it, and I want your happiness above all. Then -there is something else." - -"Oh, something else?" Ethel echoed. - -"Yes, and this time I am really tempted to scold," the mother said, -quite seriously. "My dear, I am afraid you are going to make more than -one man unhappy, and this one certainly deserves a better fate." - -Ethel avoided her mother's eyes. Her color deepened. Her proud chin -quivered. - -"What do you mean?" she faltered. - -"I mean that I am afraid Paul Rundel is in love with you, too." - -"Paul--oh, how absurd!" the girl answered, her face burning. - -"You may say that if you wish, but I shall not change my opinion," Mrs. -Mayfield rejoined, gravely. "I am sure he wouldn't want me to suspect -it--in fact, I think he tries to hide it from every one. It is only -little signs he shows now and then--the way he looks when your name -comes up. The truth is that he can hardly steady his voice when he -mentions you. But he will never trouble you with his attentions. He has -an idea that there is some understanding between you and Mr. Peterson, -and I confess I didn't disabuse his mind. In fact, he said last night, -when he and I were out here together, that he would never marry. He has -an idea that he ought to remain single so that he may be free to carry -out some plans he has for the public good--plans, I think, which mean a -sacrifice on his part, in some way or other. He's simply wonderful, my -child. He seems to suffer. You know a woman can tell intuitively when a -man is that way. He seems both happy and unhappy. I thought I'd speak to -you of this so that you may be careful when with him. You can be nice -to him, you know, without leading him to think--well, to think as Mr. -Peterson does." - -"There is no danger," Ethel said, wistfully. "I understand him, and I am -sure he understands me, but"--she hesitated and caught her mother's arm -in a tense clasp, as they started on toward the house--"I am sure, very -sure, mother, that he--that Paul is not _really_ in love with me. You -don't think so, either, mother--you know you do not! You have so many -silly fancies. You imagine that every man who looks at me is in love -with me. Paul will never love _any_ woman, much less me. You see, -I _know_. I've talked to him a good deal here of late, and--and I -understand him. Really, I do, mother." Alone in her room, a moment -later, Ethel stood before her mirror looking at her reflection. - -"He loves me--oh, he loves me!" she whispered. "He's loved me all these -years. He is the grandest and best man that ever lived. He has lifted me -above the earth, and made me understand the meaning of life. Oh, -Paul, Paul!" She sank down by the window and looked out. The rain was -beginning to fall heavily. It pattered against the window-sill and wet -her sleeve and hair, but she did not move. She breathed in the cooling -air as if it were a delightful intoxicant borne down from heaven. The -dripping leaves of a honeysuckle tapped her hot cheeks. She thrust her -fair head farther out, felt the water trickle down her cheeks and chin, -and laughed. Her mood was ecstatic, transcendent, and full of gratitude -unspeakable. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -|ETHEL had been to her uncle's grave one afternoon, and was returning -through the wood which lay between the farmhouse and the village when -she met Paul. - -"I've just been up with some flowers," she said. "Oh, it is so sad! I -had a good cry." - -"I have no doubt it made you feel better," he said, looking at her -tenderly. "Nature has made us that way." - -"I am afraid I became rather despondent," she answered. "Oh, Paul, I -wish I had all your beautiful faith! You have actually reconciled me -to poor dear Jennie's death. I can already see that it was best. It has -made me kinder and broader in many ways. Do you know, Paul, there are -times when I am fully conscious of her presence--I don't mean in the -ordinary, spiritualistic sense, but something--I don't know how to put -it--but something like the highest mental essence of my dear cousin -seems to fold me in an embrace that is actually transporting. I find -myself full of tears and joy at the same time, and almost dazed with the -indescribable reality of it." - -"Many sensitive persons have that experience in sorrow," Paul said, "and -I am obliged to think there is some psychic fact beneath it. There is -something undoubtedly uplifting in a great grief. It is a certain cure -for spiritual blindness. It tears the scales of matter from our eyes as -nothing else can do." - -"I can't, however, keep from being despondent over my poor uncle," Ethel -sighed, as she agreed with him. "Oh, Paul, he really wasn't prepared. He -plunged into the dark void without the faintest faith or hope." - -Paul gravely shook his head and smiled. "To believe that is to doubt -that the great principle of life is love. We cannot conceive of even -an earthly father's punishing one of his children for being blind, much -less the Creator of us all. Your uncle through his whole life was blind -to the truth. Had he seen it, his awakening would have been here instead -of there, that is all." - -"Oh, how comforting, how sweetly comforting!" Ethel sobbed. There was a -fallen tree near the path, and she turned aside and sat down. She folded -her hands in her lap, while the tears stood in her eyes. "Paul," she -said, suddenly, "you are very happy, aren't you? You must be--you have -so much to make you so." - -He looked away toward the mountain where the slanting rays of the sun -lay in a mellow flood, and a grave, almost despondent, expression crept -into his eyes. He made no answer. She repeated her question in a rising -tone, full of tender eagerness. Then without looking at her he answered, -slowly and distinctly: - -"All humanity must suffer, Ethel. It is part of the divine order. -Suffering is to the growing soul what decayed matter is to the roots -of a flower. Light is the opposite of darkness; joy is the opposite -of suffering. The whole of life is made up of such contrasts; earth is -temporary captivity, Paradise is eternal freedom." - -"But you have already _had_ your suffering," Ethel pursued, her drying -eyes fixed hungrily on his face. "Surely you--you are not unhappy now. -I don't see how you could be so when everybody loves you so much, and is -so appreciative of your goodness. Henry worships you. He says you have -made a man of him. Old Mr. Tye declares you have actually put an end to -lawlessness in these mountains. I can't see how you, of all men, could -be unhappy for a minute." - -"There are things"--he was still avoiding her eyes, and he spoke with -a sort of tortured candor as he sat down near her and raised his knee -between his tense hands--"there are things, Ethel, which the very soul -of a man cries out for, but which he can never have--which he dare not -even hope for, lest he slip into utter despondency and never recover his -courage." - -She rose and stood before him. He had never seen her look more -beautiful, more resolute. "You intimated--Paul, you hinted, when you -first came home from the West, that as a boy, away back before your -great trouble, you--you cared for me--you said you thought of me often -during those years. Oh, Paul, have you changed in that respect? Do you -no longer--" Her voice trailed away from her fluttering throat, and, -covering her face with her blue-veined hands, she stood motionless, her -breast visibly palpitating, her sharp intakes of breath audible. - -Rising, he drew her hands down and gazed passionately into her eyes. "I -have come to love you so much, Ethel, that I dare not even think of it. -It takes my breath away. Every drop of blood in my body cries out for -you--cries, cries constantly. I have never dared to hope, not for a -moment. I know what Mr. Peterson has to offer you. He can give you -everything that the world values. I cannot see where my future duty may -call me, but I am sure that I can't strive for the accumulation of a -great fortune. So even if I _could_ win your love I could not feel -that I had a right to it. Many persons think I am a fanatic, and if I -am--well, I ought not to influence you to link your life to mine. As -you say, I have suffered, and I have borne it so far, but whether I -can possibly bear to see you the--the wife of another man remains to be -proved. I am afraid that would drag me down. I think I would really lose -faith in God--in everything, for I can't help loving you. You are more -to me than life--more than Heaven." - -"You mustn't desert me, Paul." Ethel raised his hand to her lips and -kissed it. The action drew her warm face close to his. "I want to go on -with you in body and in spirit through eternity. I love you with all -my soul. You have sweetened my life and lifted me to the very stars. -I don't want wealth or position. I want only you--just as you are." He -seemed unable to speak. Tenderly and reverently he drew her back to -the log. In silence they sat, hand in hand, watching the shadows of the -dying day creep across the wood and climb the mountainside. - - -THE END - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Paul Rundel, by Will N. 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